ztone hearted

It’s the mistake of the old, to think that something as dry as duty could lead a newborn nation.  Scotland was young and fiery and full of passion and impulse.  Scotland was Daryn Hornwood writing that fucking article.  It was Dacey Mormont with a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a pistol in the other.  It was her brother Eddie, how he would have loved to see this day.  And it was Robb Stark in that interview, Grey Wind by his side, his blue eyes steely, blazing with purpose.

“Ned Stark may be the elected leader, but he hasn’t the qualities that will make this country great.  He’s restrained, and he’s quiet, and he’s dry.  You follow him because you know him, you trust him, you respect him, but he’s no one to me.  His honor is antiquated and he’s old.  Two months of revolution have aged him ten years.”

Alys shakes her head, her hair falling softly in her eyes before she brushes it back with a hand damp with condensation from her glass, leaving beads of water against her scalp that make her itch.  ”I know Robb’s young, but he has everything Ned Stark lacks.  He’s passionate, and he’s as just as his father, as brilliant.  He needs to lead, to really lead, and not just be a figurehead.”  She’s seen how restless Robb’s been when he has nothing to do.  Idleness makes him prickle; waiting makes him reckless.  He needs action; he needs purpose.

Ned wasn’t the leading type, not really. He was more of the person on the side, but he is responsible, and honourable, damn is that man honourable. “So what do you want to do, go to Ned Stark and tell him to sit down, that Robb will take over now? Maybe in time, but we need a controlled person in there, who knows what’s just and trusted. Besides, Robb hasn’t done much, Alys. He happened to be in a plane when all of this exploded. Sure, he’s risen to his newfound status, but he’s young. He doesn’t know anything about ruling a country, too green. People will see him and think we’re green, unsuited for self governing.” He shakes his head, taking a sip of water.

“Are negotiations even happening?” he leans against the counter, cup long forgotten, “I mean, Baratheon seems to think that he can declare everyone a traitor for unknowingly breaking martial law, and everyone who let them safely land. And before even demanding they present themselves in court. He’s tried and convicted all of us already.

He is hardly the man to speak to the press, in recent discussions, he doesn't recall any press release, or conference at all. He has to give it to hi though, silence on the front of the independence could send out all sorts of mixed messages. Some, perhaps none too positive. He grumbles and takes another sip of his coffee. "Peaceful separation is all we want, though Stannis Baratheon is quick to call us traitors, it's a fair thing to say that man would be just like his brother."  He looks at his son and offers a hard laugh.

But that’s family, she supposes.  It’s knowing that the same ghosts will always follow you, and knowing how to chase them away.  Business meeting though this may be, Alys can’t help but reach across the table and fold her palm over her father’s fist.  ”That’s not what I meant,” she murmurs, squeezing her father’s hand before reclaiming her own. “I just wanted to know what you thought of it.  This isn’t an attack.”

Twirling pasta on her fork, Alys takes a bite, tucking away a smile.  For all his gruffness, her father could be fairly handy in the kitchen, which is understandable, considering he’s been a bachelor for 16 years.  “If only I could take back the article,” Alys says once she’s done chewing, “I would in a heartbeat.  But it’s too late now, and to rewrite what’s been written would only send out mixed messages.”

I wish I could; undercut Daryn, swipe at the legs of the beast he created and watch it fall, but think of who it would crush in the meantime, think of the collateral damage.

That's why she's meeting with everyone in Stark Group, he supposes. "Aye, the figure is Robb Stark, but he's not the leader now is he? He's just a boy after all. He had acted impulsively, and if he'd been taken down in that plane, I doubt we'd be having a very different conversation. It's strange, isn't it, the way things come together. Robb Stark was just the push we needed, the act in our name, to push independance." Rickard pauses, and takes another sip of water, exhaling when he's finished.

Desperately she wishes she’d had a smoke before coming here, but she didn’t want to have dinner with her father reeking of nicotine and tar. It was only that surely it would calm her now. “O-of course,” Alys falters, then draws in a deep breath, composing herself.

“I hadn’t realized you wanted to be quite so formal, having the meeting here and all… But of course I should have. I’m sorry da- Mr. Karstark.”

Hearing his daughter calling him Mr. Karstark is almost too much, and he shows the semblance of a smile in the very corners of his lips. He sits down, at the head of the table, and looks directly at his daughter. She can do this, he thinks. He sits, straighter in the chair, his arms on the table.

"Yes, the Young Wolf all of Scotland is enamoured with." He offers her a nod, and he has to stop himself from slamming his hand down on the table. Rickard isn't a violent man, or a particularly angry man, but he'll be damned if another one of his children brings up that bloody article. "If you're going to hold me accountable for that-" He sounds angry, because he's irritated, and tired of hearing about Daryn Hornwood and his bloody article. And Rickard will not explain himself again, how he didn't give permission, or anything. That boy would've done it even if I damned it.

“He’s got a mind of his own, that’s sure,” he deflects. He had tried to tell Alys, in a small way, that Daryn was like to run with his own piece rather than whatever she’d tried and direct him to write. But even Torrhen hadn’t expected the piece Daryn had finally put out and Alys had been vague or mum about the interview beforehand as well. 

“Daryn said you approved. Guessing you don’t,” Torrhen gives a shrug. “Scotland needs more mediating voices, not more patriotism. ‘Specially if we’re going to be having talks with Baratheons.”

There were always talks before a war, before military action. Torrhen suspects any talks between Scotland and England would fail. Neither side would give. Scotland could not yield, not when they had finally declared independence. But it had to be treaded carefully, particularly around a man who had called two of their own traitors and had approved of the military call to shoot down the plane through his silence on the matter. 

Daryn was just one of many. The others on the Stark Group Board had their own agendas for Scotland’s freedom - financial or patriotic, nationality or opportunity to carve out a slice of power - it opened up floodgates for new power; Ned Stark was keeping them in check by power of his name and honor. But how long could loyalty curb ambition?

"We all think we know what Scotland needs, don't we boy?" He curls his lip in a grimace turned smile. Everyone from Dumfries to Aberdeen had their opinion on what should be done, and how it should be done. It's difficult ground to tread, if anything. Rickard says nothing and drinks from his mug, brooding. 

More mediating voices, he'd said. Well, out of the Stark Group he suspected himself and perhaps Howland Reed to be the most sensible. Ned Stark was all about honour, while Roose sat there clicking his teeth. Out of them all, a Stark took up the mantle, but how long could a man such as Eddard hold it? 

He puts down his mug, and looks at his son again. Was his son suggest...no, implying that Rickard merely sat by and said nothing in their meetings? That he didn't object to their ideas, pointing out the radicalness and what is unnecessary  No, maybe he should've agreed with Roose Bolton about needing an army, and throwing out the weeds. No, maybe he should've let them crown Robb Stark as the face of the nation instead of nudging the scope towards Eddard.

Her feet are quiet as they pad through the corridors, following the light like railroad tracks, steering her straight ahead.  Eyes forward and she doesn’t glance at the pictures on the wall, the menagerie of ghosts, her brother’s, her mother’s, wink and leer.  And yet, she’s slept no easier since leaving her father’s house.  She still worries at night, still tosses and turns.  Truth be told, Alys is fairly sure the last good night of sleep she got was in June, with Jon by her side.

Having this meeting at home, well, her father’s home, wasn’t exactly what Alys had in mind, but Rickard was her father after all and Alys didn’t much feel like arguing with him again.  Perhaps he didn’t take her seriously, perhaps he wouldn’t, but Alys could view their meeting as practice.  And a meeting with her father was never going to be the same as one with, say, Barbrey Dustin or Roose Bolton.

"I thought you were Alys Karstark, PR." He says bluntly as she kisses him on the cheek. Enough girl, you're working. He wants to say.  She cannot hope to act like this with the rest of the Group, but it's easily excusable, she's his daughter. Though when she meets with them, she'll not only be representing the Starks, but her own family as well. Doesn't she know the weight of her name?

From: [email protected] To: [Blank] BCC: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected] Subject: The Young Wolf

To whom it may concern,

As you may already know, I handle Robb Stark’s public relations on behalf of the Stark Group.  Regardless of your personal opinions about our Young Wolf and independence, it is incredibly important that the leaders of the Stark Group provide a united front against the advances of the press.

As such, I would like to schedule a meeting with you to discuss Mr. Stark’s public image going forward, and how to best support the early days of our young nation.  Please reply and give me an hour in the next week when we can meet.  I’m happy to come to your office, should you prefer.

Thank you for taking the time to meet with me about this.  I wouldn’t trouble you, but it is of vital importance that we solidify our unity sooner rather than later, before the lions and the stags find the gaps in our Northern armor.

Best,

Alys Karstark

Subject: Re: The Young Wolf

Ms. Karstark.

It is a pleasure hearing from you, Alys. I am glad that you are taking the initiative on this front, to unite our allies before we become disorganized and jumbled.

If if would please you, perhaps you could take some time out of your busy schedule to have dinner with your father. We can discuss whatever you like at such a time.

Perhaps the 10th? If you think that could be questionable, you can always stop by my office should the need arise.

See you soon,

Rickard Karstark

"Aye." He takes a heavy sip from his mug, "Though everybody in bloody England and Scotland both has probably read it too." He sighs, cup still in hand as he looks to his son.

"I thought it was yet another piece of straw on the camel's back. Sooner or later it'll break. And then what? War? We don't need one of those." He sets down his cup and leans onto the counter. Speaking frank with his son has always been easiest. There is just no reason to sugar coat anything, or beat around an invisible bush.

"It just, wasn't needed. And the boy had asked for my opinion," He frowns, shaking his head, "Though should've known that boy listens to no one, don't you know, Torrhen? You'd know more than anything." After all, the Hornwood boy and his son were rather close friends.

- I’ve told you. No.

Torrhen would normally only stop by Dad’s house once a month; they both worked at Karhold and would run into each other frequently enough that visits weren’t that necessary. But ever since Eddie’s death, Torr’s been trying to stop by once a week, to see how he was.

He was the father, and Torrhen was the son. Sons don't just check up on their fathers. Unless they were worried. Torrhen knew exactly how Rickard worked though, and he's been careful. He's alright, perfectly alright besides.

(Or she isn’t until she’s in front of him, for before her father in his study, Alys will always be a child; his child.)

Nodding, she paints on a cheery smile, taking deep breaths to calm the tears from her voice.  ”Thank you,” she says once calm, meeting her father’s eyes.  ”I… I appreciate that.  And I want to do my best to make you proud.  To make our family proud.  I know I may not have said as much but I am… grateful that you secured my passage back to Sc-, back home.”

Perching on the arm of the chair, Alys looks up at her father, her fingers clasped in her lap.  It was true, maybe her father’s house wasn’t her home anymore, but like she said to Daryn a few weeks earlier, Alys was resolved to make the best of this new division, to really make an effort to make Scotland her home.  That’s why she wants this apartment so badly.  It’s a fresh start, a chance for her to build a life here that’s hers, not her father’s or her brother’s or Daryn’s or even Robb Stark’s; a life that belongs to Alys Karstark alone.  A legacy of her own.

Though he won't voice those thoughts. He waves a hand, "Pish posh, I do not groan, nor complain, Alys. And that is good. Yes, very good, a flatmate." Someone to keep an eye on you when it should be me, he'd like to say. Though he supposes Dacey is able enough. He is relieved though, when she mentions the other girl, she won't be alone.