"Your grace." a cold, hard-faced man said, greeting the king and his kingsguard as they rode into Castle Black.
Robb joked briefly to himself that the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch looked like an icicle dressed in black and carrying a longsword. Ser Alliser was an older man, with sharp features and black, humorless eyes. His black hair was streaked with grey and there was an air of bitterness around the man.
"Lord Commander," Robb said as he dismounted, keeping his tone neutral. He was expecting the man to be antagonistic, and so he didn't want to sever their already thin relationship with a bad greeting.
"I hope your travels weren't too severe." Ser Alliser said, a surprise attempt at civility. "Though I'm sure you know the North as well as anyone."
"I do." Robb nodded. "Is it possible that I might meet with you and your council?"
"Of course." Ser Alliser said although it seemed like every word caused him physical pain. "Brenan. Gather Marsh, Yarwyck, and Maester Aemon."
"Aye, Lord Commander." the black brother said before walking off.
Robb kept silent as he and his kingsguard walked towards the Lord Commander's solar. All the while, he gazed at the man leading them. He was a warrior, Robb had been around enough to know one on sight. But if the man considered himself a leader, and the king suspected he did, he wasn't one. Being strong was one thing. Being able to look a man in the eye, tell him to follow you, and make him believe that you would always make the right decision was another thing entirely.
It was a gift few had. His father was one, as was Robert Baratheon before he had lost himself to drinking, food, and women. Tywin Lannister ruled with an iron fist, but because he always managed to stay ahead of his enemies, it was a different kind of leadership, one built on fear and legend. Ser Alliser Thorne was not Tywin Lannister.
Robb and his protectors filed into a sparsely populated room. A large desk dominated the back of the room, with multiple chairs lining either side of the room. It was obvious that, besides acting as the Lord Commander's office, it was also a meeting room for the leadership in Castle Black.
Robb didn't grab a chair. He stood in front of the desk, flanked by his kingsguard, with his arms folded across his chest. Ser Alliser took his seat on the other side of Robb, raising an eyebrow as he sat down.
"Would you like a chair, your grace?" he asked, the first crack in the civility and unusual kindness he was showing towards Robb.
"I'm fine," Robb responded, interested to see how the man responded.
Margaery and her grandmother, after the war was over and the royal couple began to rule Westeros, began to secretly teach Robb more and more of their tricks. One of the first things they taught him was how to deal with people, how to adjust his tone and words to either put a man on edge or at ease. The art of dealing with people was one that Margaery and the Queen of Thorns had perfected. Robb was still a novice, but Ser Alliser presented the perfect opportunity to hone and practice his new skills.
The two men gazed silently at each other while the other leaders of Castle Black entered the room. They, unlike Robb, grabbed chairs and took seats on either side of the Lord Commander. They seemed like decent men, not bitter and cold like Thorne.
"Here's who you wanted, your grace." Ser Alliser said.
"Gentlemen," Robb said, nodding to the newcomers, "I wish to know what you have been doing to prepare for the Long Night?"
Two of the men, Yarwyck and Marsh if Robb was right, shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Maester Aemon, the ancient-looking blind man on Thorne's right, showed no reaction.
"We're working on it." Ser Alliser grunted.
Robb raised an eyebrow. "With the threat of the undead and a legendary enemy, I would prefer a better answer than 'we're working on it'."
Ser Alliser glared at the young king, but Robb returned the look without the slightest hesitation.
"It doesn't help that we're focusing on two enemies." Ser Alliser scowled. "One of which your brother helped cross under the Wall."
"The wildlings aren't your enemy," Robb replied instantly. "As of right now, they are allies of Westeros, and if you're done being a fool, they'll be your ally as well."
"You want us to ally with those savages!" Ser Alliser laughed harshly. "Never!"
Robb frowned. "When you speak to me, you'll do so with respect." he snapped. "You've lost one ally, Lord Commander. I control the whole of Westeros. I have their armies at my beck and call. Do you wish to make me your enemy as well?"
Ser Alliser seethed in his seat. He knew that Robb was right, but he was now learning that he was not dealing with Jon or Eddard. Robb had no problem throwing his weight around. He knew what he had, he knew the power he commanded. It was no secret that the Night's Watch now depended on Robb to keep them supplied with resources from the south.
"When was the last time you fought in a war, Ser Alliser?" Robb asked, suddenly changing the direction of the conversation.
"The war of the Usur….the rebellion," he answered after a moment.
"And you lost?" Robb asked.
"Yes."
Robb leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. "Unlike you, Lord Commander, I won the war I fought in. I did that by knowing when it's time for war and time for peace. The Free Folk are not your enemy! There is only one enemy, the real threat. That horde of undead currently marching south. Now pull your head from your ass and do your job protecting the realms of men!"
Ser Alliser shot to his feet, his hand flying to his sword. Robb didn't flinch, though his kingsguard stepped forward, preparing to defend the king.
"You, what do you do?" Robb asked, disregarding the furious lord commander and turning towards Marsh.
"Bowen Marsh, your grace. Lord Steward," he answered respectfully. "I ensure that the rangers have all they need to fight and that the brothers have clothes, weapons, food, and such."
"What about you?" Robb said, looking at the other man.
"Othell Yarwyck, First Builder," he said. "I ensure the Wall and the castles are maintained."
"Bowen, there will soon be dragonglass flooding the Wall." Robb started. "Please ensure that all weapons made with the material are evenly distributed among all parties; the Night's Watch, the men of Westeros, and free folk as well."
The plump, red-faced man nodded. "I will see it done."
"Yarwyck, there can be no gaps in the wall. No weak points." Robb ordered. "Whatever you need, let me know and I'll make sure you have it. Men, material, it doesn't matter."
The older man smiled grimly and nodded as well. "Thank you, your grace."
"Think nothing of it," Robb said, waving his hand as he stood back up. "My first duty is to Westeros. That trumps everything. I'll do whatever I can to ensure my people's safety."
"I'm in command here." Thorne snarled.
"So you are," Robb noted, "but you have failed in your duty, so I am doing it for you. You're too focused on the free folk and my brother. Don't think I haven't heard about how you sent assassins after them."
Bowen's and Yarwyck's eyes went wide and looked at the Lord Commander. He immediately went to defend himself.
"I sent them to deliver justice."
"You sent them because you couldn't stand the fact that they went behind your back to do the right thing." Robb snapped. "By attacking my family, I should take your head, but I won't. This will be my first and only warning, Ser Alliser. Continue to test my patience and there will be six other realms that won't come to the aid of the Night's Watch when you need us the most."
The tension in the room was palpable as the king and lord commander glared at each other. Both men were prideful and strong-willed, neither had any thoughts of backing down from one another. Robb's father was the same way, but when Ser Alliser overstepped his place, Robb's father stepped to the side and continued to prepare for the Long Night, leaving the terrible man behind.
Robb was not his father. He would not deal with a man who would undermine him. If things came to a head, Robb would take steps to ensure that Ser Alliser was removed from power and leadership. He knew that his father and Jon wouldn't approve, but Robb, for once, understood Tywin Lannister. When things had to be done, there wasn't a lot of room to care about feelings or protocol. With the danger north of the Wall, Robb wasn't willing to play by the book. He would keep his people safe no matter what and deal with the consequences later.
Tyrion Lannister
Tyrion found the queen and her child in the godswood, sitting before the heart tree. Prince Torrhen was climbing over Greywind, who gently played with the boy, not caring that his fur was pulled or when he was occasionally punched on the snout by a small fist. The queen sat on a stone bench, watching her child.
"Your grace?" he asked carefully, not wanting to disturb her.
"Tyrion," Margaery responded, looking over her shoulder and smiling at the Hand. "Is all well?"
Tyrion gave her a thin smile. "As well as things can be."
Margaery chuckled and gestured to the spot next to her. "Come, join me."
Tyrion waddled over and hopped up on the bench next to her. The queen's hands were folded neatly over her lap as she watched her child play. Prince Torrhen struggled to get to his feet, taking a few hesitant steps before falling onto the giant direwolf. When he looked up, Greywind licked the boy in his face, causing him to laugh happily. It was a scene that would have made even the most cold-hearted villain smile.
"How is he?" Tyrion asked.
"I doubt he remembers anything," Margaery said softly. "I am relieved that he wasn't touched by the madness of that night."
"If only we were all so lucky." Tyrion agreed. "And yourself?"
It had been a month since the queen had stepped away from ruling, leaving that task to Tyrion and the rest of the Small Council. Even though he had effectively ruled in Joffrey's place, Tyrion had been shocked by how much the royal couple had for work. It seemed like they had a hundred and one tasks currently happening, as well as another thousand plans for the future that they were already setting the groundwork for. How they managed it all without going made left Tyrion mystified.
Tyrion had seen the queen a few times since she had given him the power of the crown. The first two weeks, she seemed like a shell of herself. She still had a haunted look in her eye and she spent most of her time locked away in her room with her child, her grandmother, and her ever-present lady-in-waiting Mira Forrester. After those two weeks, she finally began to heal. She left her room, took frequent walks through the gardens and the godswood, and interacted more with the servants and soldiers. The members of the Small Council had been relieved after hearing the news.
"I will be fine….eventually," Margaery answered honestly, not giving away anything through her expression or tone. "Have you ever felt helpless, Tyrion?"
Tyrion sighed and nodded. "When you grow up a dwarf, my lady, there's not a day when you don't feel helpless. You're different, and you can't hide from it because everyone points it out. I can't do some things that any other normal man can, but the gods, as wicked and fucked as they seem, gave me a mind so that I might tower over others intellectually."
Margaery absorbed Tyrion's words with a single nod. "I've never felt so helpless before," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Watching my brother and Ser Rolland fight that….man, watching as he refused to fall. I felt like I was staring at the face of death. It was just a few steps away from my child and I was….helpless."
"Your grace, there's nothing you could've done," Tyrion said gently. "Ser Loras and Ser Rolland, their experienced, well-trained knights. The king wouldn't have named them to the Kingsguard if they weren't two of the best knights in the realm. We should consider ourselves lucky that they were able to hold Euron off long enough for others to help."
Margaery smiled sadly. "My grandmother said the same thing."
"Great minds think alike." Tyrion joked.
The two fell into a comfortable silence as the prince continued to play around with the giant wolf. He had all the characteristics of a Stark. Dark hair and brownish-grey eyes that were currently alight with delight. His hair curled like the king's, but it would be a few more years until the boy shows what characteristics he picked up from the queen's bloodline.
"As much as I enjoy your concern, my lord, I assume you didn't seek me out to see how I was," Margaery said finally, sounding much more like a queen.
"Your brother, Willas, says that there have been stirrings in the Reach among some very minor houses," Tyrion said. "Our treatment of the Faith has not gone unnoticed."
"Any house of note?" Margaery asked.
"Thankfully no," Tyrion answered, "but Willas says that he has received no less than half a dozen letters asking that he use his influence to help the Faith. Willas has replied back saying that he won't."
"Are you worried that they'll take up arms against the crown?"
"No, but a man who is very vital to us is currently on the road alone."
"Your brother is tracking him down."
"Then that makes two men who are extremely valuable to us that are alone."
"We cannot act on fears, Tyrion," Margaery said.
"I am aware, your grace. That did not work out for the Mad King." Tyrion agreed. "But I cannot help but think of the worst."
"At least you won't be surprised." Margaery mused grimly. "Send a letter to my brother, tell him to be ready to take action if need be. We cannot afford to look…."
"Desperate?" Tyrion suggested.
"I was going to say scared." Margaery continued. "Is there anything else?"
"Benjen Stark has reached Riverrun." Tyrion said. "One of the ironborn lords was killed."
Margaery raised an eyebrow. "Was it one of Edmure's men?"
"No, surprisingly," Tyrion replied. "It was Asha Greyjoy. Lord Goodbrother was determined to sit in his castle and told both Lady Greyjoy and her uncle to fuck off."
"I'm sure his death brought the others back into line," Margaery said. "Do we know where Benjen plans to go next?"
"Lord Edmure says that he's riding west, but has asked that letters be sent throughout the Vale so that lords have time to travel here, to the capital," Tyrion said. "He's also asked that letters be sent to the Stormlands as well."
"He's smart, assembling as many lords as possible," Margaery said. "I assume you've sent word to Casterly Rock already."
"I have. If Jaime doesn't return in time, I'll ensure that Tommen has adequate support and help when he returns to the Rock." Tyrion said, glancing at the sky. "I've taken up enough of your time, my lady. If you'll excuse me."
Tyrion hopped off the bench and began to walk back inside when the queen called after him.
"Tyrion." The Hand turned with a curious look on his face. Margaery gave him another smile.
"Thank you."
Arya Stark
Arya walked into the godswood, a single question burning its way through her inquisitive mind. It was well past supper time and almost time for Arya to sleep, but she couldn't wait. From the moment she had woken up, her day had been filled with her lessons. She had spent her morning with Maester Byron, working on her numbers and her history, while her afternoon was filled with her dancing lessons. She was hoping to have some time before supper, but her mother had asked for her help in her father's solar.
Ever since Sansa had left, Arya's mother had been asking for her help more and more often. It was mainly to help deal with trivial matters like farm disputes and totaling the number of the harvest, but Arya was not dumb. Ever since her mother had seen the kind of lady Sansa had become, she had subtly returned to her attempts of trying to make a 'proper' lady out of Arya. Perhaps showing her that the work required for her as a wife and ruler of the household would not be too hard was her way of doing it, but Arya saw through her attempts. She would continue to help her mother, someone had to since Lord Reed had taken over coordinating the war effort, but she would never be a 'proper' lady.
After helping her mother and eating supper, Arya had a small amount of time to ask her question and she was going to seize the opportunity while she had it.
"We have to talk about something," Arya said, placing herself in front of Bran with her arms crossed.
Her brother raised an eyebrow. "Do we?"
"Yes," Arya asked, fighting back the irritation she got whenever someone responded to her with a question. Bran did it the most. "The Long Night is coming. I want to fight."
"That seems like a question for father," Bran replied simply. "I have no say in whether you can fight or not."
"Father won't let me and we both know it," Arya countered. "You may be the Three-Eyed Crow, Brandon Stark, but you are still my brother and you know our father as well as I do."
"But?" Bran said, prompting her to continue.
"You've been teaching me how to warg into Nymeria," Arya explained. "What if I could show him that I can fight in a…different…way?"
Bran shook his head. "You're not ready for that."
"What do you mean!" Arya hissed angrily. "I've spent months practicing! I can warg into Nymeria with barely an effort."
"Yes, but there's a difference between warging into her when she's running through the forests of the Riverlands and warging into her in the middle of a battle," Bran explained in his annoyingly calm manner. "You need more practice, Arya."
Arya pointed at where Summer lay at the base of a nearby tree, watching the siblings argue. The giant grey wolf was nearly the size of a pony and could no longer stay in the kennels, the same going for Rickon's wolf Shaggydog. Both wolves followed their masters wherever they went, but if they had to be kept somewhere, the only place they could be kept would be the godswood.
"Nymeria is easily the size of Summer. She would be just fine in a fight."
"Nymeria without you, yes," Bran corrected. "She's been in fights before. You have not."
"So?"
Bran frowned. "Arya, you could be putting Nymeria in a lot of danger if you do this. She's wild. You think you're controlling her but you're nothing but a passenger in her mind. You're too weak, too unskilled to control her. If you try to in the middle of a battle, you could confuse her, and then she'd die. Do you want that? Do you want to be the reason Nymeria dies?"
Arya actually took a step back as Bran spoke to her, surprised by the forcefulness in his tone. It reminded her of Father talking whenever he was angry. He would rarely bluster or yell, but his tone was that of barely contained fury. It was a frightening thing to hear, especially since it was pointed at Arya.
"Then what's the point of me learning to warg if I'm never going to have the chance to use it?" Arya asked, keeping her voice level. When she was younger, she might have yelled back at Bran, but she remembered what Syrio always drilled into her during their training sessions. She should never fight anger. Anger clouded judgment.
'And poor judgment leads you to the god of death.'
"I'm teaching you because you deserve to know how to do it," Bran answered. "Skin-changing is a powerful gift bestowed on our house back during the Age of Heroes. If I didn't show you how then you would have continued to have those dreams and you would have been confused all your life. But at this moment, you are not prepared to warg and fight at the same time. It takes years to master skin-changing."
Arya frowned, fighting back the waves of anger she felt rising up in her throat. It was unfair. Robb, Jon, Father, they all had to march north and face the Long Night while all she could is remain here and wait. She hated it. She wanted to be with her brothers and father at the Wall, helping defend it. She hated feeling useless.
Arya closed her eyes and counted to ten before opening them, feeling ready to continue the conversation without the urge to strangle her brother.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" Arya said quietly.
"Your heart is in the right place, Arya," Bran said, his tone tinged with respect, "but you still have many years ahead of you. Keep practicing with Syrio. As for Nymeria, the older you become and the more you warg into her, the stronger your bond will become and then you can exert more control over her, but right now she's too strong for you to handle."
Arya nodded. "Alright," she said, feeling drained after the conversation. As she walked off, she made it ten feet before turning around.
"When the Long Night comes, where will you be?"
"Where I'm needed," Bran replied