Morning arrived gray and heavy, the mist clinging to Harrenhal's towers like a veil. Althea sat at her window, tracing her fingers along the carved sill, thinking about yesterday about Sansa, the lords, the careful words that had begun to shift perceptions. She had survived her first courtly engagement, but the game had only just begun.
Petyr appeared silently behind her, as always. "You have talent, my daughter," he said softly, voice like velvet. "But survival is not enough. You must manipulate. Influence. Bend the court without them ever realizing it."
Althea turned to him. "And if they realize it?"
Petyr's smile was thin, sharp. "Then you adapt. Or you die. The court rewards cunning, child, not innocence."
Althea's chest tightened with a thrill she barely recognized. Fear, yes, but beneath it, exhilaration. This was the world she had dreamed of a world of intrigue, strategy, and survival.
Her first task of the day was subtle testing the loyalties of the minor lords. Althea had noticed yesterday that many were dissatisfied with their positions, quietly observing her, evaluating her. She began with a simple conversation in the hallways a smile here, a casual question there.
"My lord, I heard the troops near the Wolfswood are restless," she said to a young knight from the Riverlands. "Do you think it wise to deploy them so early?"
The knight shifted uncomfortably. "It is not my decision, my lady," he said, eyes darting away. "But some might argue that action now could secure loyalty among the men."
Althea nodded, letting the words settle. Small suggestion, subtle doubt planted. Observe their reaction.
Minutes later, she noted the knight whispering to another lord. Thread pulled. Let's see who follows.
By mid-morning, Althea was summoned to the library again. Petyr had placed a collection of letters on the table, each marked with careful notes in his hand.
"These are reports from minor houses," he explained. "Some loyal, some disloyal, all useful. Your task is to identify those who can be influenced and those who will be dangerous if left unchecked."
Althea scanned the letters, noting patterns. Families in debt, lords with ambitions too large for their holdings, servants whispering to multiple masters. Opportunities everywhere. Alliances hidden beneath veneer of loyalty.
She picked a letter from a lord of the Westerlands, complaining of the king's interference in local disputes. A small smile touched her lips. He can be useful if guided carefully.
The afternoon brought her first direct challenge. During a tea in the hall with several young ladies of the court, a whisper reached her ears.
"You are clever too clever for one so young," said one, a brown-haired girl with a sharp jawline. Her smile was polite but venomous. "Littlefinger's daughter, yes? We all know how cunning your father is. It must run in your blood."
Althea sipped her tea, keeping her expression neutral. Venom disguised as praise. Recognize it. Use it.
"And you, my lady?" Althea replied smoothly. "Are you so loyal to the status quo that you cannot imagine change? Or do you simply fear it?"
The girl's eyes widened, caught off-guard. Murmurs ran through the hall, unnoticed by most adults. First disruption achieved. Observe the spread of doubt.
Petyr watched from the doorway, silent approval in his gaze. Subtle power. Excellent.
As evening approached, Althea ventured into the lower halls the servant quarters and kitchens places where whispered secrets flowed freely. Here, her modern knowledge gave her an edge. She asked questions about the castle's routines, listened carefully to grievances, and noted alliances among staff.
One maid, a young woman with quick hands and quick tongue, revealed that a small group of guards was unhappy with their pay. "They whisper among themselves," she said. "If someone suggested a better arrangement, they might listen."
Althea nodded thoughtfully. Leverage. Even the smallest unrest can tip the scales.
She left a coin purse in plain sight, enough to be noticed but not overly generous, and waited. By the next hour, whispers of her generosity and subtle influence began to circulate among the servants. Small influence became tangible.
Night fell over Harrenhal, and Althea returned to her chambers. Exhaustion weighed on her, but excitement coursed beneath it. She had survived her first courtly test, planted doubts, and begun to identify potential allies.
Then came the first true danger a note slipped under her door, written in elegant script but with a warning unmistakable.
Not all shadows serve. Some will strike where you least expect it. Trust no one.
Althea held the note, pulse racing. Petyr's words from earlier resonated The court rewards cunning, not innocence.
Her first betrayal was imminent. And she would need to be ready.
She read the note again, tracing the handwriting, trying to deduce the sender. Nothing definitive, only a signature flourish indicating someone confident, someone bold. A minor lord, perhaps. Or a clever servant testing my awareness.
Althea's mind raced, piecing together the possibilities. Tomorrow, she would test loyalty subtle questions, small suggestions, careful observation. Whoever had written this note would reveal themselves through their actions.
As she lay in bed that night, Althea reflected on the day's lessons. She had learned that influence could be exerted without force, that words carried weight heavier than steel, and that even small gestures could ripple through the court like a wave.
Her dreams returned fragments of battles yet to come, whispers of betrayal, shadows stretching over a map of Westeros. She saw herself standing atop a tower, surveying the chaos she had orchestrated, a queen built from shadows and cunning.
And in the deepest corners of her mind, the Old Gods whispered.
Power is a web, child. Every thread matters. Every move is a choice. And every choice demands a price.
Althea's eyes snapped open. I am ready, she whispered. "I will survive. I will manipulate. I will rise. And I will win."
Harrenhal's shadows seemed to lean closer, listening, aware of a new player in the game. The war was coming, and the girl who once lived in Boston was no longer merely an observer. She was a strategist, a manipulator, and a force to be reckoned with.
The game had begun in earnest. And Althea intended not only to survive it but to dominate it one whispered secret, one subtle manipulation, one dangerous move at a time.