A Cheeky Reunion

I sat alone on one of Riverrun's battlements, back against the wall, curiously tugging at the strings of a harp I'd 'borrowed' from a travelling singer after helping the soldiers check the ditch near the castle.

Down below, past a window, I could see Petyr Baelish pacing around his room.

The little man had run himself ragged and reeked of alcohol I could smell even from where I was. He'd approached me again and again, in the morning during breakfast, at noon during my training sessions with Addam... At times, even at night, when I was busy with 'other' things... and had tried everything, from reasoning as the so-called 'smart' humans loved to do, to offering me money, power, and whatever it was that moved the hearts of men.

And as I'd told him again and again after a certain point, I was too old to hold a grudge against a child for some arbitrary reason or personal dislike. My mind wouldn't change because it just wasn't in my best interests to do so.

It was odd how everyone tried to apply reasoning to everything, and I could understand it, but I could also understand that not everything needed a cold hard reason for being as it was.

Things like hate made no sense against time, neither did love, or even life, yet all creatures did their damndest to hold them close... I could reason all I wanted but deep down, I was undeniably the same.

A light drizzle trickled down the redstone wall, and the soldiers that stood guard ignored it all the same. It rained often in the Riverlands, but it was still much warmer and agreeable than the cold North where it snowed even in summer if one went deep enough.

"Are you thinking of becoming a singer?"

"Edmure?" I looked up at the fiery-haired youth, removing my hand from the string, "Not really. But in the spirit of being a wanderer, I guess I could try something like a bard."

I found Edmure to be a lot like Helman Tallhart, serious when necessary, but nice and outgoing when he realised the other party was genuine.

His lips twitched at my words but then he closed his eyes and sighed, "As you wish."

I smiled coyly, "Not a fan of singers?"

"My experience with them was... let us say, less than ideal." Edmure admitted with a sigh, sitting on the wooden stool beside me. He crossed one leg over the other, then looked at the grey sky above, "If I ever find that bastard Tom o' Seven, I'm wringing him up by his cock."

I was about to smile but then remembered something and went wide-eyed, "Tom... The floppy fish?"

I had heard a song by that name twice.

Once in Seagard, at the shoddy inn I'd visited for gossip, from an ugly and thin man with yellow teeth. The second time it happened was when I was talking to Thoros of Myr, where a member of the Brotherhood of Banners was singing it while the others worked.

It was a song about a certain fish that couldn't perform as needed. A song that not-so-subtly made fun of a man who couldn't get it up in bed.

"That... I was certain it was forgotten." Edmure averted his gaze, ears red from shame.

"Hit the nail on the head, eh?" I laughed slightly, "Well, it probably is. I heard it straight from the original singer."

At that, he turned my way with a fuming face, "Where?! Where's the bas-"... Then he seemed to realise something and recoiled into his seat, "I...I apologise for my outburst."

"Oh don't let my nature hold you back." I waved my hand in dismissal, "I don't like being treated as a messiah... so long as you don't call a witch hunt on me."

It was gratitude and bare respect I found myself liking, not the treatment Marika received as a God who could do no wrong. I had seen what it did to those I called friends, and did not want it for myself.

Edmure looked at me strangely for my words, cocking his head then stroking his beard as he narrowed his eyes in thought, "I thought... Do you not want glory?"

"You're forgetting I'm not a man, child." I smiled softly, "But forget that, I heard that song at Seagard too."

He grew confused and cocked his head further. A moment later, his eyes flashed with realisation, his face growing red, "...Bloody Patrek!"

Patrek... Patrek... Ah, Patrek Mallister. Jason's son... I hadn't talked with him much so I couldn't say anything, but if his actions were anything to go by, he was alright in my books.

I chuckled, patting Edmure's shoulder, "Well, at least it's better than Godrick."

"Godrick?"

"Yep." I nodded, "Annoying little shit. Dressed up as a girl to run away and hid rather than fight. Then mouthed off to Malenia, got beat, and licked her feet for forgiveness."

I conveniently left out the part where I'd destroyed Stormveil, the castle he hid in, and ripped his arm off his body for certain 'words' he'd spoken.

"Hmm... better floppy than craven. I agree... to lose to a woman..." Edmure wondered aloud, rubbing his chin in thought. Those thoughts were interrupted when I put a hand on his shoulder and shook my head with pursed lips.

"Malenia could destroy your Seven Kingdoms before sunset... by herself."

He was smart enough to connect the dots and understand that Malenia wasn't like them. If anything, she was like me so far as they were concerned. I'd lost to her rot more times than I cared to admit.

"...Where did you say you were from again?"

"The Lands Between." I answered truthfully.

"And... where are they?"

I put on the most serious face I could,

"Between."

Laughing, I tossed the harp over my shoulder and walked off, curious to find whatever caught my attention next.

-

It was late into the afternoon the next day and I was reading a book on the Westerlands when Addam burst into my room.

I raised a brow, "What happened?"

His plain tunic stuck to his body, wet with sweat, and he was short of breath as if he'd been running like a madman. Knowing him, he had probably run over because he'd found some new reason to fight or something.

"Men... There are men marching down, from the way of Seagard, my lord!"

Curious, I closed my book with both hands, "Enemies?"

He shook his head fervently, "It's the Direwolf banner."

Ah... now that was news worth running over.

That little brat was here.

Tossing the book aside, I stood up with an amused smile.

Getting to the closest tower didn't take long, I'd asked for a room near the wall and Edmure had been more than happy to oblige. So, all it took was a climb up a rounded stairway, past an old wooden door and onto a tower where men were cheering, chattering amongst themselves with joy and relief.

With Robb and Petyr here, the war would finally take a real direction and... it would allow me to understand if I'd been right about Robb or not.

Quietly, I stepped over to the crenelations and peered beyond, smile morphing to grin as I did.

There, out of the woods, along a dirt road, came marching rough men, faces weathered and scarred from the harsh nature of their home. Despite the warmer weather, they dressed in dark furs and thick coats that made them look that much larger, clenching swords and axes and spears and maces, hoisting the grey direwolf of House Stark. 

They didn't walk with any trained order to their movement, more like a gathering of warriors that just knew how to work with each other... but I supposed that made sense with how medieval armies were.

Human wars weren't entirely dependent on numbers, more on information and tactics, and who was willing to do more to secure victory... And according to my findings, they hadn't fought many wars under Targaryen rule other than conflicts between the dragon riders themselves with few kingdoms maintaining standing armies.

Then, I saw Greatjon Umber walking with a smaller version of himself, with similar men trailing behind them, and pitied the poor animal he'd used as a horse for the journey. My eyes wandered across their faces until they caught a mop of hair the colour of a flame over a set of steely blue eyes.

"...Robb Stark."

The boy had grown something of a beard.

He was joined by an older woman in a burgundy cloak, with features that were a mirror of his own and a short, inconspicuous man with pale skin and eyes so white he seemed blind. His dark hair was swept back, and reached his neck.

The time they took to reach Riverrun seemed to pass by in a flash of rushed shouts as the portcullis was raised, the heavy wooden doors along the Red Fork were thrown open and a drawbridge was lowered over the rushing river.

It dug into the rain smeared mud with a loud thud. Pikemen marched out, stomping their feet over the wood before pouring out into the field to receive the Northern Host. At the same time, more and more Northmen poured out onto the road as well.

At one point, a simple truth became evident.

The Northern host was larger than the Rivermen gathered at Riverrun.

Robb Stark soon rode in on a fierce brown horse, face stoic as the last time I'd seen him, joined by the older woman I didn't recognise and a number of people I presumed were the Northern Lords along with guards... There was also a certain youth with the last name of an extinct House of squids called Greyjoy.

Edmure walked up to them with an almost stupidly happy smile, holding his arms open to greet his nephew. Robb simply stared at him, then dismounted his horse and took off his riding gloves, stuffing them into the belt of his grey plate armor.

His white fur cape, made from wolf fur and clasped to his shoulder with wolf shaped pins, dragged along the ground as he walked and held out his hand, "It gladdens me to see you well, uncle."

Petyr Baelish ran to greet the auburn haired woman accompanying Robb. He took both her hands in his and that was all I noted before losing interest in him.

Edmure cocked his head, then awkwardly lowered his hand to shake Robb's, scratching the back of his head with the other, "I am glad to see you too, nephew. Won't you embrace your uncle?"

The Stark cast a quiet glance at the men gathered around them, his gaze lingering on the Knights of the Vale for a few moments longer, before it turned back to his uncle.

I watched the 'stoic' boy in great amusement.

I could tell from the twitch in his shoulder that he wanted to hug his uncle, and by the slight labour in his breath that he was relieved beyond measure to finally see him... but he held himself, because a lord could not show 'weakness'.

"I would like nothing more, but there are matters to attend to."

"Yes, of course, you're right." Edmure nodded, shoulders slumping, and turned to his steward, "Show the lords to their quarters at once. They would prefer to rest after their long journey... The war has waited months, it can wait one more day."

I could see Robb wanted to disagree, but held himself... maybe to not undermine his uncle's authority?

"Order the men to make camp outside the walls." He turned to the pale man that had followed them in. The man nodded quietly in response and turned his horse to leave.

"My men will help all they can!" Edmure declared loudly.

Robb had grown quite a bit in the short while since I'd last seen him.

"No greeting for me?" I said, "I guess a wanderer doesn't matter that much."

To my surprise, Robb smiled faintly, "No matter how strong or skilled, men can be overpowered."

I smiled back.

"Men can."

...Cheeky little shit.

-

Hope you enjoyed.

Please, freely comment your thoughts and/or suggestions for the story.

You can find 10 chapters ahead at patre0n.com/Bleap

-

This chapter took longer than it should have to write because the numbers in ASOIAF are a bit skewed, in my personal opinion, and that matters more than I'd like to admit. The reason he talks about the Northmen like barbarians is because he thinks the Riverland Host is like a gathering of levies. While the last thing he can draw comparison to is the Lannister host, who were marching with the proper formation of a standing army.

The Northern host from what WE know is a great combative force, but not one for exceptional coherence in their wars and battles (Robb's own tactical prowess being an exception).

The last chapter intended to show that we (talking as if I'm a reader) are biased towards Karl because he's the main character. The unfiltered truth is that even if most of what he does seems to be altruistic, it's extremely selfish and only what he wants, not what's objectively good or 'better'. The reason this isn't a problem is because he's earned the right to freely do what he wants, and that he's not someone who derives pleasure from suffering.

This was pointed out but not said when he went against the Mountain. He didn't like the dude but even then, he quickly eliminated him instead of prolonging his suffering in any way. This is a direct consequence of his advanced age, where he sees such things as unnecessary.

At the same time, his true self is shining through in his actions now that they don't have to be taken in consideration for his own survival against the powers that be since he's technically one of them in this world.

He personally likes to do things in the short term, instead of waiting, which is why you see him move as soon as he wants something.

Lastly, someone pointed out he accepts change too quickly. And I want to say, that's what I believe is natural for someone like him. Most people don't like change, older people like it even less. But, past a certain age (well beyond humans), I think you'd be forced to accept that it will happen by natural circumstance, because it's not possible to stop it. At this point, your subconscious nature will shine through.

There will be those who'd stubbornly try to keep to it, but enact great cruelty on the surroundings to that agenda. While there will be those that will readily accept it after that point, incorporating it into their being. That latter would be the case for most humans, known for their adaptability, and it's the case for Karl too. Who is, no matter what one might think, someone who started as a human.

Pain and suffering can only take away so much before you get fed up and refuse to give it one step more.

...I can tone down the author notes if they're annoying. Just tell me.