Reunion || Arya & Robb
Robb was up late, working on correspondences by candlelight at his writing desk in his office. He had learned far too quickly that ruling was a far greater challenge than war. Directing armies and planning battle strategies, he could do. Fighting, easy. But trying to prevent a war was another matter entirely. Between his own lords practically bursting down the doors to the great hall for audiences and southron nobility sending fleets of ravens, it seemed he didn’t have enough hours in the day. And that was on top of the normal petty disputes over debts, food distribution, and reports of raiders and thieves. He had been trained as a boy to do some of this, yes. But as a lord, not as a king for a land double the size. This was an entirely different sort of battle.
For the first years after the war, it hadn’t been this different or difficult. Driving the Boltons from Winterfell had been one of the biggest battles of his life, even if he didn’t personally fight in it due to his injuries. The politics involved in reshaping the new kingdoms and forming the council were at least interesting. Directing and helping with the rebuilding of the portions of Winterfell the Boltons had burned was satisfying work. He had waited on edge for the status reports from the captain of the group of men he sent out to search for Arya.
But that was all done, now. The Boltons were stripped of their riches and given to the girl who had most suffered them. Bran sat in Kings Landing on the council. The castle was in even better shape than it had been when he was a boy. The search had been fruitless. Once again, the kingdoms were on the brink of war. And here he was, writing tedious letters to pompous lords as he struggled to stay awake.
