Playground

I tossed my squ-... former squire onto the battlement and plopped down on the wet parpet, resting my chin on my palm. Beyond, the once verdant plains of grass that surrounded burned where they were not charred earth.

A creation of my own two hands, or claws, and yet one I didn't find myself caring for.

"So, we meet again, Robb." I couldn't help the slight nostalgic smile that crept onto my lips. 

This distinct scene reminded me of a meeting with young Morgott, when the Royal Capital was besieged by the near-overwhelming forces of Godefroy the Grafted.

I narrowed my eyes, and realised that Robb was frozen to the point he seemed to forget to breathe. Unceremoniously, I clapped my hands together but even that didn't work.

With a sigh, I turned to Addam, "How you been, kid?"

"Quite well, ser," Addam said politely, averting his gaze. 

I couldn't help but cock my head at his words. He was being such a stranger for someone who'd talked to me like a friend not too long ago... Hm, perhaps it had been long for a human?

"Why the sudden formality? I thought we were friends."

He didn't answer, but his eyes briefly flickered to the fields beyond and I was able to put two and two together. 

With a shrug, I jumped off the parapet and dusted my hands.

"You should tell him to come find me when he's over his..." I looked to Robb again, "whatever this is."

"O-Of course!" He ducked his head.

With a sad sigh, I wandered off to the bridge connecting the walls and one of the five sky-high towers that made up the ancient and molten castle of Harrenhal.

I'd passed it by before, and was quite curious about the structure of it all considering the sheer size of the walls. This was an opportunity to sate said curiosity.

Unfortunately, it seemed that would have to wait a bit.

A single glance off the side of the bridge revealed a rather odd sight.

Men, countless men, rivermen and northmen both, knelt on their knees, hanging their heads low. Well... those of them that weren't passed out completely, or foaming at the mouth.

An odd sight, indeed.

"I don't see the appeal," I mused to myself as I gave them an awkward wave of my hand.

I imagined this was the sort of fear and respect Marika had waged endless war to create, to firmly take the throne as God-Queen of the Lands Between and that lived within.

The question was, why?

Nothing was eternal. All would lose to time.

Placidusax and the dragons had thought they would hold dominion for all time, over all that was and would come. The Hornsent thought the same of the lands they held, and the Gods they appeased with ritual and sacrifice.

We had proven them wrong ourselves, with steel and fire and death itself.

The only way to beat Flaccidusax and any God had been to forge weapons of his scales. Scales that twisted time itself but proved beyond doubt that time would overcome all.

The one path forward was to adapt to its passage, and grow.

Everything rigid would either bend or it would break.

Such was true for all.

I cleared my throat, and the castle was silent enough that I was certain that the wind must have carried my voice throughout its cavernous depths.

"For what is fair and just to the heart."

Certainly, the words of someone who'd slaughtered a hundred thousand men, their lords and their kings with them, would be adhered to, if only for a small age.

"Just don't be dicks to each other and I doubt I'll do this again." I finished with a clap of my hands.

That would have to be enough, there was little else I could've said to convey my thoughts... At least little else that wouldn't be misconstrued and twisted to better suit the ugliness that often took root in the hearts of men.

And if they did mess up again. Well, I'd never proclaimed definitively that this was the first or last time this sort of thing was going to happen.

They gave me no answer for my one-sided declaration, instead it seemed as though they were bowing their heads lower than before. 

Again, before I could be on my merry way, someone called out to me. This time it was Robb Stark, the young Lord of the ever-distant Winterfell. Breathless and shaken as he was, Robb only managed to croak out a single word.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" I asked, curious. "Don't tell me you've never scolded a child? Ah, this must seem a tad extreme to you."

In that moment, the fiery haired Stark looked as though he had suddenly aged a decade. I walked over to him, and patted his shoulder as consolation.

"I wouldn't worry too much, young lord." I gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. "Humans have condemned each other to worse over the years. It seems that's the case in this world too."

If it wasn't true already, it would be true sooner or later... but that did not make it right, and so I did not profess myself as ruler. I had driven my own kind to extinction. My right to rule was lost there and then.

Robb went silent for a moment, then said, "You don't care."

"No, I do. But not like one of you could. Keep this between you and me but I'm pretty old." I flashed him a grin and bumped a fist against my own shoulder.

Maybe I was wrong for acting this way, but I found it better to be this than all foreboding and grim all hours of the day.

"Is your mother around?" I looked around curiously.

"I sent her to Winterfell," He spoke cautiously. That was good. He was learning. Best of all, he understood he was talking on behalf of his people and that he HAD to.

"And little Arya?"

Robb slowly shook his head, "I tried... but she hid."

He then turned around, and gazed at the ruin that surrounded the castle. 

"You're... playing."

Oh?

Again, Robb measured his words, being certain to avoid any form of perceived disrespect. "I see... why you'll not rule. It would tie you down. Then, why Stannis?"

I pursed my lips and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Robb's face drained of all life.

"It may not seem like it to you, but I do care. I think I wouldn't make a good ruler, no one long-lived would. So, as before, I've decided to stand behind someone who would, you know, make a good ruler."

As was with the Tarnished. In a story, I wouldn't be the hero who spread peace, and happiness and justice and all things good. Not after what I'd done throughout my life.

I would be the curious wanderer that would fade into obscurity if he didn't show up from time to time.

"And to you... it's Stannis." Robb said after some time.

I shrugged,

"Admittedly, Stannis does have a tendency to play to his inner arsonist a bit too often but I've noticed it's been dulling down recently. But eh, out of all the options available, I think he's the best choice. Ceremony and rights and all that stuff that matters oh so much to you folks. Personally, I don't really care." 

"Then," Robb said suddenly, lowering his gaze. "if you were to find Daenerys Targaryen a better option?"

I sincerely doubted the possibility of that. Then there were the little tidbits of rumours going around the port cities of Gulltown and White Harbour from across the narrow sea.

"Good example," I nodded, putting a hand to my chin. "But, from what I hear. She's been leading a bunch of mercenaries and horse-worshipping ironborn around while crucifying her enemies. So, she's not really a good option. Especially if she thinks she can make them change their ways."

The crucifixion part brought up another set of memories I didn't wish to visit. Having to do with the litany of punishments Marika had thought were fitting for... whomsoever she deemed deserving.

"I'm willing to bet all my coin the ironborn would have called their own god a pretender or something if he told them to stop reaving." I joked before turning around and marching across the bridge.

"You were an option too, Robb Stark."

My gaze wandered to one of the tall windows looking down at us from one of the towers, then narrowed on a small head poking out of it. The head quickly ducked down, but not quick enough.

A simple flight of stairs and a dilapidated wooden door barely hanging on its rusted hinges saw me arrive in a room with the barebones furniture. The ceiling was far too high, and the one chair in the room was placed too far from the single bed lying near the window.

But, all that mattered little for now. I found my 'target' hiding under a shoddy wooden table that, again, was way too far away from the other furniture. 

"I guess Harren Hoare didn't think about the logistics," I mused. "But then again, most of these places are built to look cool anyway."

I approached the table and crouched, arm over a knee, "Whatcha up to, Arya?"

The little Stark hiding under the table with her legs curled looked the other way with a huff, not meeting my gaze.

"Did you see the dragon outside? It was pretty cool."

"...That was you. Only people like Joffrey the bastard praise themselves."

Ouch.

She huffed and turned her head aside again. Her child-like naivete had stopped her from experiencing fear like the older folks and instead increased the sense of wonder about what she had witnessed.

Still, she was angry with me for some reason. That just wouldn't do. Children were precious.

"Did I upset you?" I asked plainly.

She gazed at me from the corner of her eyes, before huffing... again.

"I thought we were friends. Friends tell each other when they're mad, don't they? Or are we not friends anymore?"

"You're a liar," She whispered, low enough that no one could have heard.

I cocked my head, "I don't think so. I've made a point of telling things as they are, even if people find them hard to believe."

"You said you weren't a swordsman so you wouldn't have to teach me... But you taught Addam."

How did she even remember that?

"It was true though. I'm not really a swordsman."

"You defeated the Mountain!" She complained loud, then her eyes widened and she went back to whispering. "You defeated the Mountain, and killed a Kingsguard."

Meryn Trant? 

I'd all but forgotten him. But in my defense, he was quite the forgettable sort.

"Even you could kill Meryn Trant," I chuckled. "Hell, if I didn't move, he'd probably have tripped and impaled himself on his own sword."

"Stop trying to make me forget. You lied."

"Again, I didn't. When you're as old as me, you can't really be 'bad' at any weapon. But, compared to say, Malenia, I think you'll find my skill with a blade lacking."

I had always fought by finely manipulating every single speck of overwhelming destructive power, not by skillful martial arts or mastery over the magic arts like the Dryleaf Monks or the Sorcerers of Raya Lucaria.

"Stop making excuses like Mother."

"Alright. Alright," I relented, raising my hands in surrender. "What do you want my guidance with?"

"Dancing!" Arya said excitedly. She crawled out from under her little table and bolted out of the room, leaving me to scratch my head in confusion.

"Dancing?"

Well... I guess I did have some knowledge to impart?

None had the right to judge me for it. Immortality was a very long time.

-

Hope you enjoyed.

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