A GLIMPSE BEHIND THE IMPERIAL MASK

Author's Note: This is a non-profit fanfiction based on A Song of Ice and Fire. It is part of a larger story world I plan to adapt into an original novel. All names, places, and affiliations may change in the future.

ROBB

The imperial carriage rocked gently as it wound through the mountain pass, its wheels turning over roads more finely crafted than any in Westeros. Robb had initially been impressed by how smooth the journey felt despite the rugged terrain—another reminder of Yi Ti's advanced engineering. Four weeks into their journey from the capital, and he was still discovering new aspects of this foreign civilization that challenged his Northern perspective.

He gazed out the window at the passing landscape, an undulating tapestry of forests and rivers that gradually gave way to foothills. They had left the bustling provinces surrounding Yin behind days ago, venturing into regions that reminded him somewhat of the rolling hills near White Harbor—though here, every available patch of arable land had been meticulously cultivated.

Inside the carriage, silence reigned as it had for much of their journey. Ruyan sat across from him, her posture perfect despite the vehicle's occasional jostling, her gaze fixed on a scroll she'd been studying for the past hour. Though they travelled together, they might as well have been alone for all the meaningful conversation that passed between them.

For someone who wants this alliance, Robb thought, she seems intent on selling Yi Ti's achievements rather than her own merits.

It was a pattern he'd noticed throughout their journey. Ruyan would explain the history, function, and significance of everything they encountered, but revealed almost nothing of herself. In Winterfell, noble families arranging marriages would highlight the prospective bride's accomplishments, temperament, and domestic skills. Yet Ruyan seemed determined to make this transaction entirely about what her empire could offer, not what kind of wife she might be.

The realization was both frustrating and oddly telling. Did she assume her personal qualities were irrelevant to the bargain? Or—and this thought disturbed him more—had she been trained to view herself merely as a vessel for imperial ambitions, her personality subsumed by her duty?

"How much farther to the governor's residence?" Robb asked, breaking the silence.

Ruyan looked up from her scroll. "We should arrive by nightfall. The province of Tiqui lies just beyond the next mountain range."

She returned to her reading without elaborating. Robb suppressed a sigh. Most of their exchanges followed this pattern—his question, her precise but minimal answer, and a return to silence. When they did converse at length, it was usually about aspects of Yi Ti's governance or advancement, topics that invariably evolved into thinly veiled arguments about the comparative merits of their respective cultures.

The few personal insights he'd gathered about Ruyan had come primarily from her siblings or Master Wei, rather than the princess herself. She remained an enigma wrapped in layers of imperial protocol and personal reserve.

"I'm told this province is known for its agricultural innovations," Robb ventured again, seeking any conversation to break the monotony. "Master Wei mentioned rice terraces."

"Yes," Ruyan replied, carefully moving her scroll aside. "The Tiqui region is renowned for its tiered rice cultivation. The terraces allow farming on mountainsides that would otherwise be unsuitable for crops. The same families have maintained some for over twenty generations."

This time, something in her tone suggested personal interest rather than mere recitation of facts. Robb seized on it.

"You've been here before?"

"Once," she answered, her gaze shifting to the window. "Once as a child with my mother, then again during my educational tours."

It was the most personal information she'd volunteered in days. Robb watched her profile as she looked out at the passing landscape, noting how the afternoon light softened her features. For a brief moment, she seemed less like the imperial princess and more like a young woman with genuine interests beyond her duty.

"Did you enjoy it?" he pressed gently. "The visit, I mean."

Ruyan turned back to him, and he thought he detected surprise in her expression as if the question was unexpected. "The province has much to offer in terms of agricultural knowledge."

"That's not what I asked," Robb said, unable to keep a hint of frustration from his voice. "Did you enjoy being there?"

She studied him with those enigmatic dark eyes. "Yes," she finally said. "The mountains and terraces possess a certain tranquillity that I... appreciate."

The admission, small as it was, felt like a victory. Robb nodded, unsure how to proceed without losing this tenuous connection. They lapsed back into silence, though it felt less strained than before.

As their journey continued, the terrain changed dramatically. They emerged from a mountain pass to reveal a vista that momentarily robbed Robb of words. Spread before them were cascading terraces carved into the mountainsides, creating an impossible staircase of shimmering water and vibrant green. The rice paddies followed the land's natural contours, transforming steep slopes into productive fields that reflected the late afternoon sun like thousands of mirrors.

"Gods," he breathed, leaning closer to the window. "It's beautiful."

"The terraces of Tiqui," Ruyan said, and for once, her voice carried a hint of pride untethered to imperial achievements. "Some are over 3000 years old."

The carriage began its descent along a switchback road that offered increasingly detailed views of the agricultural marvel. Workers stood ankle-deep in flooded terraces, their conical hats shielding them from the sun as they tended the young rice plants. Water buffalo pulled ploughs through lower fields, guided by farmers who sang rhythmic work songs that floated up to their carriage.

"How do they keep the water in place?" Robb asked, genuinely curious. "The North has hills that could benefit from such techniques, particularly around Barrowton."

"Clay-lined channels and precisely calculated gradients," Ruyan explained. "Water from the mountain flows from the highest terrace to the lowest, carrying nutrients to each level. The system is designed to conserve water and soil—nothing is wasted."

As they descended further, Robb noticed other crops growing alongside the terraces—vegetables in carefully tended plots, fruit trees that formed windbreaks between fields. Every inch of arable land was utilized, creating a productivity that put even the Reach to shame.

He remembered something Ruyan had once mentioned — a strain of rice whose husks, when burned and ground, were mixed with lime to form a kind of mountain cement. She'd called it an old form of sān hé tǔ — three-part earth. Food turned to foundation.

Master Wei, riding in a separate carriage, joined them when they stopped at a waypoint. "The governor has prepared accommodations at the provincial resthouse," he informed them. "We should arrive shortly before dinner."

The provincial resthouse proved far more modest than the imperial palaces and guest residences Robb had grown accustomed to in the capital. Built in a simple but elegant style, it featured open courtyards, sliding paper doors, and bamboo furnishings designed to blend with rather than dominate the natural surroundings. The aesthetic spoke of harmony with nature rather than conquest over it—a philosophy Robb found surprisingly resonant with Northern sensibilities, despite the vast differences in execution.

After settling into his chambers and changing from his travel clothes, Robb joined Ruyan and Master Wei for a meeting with the provincial governor, a dignified man named Liu Chen. To Robb's surprise, Governor Liu did not fit his expectations of a highborn administrator. His hands bore calluses from early years of labor, his face weathered by experience rather than preserved by privilege. When Master Wei explained the governor's background—rising from humble beginnings by earning the highest scores in the imperial examinations before eventually requesting this provincial post—Robb couldn't help but contrast this with Westeros, where birth almost universally determined one's station.

"Prince Jian explained to me about the imperial examinations when we were touring the administrative offices in the capital," Robb commented. "It seems a remarkable system to find talent even amongst commoners."

Governor Liu's eyes crinkled with quiet amusement. "The young lord speaks kindly of our traditions."

"Indeed it is remarkable," Master Wei acknowledged with unexpected candor, "but it is not perfect. For many, this is their only path to rise through the ranks, but that in itself breeds desperate ambitions. The system has its histories of cheating and corruption through the years."

Robb glanced at Ruyan, surprised by this admission of institutional weakness. She met his gaze steadily, neither embarrassed by the revelation nor attempting to contradict it. The honesty was unexpected—throughout their journey, he had been shown Yi Ti's strengths, but here was an acknowledgment of its flaws.

"How were such matters handled?" Robb inquired, genuinely curious.

"Previous emperors imposed increasingly severe punishments for those caught in corruption," Master Wei explained. "Death or exile for an entire clan became the standard penalty, which served as a powerful deterrent."

Robb felt a chill at the extremity of such collective punishment. The North had harsh justice—his father had taught him that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword—but to condemn an entire family for one member's transgression seemed excessive. Yet he had to acknowledge that systems developed in response to the cultures that created them; what seemed extreme to Northern sensibilities might be necessary in a civilization of millions.

"Administrative inspectors travel from province to province in disguise," Master Wei continued, his voice warming as he glanced toward Governor Liu. "They investigate claims of corruption, but their methods also identify those who govern with integrity and genuine concern for the common people."

Governor Liu bowed his head modestly at the implicit compliment.

"He is among the capable many who prefer provincial postings," Master Wei explained. "While less prestigious than court positions, they offer greater autonomy and the satisfaction of seeing one's policies directly impact people's lives."

Robb nodded, beginning to understand the practical value of a system that, despite its imperfections, created paths for talent to rise and serve effectively. It wasn't flawless—what human institution was?—but its practical outcomes spoke for themselves in the well-organized province surrounding them.

The dinner that followed was simpler than imperial banquets, featuring local specialties prepared with minimal embellishment to highlight their natural flavors. Throughout the meal, Governor Liu asked thoughtful questions about Northern agriculture, climate challenges, and growing seasons, showing genuine interest in Robb's homeland rather than dismissing it as primitive."

As servants cleared the tables, Robb found himself reflecting on the day's conversations. For the first time, he felt he was seeing Yi Ti not as an overwhelming, perfect civilization designed to impress him into alliance, but as a complex society with both remarkable achievements and genuine challenges. Ruyan had shown him both strengths and weaknesses, suggesting a level of honesty he hadn't previously credited her with.

The realization was uncomfortable. It was easier to resist when he could view Yi Ti as merely seeking to dazzle him with perfection. The admission of flaws alongside strengths made the empire's achievements somehow more impressive, more human, and paradoxically, more difficult to dismiss.

"Tomorrow," the governor announced, "we have arranged a tour of the terraces and irrigation systems. You'll see our techniques firsthand."

As the evening concluded, Governor Liu's seven-year-old daughter appeared, a shy girl with bright eyes who bowed formally to the imperial visitors. When Ruyan spoke to her surprisingly gently, the child's reserved demeanour melted into excited chatter.

"Princess, will you come see the river with me tomorrow?" the girl asked, forgetting protocol in her enthusiasm. "Water flowers are blooming now—all pink and white!"

"If there is time after our official duties," Ruyan replied, neither promising nor refusing outright.

The next morning dawned clear and warm, perfect for their planned excursion. The governor had arranged a modest picnic by the river to conclude their agricultural tour. While Robb discussed irrigation techniques with Governor Liu and Master Wei, he noticed Ruyan walking along the riverbank with the governor's daughter, excitedly pointing out different flowers.

The child ran ahead, gathering blossoms from the water's edge, then returned to present her collection to Ruyan with solemn ceremony. From a distance, Robb watched as Ruyan accepted the wildflowers with formal thanks. And then—so briefly he might have imagined it—her lips curved into a small but genuine smile, a delicate expression that transformed her usually impassive features.

The smile vanished almost immediately, but its effect lingered in Robb's mind. It was the first genuine, unguarded emotion he'd witnessed from her—not calculated for diplomatic advantage or imperial presentation, but simply human.

He stared, trying to reconcile this momentary glimpse of warmth with the cold, efficient princess he thought he knew. The girl with the flowers, the woman who "appreciated" mountain tranquillity, the imperial daughter who spoke gently to a provincial child—could she be the same person who had calmly discussed using medical knowledge as a weapon?

As the day progressed, Robb observed Ruyan with a new interest, noticing small details he had previously overlooked or dismissed. The careful way she listened to the farmers explain their methods, the respectful attention she gave to local officials regardless of their rank, and the precise but graceful way she moved through the world all suggested someone trained to perfection rather than naturally cold.

The possibility that her reserve might be armour rather than essence was intriguing and unsettling. If Ruyan's coldness was a constructed facade, what lay beneath it? And more importantly, could he ever truly know her well enough to consider binding his life to hers?

When they returned to their carriages to continue their journey to the northern mining regions, Robb noticed the wildflowers carefully wrapped in damp cloth that Ruyan placed in a lacquered box. It was such a small thing—a child's gift preserved—yet it suggested a sentimentality at odds with everything he thought he knew about her.

The carriage began to move, carrying them toward the next destination on their tour. Across from him, Ruyan had already returned to her usual composed self, but Robb found himself wondering how much of what he saw was the person and how much was the princess. He was beginning to realize that the distinction might be crucial to any decision about their potential future.

He acknowledged silently that the North needs what Yi Ti can offer. But I need more than a cold political partnership to consider this alliance.

As the rice terraces fell behind them and the terrain shifted toward the more rugged landscape of the northern mountains, Robb resolved to look more carefully for those unguarded moments—those brief glimpses of the person behind the imperial mask. If he was to make a decision that would affect not only his life but the future of the North itself, he needed to know who Ruyan truly was, not merely what she represented.