4 The Herald of the People

A/N: So, before this chapter begins I want it to be very clear exactly what 'twice the charisma of a normal man' means. You see, for you or me, a good analogy for a debate with Alistair would be something like this. You challenge your friend to a good old fashioned 1 km foot race. Just for fun. He says sure. On the day, he arrives with a bicycle. You ask, 'why do you have a bicycle? isn't that cheating?' He then says, 'ha ha, yeah, it is... so when do we start?' Then when you splutter for an answer, he points behind you and says 'Hey! What's that?' And when you turn around there is nothing. When you turn to ask what the hell that was for, he has already started cycling away. The bike in this analogy is his charisma, and the head start is the natural predisposition we humans have for beautiful things. In other words, unless your friend gets a metaphorical crossbow bolt to the knee, which would be something like him having killed your bff, making you, you know, slightly less likely to agree with him, or an actual crossbow bolt to the knee if he was trying to be intimidating, then he is going to win that conversation. (BTW, I spent some time looking things up, and the average long distance running/cycling speed is nearly a doubling ratio.)

---

Jack was almost sure that he and Alistair would die on this trip. He had known that from the start of course. They were two smallfolk joining a rebellion against the crown which had barely even begun rebelling. Which was to say that, last they heard, the Arryn forces were still trying to take Gull town so they could actually leave the Vale and begin the rebellion. Even that information was horribly outdated and inaccurate, seeing as they had left King's Landing three days earlier, and the latest information had been from a week before even that. He knew it was better information then most had, but it was frustrating when the Union usually only acted inside of King's Landing, where all their information was fresh.

But at the very least they were well armed. Well, he was well armed, and he assumed that Alistair was well armed. He wasn't sure though, since he had never seen a blade like the one Alistair wielded, which didn't honestly carry a lot of weight coming from him, but it was still a bit strange to wonder where in the world Alistair got the idea of a 'Swiss saber' from. He was far more comfortable with his own kite shield, chain mail, crusader helm, and one-handed sword. Even if all of it was a bit heavy to walk around with.

Their nightly practice had gone surprisingly well, with Alistair somehow knowing the basics from 'HEMA videos', and having some weird kind of instinct built through 'virtual reality'. Jack was sure he was lying, and that he was either in more fights than the rest of them knew, or that swordplay was just another one of those things Alistair could just- just do. For some inexplicable reason, Alistair knew things the rest of them had never even stopped to think about. Like incredible knowledge on a variety of highly theoretical subjects, or how to make completely unheard-of dishes, or so many other things.

But it was fine, especially because Alistair learned things very quickly, even the few things he didn't know ahead of time, and because he was an amazing teacher at whatever he knew. He was especially gifted at things which required finesse, which his sword seemed perfect for, and insurmountably gifted at anything even tangentially connected to emotion, communication, and people as a subject. The last one was probably helped along a great deal by looking like some servant of the seven descended to right all the wrongs of the world. When his two talents collided, such as with the charcoal art he regularly drew on the walls of their less posh locations, it was spectacular. There was life in those eyes. It was… haunting. And great for business.

But even though dying was the expectation, he would have appreciated it if they at least made it to the rebellion in the first place, rather than the situation they now found themselves in. Surrounded by bandits.

Alistair knew that on some level or another, their current issue was his fault. Actually, it was his fault on multiple layers. From the basest, it being his idea to travel in the first place, to a far more applicable argument, namely that he had repeatedly ignored all the banditry victims warning them of the bandits ahead. To be utterly and completely fair with no bias towards himself, he did have his reasons to ignore them. Mainly an expectation of minimal intelligence from the bandits themselves. Because honestly, House Staedmon of Broad Arch, who would have a great interest in swiftly dealing with highwaymen, was barely a days ride away on horseback. Meanwhile, King's Landing, notoriously slow to actually handle any problem, be it a rebellion or a bandit group, was four days away at the very least. They weren't murderous bandits, letting their victims away only with a lighter pocket to show for their journey, so it would only make sense to delay information spreading as much as possible. He assumed they would be allowed to walk right past them.

And now, they were surrounded by thirty guilty looking farmers, who were telling them to lay down their swords and equipment, or they would, in their own words 'be, uh, forced to do somethin' mighty rude, or some such'.

Well, he was Alistair Albright, CEO of the Biscuits Union, Man of Rebellion, Aspiring Voice of the People, Scourge of King's Landing's Wealthy Upper Class, and founder of the very first Illegal People's Rights Activism Group. And damn it, he was an inventor of many titles of dubious legitimacy for himself in stressful situations to take the edge off and allow himself to act with all he had.

He would not let himself and his friend be robbed by bandits with so little decency as to not even graphicly describe that there was a threat to both their lives and their limbs should they not obey.

Jack was standing with his back against Alistair's, and while Alistair would never forget that Jack was willing to stand with him alone against thirty men, it was quite counterproductive towards his impromptu plan.

"Jack, what are doing?" Alistair chuckled as he patted Jack on the shoulder, laughing as though Jack was a bit silly for preparing his weapons when surrounded. "This is exactly what we wanted, isn't it? Now we simply need to ask a question of these fine gentlemen. Although, I suppose it would be more of a favour than a question."

The bandits had paused, and Alistair took a moment to survey them, and as he did his suspicions were confirmed. They wore sturdy clothes stained with mud, grass, and other such things, and wielded mainly axes, grain-flails, sickles, and an assortment of other tools. One commonality clearly seen in all the tools, however, was an overwhelming tendency for them to be harvesting tools, rather than planting tools. Clearly, they were farmers who had celebrated too soon in the false spring, and been tricked by their own hunger into eating more than they could afford to. Alistair assumed that their ingenious plan was to rob some of the wealthy who had the time and ability to travel until they gathered enough to stave off the hunger, or spring arrived and they would be needed once again at their farm.

The same man who had spoken before spoke once again. He was clearly still unused to his role as bandit captain, which was a given, considering he could have been a bandit for no longer than three days if he had robbed people on their way to Broad Arch.

"What do you want to ask for? And if you're gonna be asking for us to let you go, then forget it. We're sorry, but we need to do this," He said, and although it was very clear that he was absolutely honest when he claimed not to have any deep seeded wish for banditry, he was also very steel-like in his tone when he said it was something they needed to do.

"What? Are you mad? Of course we will ask you to let us go, if we didn't, it would be a complete break with the social etiquette of robbery! And where are we, as a society, if even robbery breaks down into uncivilised debauchery?" They stared at him as though he was insane, but Alistair simply cleared his throat before any of them could speak, and with his most robotic and unengaged voice normally reserved for when he worked at institutions such as supermarkets, he intoned. "Please, let us go free. We have nothing of value. Ignore our swords. Please." Alistair paused for a moment, as if considering his previous words, then nodded in satisfaction. "Well, now that the formalities of common politeness are taken care of, I think it is time for civilized discussions, highwayman to highway-traverser."

A moment passed, then chuckles and laughter broke out within the clearing. Alistair smiled at his success. He couldn't be sure whether it was his superhuman charisma of eighteen or simply his natural sense of humour, but it did work.

"Alright, we'll get a earful from both our mothers and our wives if we don't respect common respect, so why don't you come with us and we'll talk about whatever you want to ask us." The leader said, before waving for he and Jack to follow him and most of his men into the forest. Some, though, stayed behind to watch for other travellers.

Alistair spent the rest of the day charming all the would-be bandits, first with tales of the more wild and funny adventures of the Biscuits Union, and specifically those less criminal ones, and then a bit of tragedy when they asked what the Biscuits Union was to gain sympathy for his eventual proposition. After he had firmly established himself as a person who was both impressive in talent and entertaining to know, he showed them that to him, they were important and mattered. It was done through a simple social cornerstone to being liked, and it was by asking to their families and being interested in what kind of lives they lived. In other words, he practiced the sorrowfully uncommon skill of listening, and caring. All the while, he tastefully danced around the question of his own question.

Night had long fallen and they sat around a campfire. Jack had taken to staring at him in what Alistair thought was mystified wonder at some point in the day, but after a quick reminder that they needed to charm the people present, he began to relate to them in an even more personal manner. They were the perfect team, really. The loyal, kind, slightly-gruff-with-a-heart-of-gold, everyman to engage with them on a personal and relatable level, and the wildly charismatic dreamer with grand ideals of a better world and large goals.

The forest was dark around them, trees lit only by the dancing flames. The orange light of the large fire they were gathered around swayed in a constant dance, as low murmers had overtaken the clearing, and low laughs were heard rather than the raucous howls from earlier. Alistair was quietly conversing with a man on his children, Dahlia and Wyll, as he shared stories of them and reminisced on the one occasion where they attempted to help him by ploughing his field before he woke up so he could play with them. They hadn't done it correctly, of course, however Wyllis hadn't had the heart to tell them that as they stood proudly and asked if they could play with him instead. Alistair laughed then, when Willis revealed that they had still figured it out the next day when he of course had to replough the field. It had, however, become a bit of a tradition from then on that once a year they would wake before dawn to do most of a days work, and then take the rest off and spend it together as a family.

It was in this quiet, simple enjoyment of new friends and conversation that Horyce, the leader, spoke. "So, Alistair, when you first talked to us you said that you had a single question which could also be a favour. I think I speak for everyone here when I say that I'm happy to have talked more than that, but I can't deny that I'm quite curious on your first question."

Alistair thought for a moment, and then concluded that he had enough of a repour with them to begin the final phase. He had spoken and listened and had quite the feel for his reluctant robber friends.

Alistair turned his head and blinked for a moment, ensuring that it seemed clear to everyone that he had been extremely engaged with his conversation with Willis. Then he shook his head to clear it, emulating a habit he had seen displayed by them multiple times, before speaking as he rose up and began to pace before the fire. "I see no reason not to."

Alistair paused for a moment, as if considering his question. "It is rather simple, really, and if it doesn't seem completely friendly, then I would like for it to be remembered that I was very much your victim at the time, so that score should be even," Alistair said cheekily, chuckling being heard around the fire. It was a small trick to ensure that his question would still hold the same weight, except only with less of the responsibility of that weight falling to him by disassociating from the reason for the weight, and even laying the responsibility at their feet subconsciously.

"Is this truly all you wish to-" Alistair paused for the briefest of moments, "-do?" It was clear that 'be', as in, be bandits, was unspoken due to friendliness, a little play on their own guilt to begin with. "I mean, I understand that you need to do something to save your families, and I understand why. I've heard stories about them for half the night, and now I am half-tempted to join you, and help your families prosper," Alistair may have been a bit obvious in making it clear that he also cared for their families, but it was something which needed to be addressed since it was their greatest priority.

"But that wouldn't truly solve the issue we, the people are faced with," It was also important to ensure that they all thought of everyone present as a single greater community, or at least a group of some kind. "The problem is that a hundred innocent people starving to death is not perceived as a problem to the lords who decide our fate, at least not before they gain less gold to spend on themselves after having less of your hard-earned crops to sell for far more then they spent to buy it." He was pacing faster, making them visually interpret that the situation was becoming heated, more swift, more important to take immediate action towards.

"But what can we even do? We have no way of speaking to those actually capable of helping us live better lives with greater leaders, and should we finally stand up for ourselves, we will accomplish nothing more than perhaps a single victory over a single lord. And before long, all the other lords would band together the crush the mere whiff of a threat to their rule, no matter how just our cause was." Their anger was rising, as they saw the inherently suppressive system that feudalism was painted out so clearly.

"But…" Alistair halted in the middle of his path, the single softly spoken word drawing attention in the hush which had fallen at his pause. "Now is our chance. The Mad King will never pardon or accept the fact that two young men no older than two decades refused to be killed for the crimes of the crown prince. Systems are changing, the world as Westeros has known it for the last three hundred years is in upheaval and the only resolution is either that a madman willing to burn a father before the eyes of his son, even as he kills the son himself, remains on the throne, and nothing changes other than that man's further descent into madness." It was also important to outline clearly the villain of the piece, to make them see that should they stand against such an evil, they would never again have to feel guilty for their petty robberies.

"Or… We could embrace the rebellion. You met us on the path towards Storm's End, to swear our loyalty to the rebellion. We will fight for even the chance that we might become important enough to change things, to make the realm a place which serves everyone, not only those who rule it." A large goal, a goal which mattered very much to them.

"But we cannot do it alone. Two men are not that important. So, I stand here to beg for your help to give the people a voice, to help not only your own village, but every remote hamlet from the coldest north to the deserts of Dorne. Because we are the people, and we can change the realm. But only if we try to do so."

Alistair Albright had left King's landing with a single man at his side. Forty days later, after traversing routes meant to avoid anyone who might recognize the former bandits accompanying him, he arrived at Storm's End, with near two hundred men all gathered to stand for the people of the realm.

And as it turned out, levels were gained based more on the impact his actions had, and as such, assembling an army had quite the impact. Especially one composed largely of villagers from disputed or remote villages, who would have never joined the rebellion had he not called them together.

Allister very much enjoyed supernatural charisma.