The morning air was sharp with frost, the towers of Harrenhal piercing the sky like silent sentinels. Althea moved through the corridors with purpose, her cloak trailing behind her. Every stone, every shadow, every whisper reminded her that she was no longer a visitor in this world she was a player, and every step could shift the balance of power.
Petyr awaited her at the foot of the main stairwell. His expression was unreadable, a mask of calm that hid the calculating mind beneath.
"Today," he said softly, "you will test your first potential ally. Not with words alone, but with action. Observe their loyalty, their motives, and their ambition. And remember, some threads unravel when tugged too hard."
Althea nodded, feeling the thrill of anticipation. The lessons of the past days subtle influence, observation, manipulation had brought her to this moment. Time to see who stands with me, and who falls.
The target was Lord Roderick of the Westerlands, a minor lord whose estates bordered Harrenhal. The letters and reports had painted him as ambitious but cautious, loyal to no one except his own survival. Althea intended to uncover the extent of that loyalty.
She found him in the courtyard, overseeing a squad of archers practicing their volley. His posture was rigid, eyes sharp, every movement precise. Althea approached, her steps measured, smile carefully neutral.
"Lord Roderick," she said, bowing slightly. "I trust your morning exercises proceed well?"
He turned, expression polite but guarded. "My lady. The men perform adequately, though some are less disciplined than I would prefer."
Althea nodded. "Discipline is important, yes. But so is trust. Would you trust a stranger with the welfare of your men?"
Roderick's brow furrowed slightly. "It depends on the stranger."
A flicker of amusement crossed her lips. Exactly. Watch the hesitation.
"I am not here to command," she said smoothly. "But to observe. Perhaps I could assist you in identifying weaknesses among your men subtle shifts, small influences that strengthen loyalty."
Roderick studied her for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. Show me what you propose."
Althea spent the morning carefully testing his reactions, suggesting minor reorganizations, gauging his willingness to implement them, and observing how he interacted with his men. By midday, she had discerned that Roderick's ambition outweighed caution he would follow guidance if it promised him gain, but betray it if he felt threatened.
Thread measured, potential understood.
After lunch, Althea returned to her chambers to review the day's observations. Petyr entered quietly, letting her speak first.
"I have tested Roderick," she said. "He will follow if he perceives benefit, but he distrusts those who appear too clever. He values perception more than truth."
Petyr nodded approvingly. "Then you know his weakness. Influence is most effective when aligned with desire. Tomorrow, you will begin planting seeds that he cannot resist."
Althea's mind raced with possibilities. Alliances could be built in whispers, and betrayals orchestrated before anyone suspected. Every word, every glance, every small act had meaning. The web is tightening.
Evening arrived, bringing a council of minor lords summoned to discuss security and supplies. Althea observed each face as she entered, noting expressions of curiosity, suspicion, and ambition. She understood, with unnerving clarity, that every word she spoke could shift alliances.
The discussion began politely, but tensions quickly rose when a lord from the North suggested reducing support to Harrenhal's garrison to focus on his own lands. Arguments flared, voices grew louder, and subtle gestures of intimidation were exchanged.
Althea chose her moment carefully. "Perhaps," she said softly, yet clearly, "we should consider the consequences of leaving Harrenhal undermanned. Not only for your own lands but for the realm as a whole."
Heads turned toward her. Murmurs rippled through the hall. A small seed of doubt had been planted in those advocating reduction. Influence grows in silence.
Later, she retired to the library to continue her studies of the minor houses and their alliances. Among the scrolls, a note slipped from one of the reports hastily written, but unmistakably a warning
The Black Stag moves against you. Watch for his shadow among your allies.
Althea's heart skipped a beat. First plot revealed. Time to uncover the actor.
She cross-referenced names, movements, and minor incidents from the day. The Black Stag was not a real person, but a codename used in whispered reports likely indicating a lord planning to manipulate events against her.
Good. Now I know where to strike first.
The night brought further insight. Althea found herself walking the quiet corridors, pondering the day's developments, when a shadow detached itself from a doorway.
"You are clever," a voice whispered. It was Sansa Stark, cautious yet confident. "I have been observing you. Your influence grows, but so do the eyes that watch you."
Althea smiled faintly. "And you? Are you here as friend or observer?"
"Both," Sansa replied. "I see potential, but I also see danger. The court is full of eyes, my lady. Some will seek to destroy you before you even rise."
Althea nodded, appreciating the honesty. "Then we must be careful. But we must also act. Subtlety wins battles, but only decisiveness wins the war."
Sansa's eyes glimmered. "Then let us watch each other's backs, for now. And remember shadows are long, and the night is patient."
Althea returned to her chambers, mind racing. She laid out the day's observations, plotted the moves to counter the Black Stag, and planned her first alliances carefully. Every conversation, every gesture, every note would be part of a larger design a design she would control.
She allowed herself a small smile. The web is tight, and I hold the center.
Her thoughts drifted to her dreams again the hall of mirrors, the bleeding stag, the fire flowing into rivers. Each image a warning, each whisper a challenge. She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her pulse.
"I will survive," she whispered. "I will manipulate. I will rise. And I will win."
The shadows of Harrenhal shifted around her, aware of a new player who moved with both precision and foresight. The minor lords would soon learn that every word spoken, every glance exchanged, every secret whispered could become part of Althea's game.
And in the distance, the Old Gods murmured once more:
The game grows darker, child. Watch the threads, and choose carefully which to pull or all shall unravel.
Althea's eyes glimmered with determination. I will not only survive this web. I will master it. And no one not the Black Stag, not the lords, not the gods themselves will stand in my way.