Heavy Hangs the Head

Alistair glanced around at the six people within his room. Present were, naturally, the five other founders of the Biscuits Union, two girls a bit older than him, and three boys, two older, one his age. Then there was the proverbial odd man out. Only two people within the room were already aware of the events which had transpired within The Red Keep. Himself, of course, and Hal, through Varys. Well, realistically speaking, he would have been informed through another little bird, rather than Varys himself.

"Welcome, all, to my humble abode. Especially you, Jack," amused chuckles were heard as Jack playfully rolled his eyes from where he sat at the head of his bed.

Alistair leaned forwards on his chair, settling his elbows on his knees as he glanced around the room. He knew, of course, that they were not yet finished with their fun, however, cutting through a festive atmosphere was, he found, an effective way to communicate severity. The room he and Jack shared was ordinarily rather cosy, with two beds, a desk, and chairs for them to work at. Now, with three members of the union seated on each bed, him on a chair between the ends of the bed, and a single lantern in the middle of their little gathering, it was still cosy. Or rather, it was cosy and would remain as such until he made his plans clear. After that, he expected a rather strained response to his master plan.

"The first appointment on our agenda is a question we have all preferred to ignore for longer than we should have. Hal," Alistair turned the full weight of his attention to Hal, keeping his face intense for long enough to make his face pale before he allowed his features to settle into a more caring expression. He was first and foremost their friend after all, even if he remained too afraid to leave Varys' service and join with them fully.

"I would first like to make it clear that we will not harm you, no matter your answer. Firstly due to you being no more than, what, ten-and-three? And secondly due to you being a member of The Union, which would be enough even if you were thirty-and-one. Mistakes are human nature, and we will not fault anyone for remaining cautious in King's Landing after living as urchins for large parts of our lives."

Hal sagged in relief, and Alistair was faintly sure he saw tears bead in the corners of his eyes before Hal quickly turned aside and brushed them away. Alistair glanced at the other people in the room. Corrin seemed satisfied with both the speech and Hal's reaction, while Arnol was predictably less thrilled. He had always been one of the most unforgiving members of the founders. Jack kept his face carefully neutral for a moment, before he reached to pat Hal on the back after he continued to sniffle. Rather predictable, really. Jack's shell of indifference had always been quick to crumble under the weight of others' suffering. Reyane was much Like Arnold, except with less sympathy, while Sandra was quite akin to Corrin, except with more sympathy.

"As soon as you are ready, Hal, we will need an answer regarding your loyalties. We make no demands on your loyalty, mind you, however, we do need to know what degree of information we can safely share with you. You are welcome to continue in Varys' service, and if that is your choice, then you will remain within the Biscuits Union, except with more surprises, as we will not be able to tell you everything."

Hal stilled, before looking to Alistair in undisguised bewilderment and confusion. The rest were also rather confused, seeing as I had yet to explain that part of my plan as of yet. "W-Wait, you'd really let a traitor, who you know is still a traitor, stay with you? Why?"

"I honestly thought my reasoning was rather clear." Alistair could not help the slight smirk that came over his face. "You're part of the Biscuits Union now, Hal, and our goal is to make the world a better place, even if it is only through giving bastards, orphans, prostitutes and other forgotten souls a chance at a better life. And when you join the Union, there is no path to escape. You're stuck with us."

Alistair ensured that he looked at Hal with as much brotherly care as he could accomplish, until Hal cracked and turned to Jack for comfort. It was important that Hal understood that they were a family. Besides, it did not actually make his ploy any less probable to succeed if he drew forth a sizeable emotional reaction. Alistair glanced around at the other founders, using his charisma of seventeen, a single point gained through his level up during the murders of Brandon and Rickard, to examine their faces. He inwardly smiled in satisfaction as he noticed them grudgingly agree with his reasoning. It was exactly what he hoped to accomplish through confronting Hal with them present. It would not do, after all, for them to become callous while they led The Union in his absence.

"Now, onto far less pleasant matters - No offence, Hal, but I choose to interpret your uncontrolled sobs as an indication of accent to your loyalty to The Union," Hal briefly raised a thumbs up, from where he sat huddled against Jack, who seemed fine with comforting Hal.

"As for those unpleasantries I came bearing, it seems, to me, probable that the realm will soon be embroiled in yet another rebellion."

The room stilled, silent as a forest before a storm came to rip it up, root and stem. Alistair took the opportunity to transition from his formerly lighthearted tone into one far more serious, one matching his posture.

"How, do you know about the rebellion so soon?" Arnol asked, his arms crossed as he searched for some fault in Alistair's assertion, some way to avoid the truth. Some shelter from the coming storm.

"Rhaegar Targaryen stacked the logs for his house's very own funeral pyre by kidnapping and raping the daughter of a paramount house. Aerys Targaryen then, rather fittingly, poured wildfire on said pyre by murdering Brandon and Rickard Stark earlier this very day in an incredibly gruesome fashion, before the eyes of the entire court. Then, to spare any shameless opportunist the minor inconvenience it would be to set such a volatile thing alight in a blaze to consume the house Targaryen, he decided to do so himself. He then overcompensated a bit and managed to call down lightning on his own pyre by demanding that Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, who have been completely uninvolved thus far, be handed to him for the same tender care he gave the other Starks."

The silence in the room shifted. Before it had been a silence of uncertainty and desperate hope unwilling to be voiced. Now, it was the silence created only when news of a decision so foolish, so insane, so mindbogglingly stupid that it took many moments to comprehend reached one's ears. Alistair imagined that the same silence had imposed itself when Napoleon had told his generals that they would be marching upon Russia in the summer, rather than in spring.

"Yep," Jack said, "That would do it."

Alistair prepared himself for the next portion of his plan as he reminded himself of his rhetoric. He knew they would not like his plan, he knew they would find it foolish, which, logically, it was, and as such he was reliant on his least favourite appeal, pathos. He had already primed them to accept his idea through his framing of the Targaryen dynasty as already being dead. He had also prepared them for an emotional reaction by vaguely insinuating to the horrors of the murders, while still retaining the power behind the shock of an appalling truth.

"And as such, I am planning to set aside my position as CEO-"

"Would you please explain what in the seven hells a CEO is?"

"- of The Union, in favour of joining the rebellion."

Silence fell once more. Alistair felt the creeping realization crawling into his mind that this was the same silence which had been there mere moments before. Yet now Alistair felt the fundamentally surreal sensation of being the origin of the baffeled stillness. An experience he actually found rather fun, he decided.

"… Uh, Alistair? I mean, that is very noble of you and all that, but, well, how to say-" Corrin started to say, yet was prevented from speaking fully as he searched for a diplomatic way to express his clear dubiousness. Which was when Reyane cut into the conversation.

"Alistair, you going to war is the height of stupidity. You've somehow managed to never wield a blade larger than a finger even after living as an urchin for years. All your crimes have been based on quiet thievery or loud cons. I can't imagine a worse path you could take. Like, really, I can't. You'll barely make a difference, and you're already doing a lot of good here by helping those in need."

Reyane's face was stony as she spoke, eyes locked with Alistair. Arnold too stared into him, and all others in the room refused to meet his gaze as they awkwardly mumbled their agreement.

Alistair nodded thoughtfully, pretending to consider her 'suggestion', before he spoke. "My counterargument is a symphony of rhetoric, delivered in three stages. Firstly, I would appreciate it if we could all reminisce to the countless times I have proved myself an apt learner. I am sure that learning the art of combat will be no different. Secondly, I think it important to remember that I am as far from essential for The Union's success as imaginable. I very purposefully disseminated all my knowledge both in my mentoring and in written form, with the intention of allowing as many options for expiation with many educated and experienced pâtissiers."

Alistair stopped to glance around the room. Corrin was attempting to pay attention, however, his eyes constantly drifted to where Reyane's shoulder met his as she leaned against him. Alistair had sat them there, of course, with the exact intent of using her to gauge how convinced Corrin was. As it stood now, he was attempting to be courteous, but he had already decided his own opinion, and as such gave the conversation no weight in his mind. At least, none compared to his crush.

He had set up no distraction gauge for either Reyane or Arnold, seeing as he already knew their stance before the meeting took place. Alistair was also almost certain that his impassioned speech would convince both Sandra and jack, leaving only Corrin as the deciding vote.

Alistair gathered what he knew of Corrin in his mind as he reconsidered his speech. Corrin's parents had died when he was ten, allowing him to integrate further into smallfolk culture than any of them had. This meant that he also cared for the smallfolk of the realm on a more personal basis. Beyond that, his father's profession as a gold-cloak and thoroughly abusive tendencies, even for this world, garnered a deep hatred for inept or cruel law enforcers or authority figures. A rather unchallenging jury.

Alistair closed his eyes for a moment and imagined himself inside a chemistry lab. It was in no way a mind palace or anything of the sort, but it did improve his visualisation quite a bit. He went to the corner and grasped a boiling flask sitting on a Bunsen burner, always prepared for use. He had 'distilled' it, from all most horrid memories of impotence and uselessness. From the days spent watching innocents be accosted by the guards meant to protect them, of being no more than six and useless when he heard faint screams from a dark alley. From all the many times he glanced around and looked upon the appalling conditions forced on the people within this world, knowing that he had knowledge of things they could not even imagine. But when he did so, he always realized that those fonts of incredible knowledge were so far away from what they now had, that he knew nothing about bridging the gap.

He drank what was in the flask, and for a moment allowed all the despair and impotence he had ever felt to overwhelm and integrate into who he was.

Alistair fell apart. He slumped forwards, his hand eventually coming up to try and force the weariness of years spent futilely working to better the world, with only so little to show for it. His hand then stayed to support his head. But it began to slide from under his head, as though the only thing allowing him to continue with his head raised was slowly crumbling.

"I know. I know that I may die with none of my good intentions reaching fruition, I know that all statistical analysis says that what is right would be to stay, to build further until we are a force for good in the entire world, I know that the chances of me gaining enough fame to truly change Westeros for the better is so minimal that it is laughable for me to attempt it."

Alistair allowed his hand to fully slip from beneath his head, however, rather than fall deeper into his slump, instead rising and standing tall before the others. It was perhaps a bit dramatic to have such a visual demonstration of what he thought, however, he also found dramatics to be quite effective, especially if you establish yourself as an expressive person so they do not seem too unnatural.

"But that doesn't matter. What matters is that a Madman sits on a throne of graves, ruling a realm that he both fears and desperately clings too, executing people our age for a harsh word spoken in anger. He burned Rickard Stark in full armour, strung him up in front of the entire court and the man's own son as he lit an inferno of wildfire beneath him, and allowed Brandon to tighten the noose around his own throat as he struggled and flailed to save his father. Yet no one cared, not truly. They stood and watched, the best of them silent and with pity in their eyes, the worst speaking words of mockery to flatter a madman, watching with glee. So here is what I say. If a King has proven himself so incompetent and unworthy as Aerys has, that he cannot even refrain from killing his own most important lords when they are innocent, then he cares even less for the people, and deserves no crown," Alistair looked around at the gathered people. They did not seem quite convinced, which meant it was time for Alistair to be more personal in his persuasions.

"I understand what you are saying," Alistair allowed his shoulders to sink in apparent exhaustion for a single moment, before he stood taller than he ever had before. "But we, the people, need to eventually stand up, and declare that no, we do not want a King who burns the innocent, we do not accept a king who rapes every beautiful lowborn he comes across, and we will not be ignored any longer. Even if the chances are so laughably, inanely small for me to succeed, I will join the rebellion, and become so important, so significant that I cannot be ignored, and then, I will be the voice of the people, because they need one." Alistair looked around the room, and saw the fire in their eyes that he had hoped for. They didn't care for nobles, because nobles didn't care for them. But a voice for the people? That was a cause they could accept, no matter how slight its chances for success were.

"Heavy is the head which bears the crown," Alistair said, his voice grave, "But if the King refuses to bear that weight, then his head should fall to the ground alongside his crown."

A/N: So, was anyone surprised at who, or rather what, I picked to be 'good' in Westeros?