The early morning mist lay thick over Harrenhal, curling through towers and battlements like a living thing. Althea moved silently through the corridors, her cloak brushing the cold stone floor. Each step was deliberate, every gesture a calculated signal. The first strike against Lord Harden had succeeded, but the game had only grown more complex.
Peter awaited her at the library, his fingers steepled, eyes sharp.
"You have made your first moves wisely," he said softly. "Now, the threads must extend further. Allies must be cultivated before the Black Stag regroups. Do not underestimate ambition, the minor lords will test you relentlessly."
Althea nodded. "I will act. But carefully loyalty built too quickly is often a brittle thing."
Peter's lips curved into a subtle smile. Wise. You are learning.
Her first task was subtle engagement with the minor lords who had not yet revealed their intentions. Althea began with small gestures of attention: a compliment to a lord's tactical insight, a request for advice on castle security, an interest in a young lady's charitable work. Each interaction seemed casual, almost accidental, but carried a weight she knew the lords could not ignore.
She observed reactions carefully. One lord from the Vale, wary but ambitious, leaned forward during their conversation, eager to display knowledge and impress her. Another, a minor lord from the Westerlands, hesitated, carefully testing her perception before committing to any opinion.
Allies in the making. Each subtle gesture, each word, builds the foundation.
By midday, Althea convened a private meeting in her chambers with nelly and a few trusted attendants.
"We must solidify the alliance," she said softly. "Information alone is insufficient. We need shared objectives something that binds loyalty beyond fear or ambition."
Nelly nodded. "And what do you propose?"
Althea spread a map across the table, marking key points of interest supply lines, minor lord territories, and areas of potential unrest.
"If the Black Stag continues unchecked," Althea explained, "he will exploit discontent and turn allies against us. We must preemptively guide ambition to serve stability and our ends."
Nelly's gaze followed her finger along the map. "A calculated risk. But necessary. I will support you and the others will follow if they see strategy instead of chaos."
Althea allowed herself a faint smile. The first alliance begins to take shape.
Afternoon brought a minor disturbance a messenger arrived bearing urgent news. A small group of brigands had attacked a supply convoy en route to Harrenhal, one that Lord Harden claimed responsibility for protecting.
Althea's eyes narrowed. A test. Or a diversion.
She quickly convened her advisors, including the newly allied lords. Together, they orchestrated a response that minimized losses and highlighted Althea's strategic oversight. Troops were redeployed subtly, supply lines secured, and the brigands intercepted with minimal casualties.
The minor lords were impressed. Whispers circulated that Althea had not only predicted the attack but controlled its outcome. Influence grows when competence is visible, but the effort remains unseen.
As night fell, Althea prepared for the evening gathering a small dinner meant to cement alliances with her newly observed loyalists. Candles flickered, casting golden light over heavy tapestries. Lords and ladies entered, curious and wary, eager to measure her demeanor and wit.
Althea moved through the gathering with grace, listening more than speaking, allowing the subtle interplay of ambition and loyalty to unfold naturally. She engaged in conversations that appeared casual but were laden with suggestion, planting seeds that would later blossom into cooperative strategies.
One minor lord, emboldened by her attention, revealed a plot to divert support from Harrenhal in favor of his own holdings. Althea feigned surprise, her eyes betraying nothing. Later, she would use this information as leverage, ensuring compliance without confrontation.
Nelly, observing quietly from the side, whispered, "Your control grows, but so does danger. Not all will bend willingly."
Althea nodded, sipping wine lightly. "True. But fear of consequence is only one way to command. I seek influence through perception and subtle guidance. The Black Stag will see my web, but cannot yet understand its full reach."
Nelly's eyes glimmered. "And the minor lords?"
"They will follow," Althea said softly. "Or falter."
The night brought a deeper threat a shadowy figure observed from the gallery above. Althea noticed the slight shift of fabric, the barely audible footfall, the glimmer of a dagger caught in torchlight. The Black Stag is watching. Perhaps impatient.
She excused herself subtly, retreating to a secluded gallery. From there, she observed the figure's movements, noting patterns, gestures, and timing. By the time the shadow realized it had been seen, Althea was gone, leaving only the faintest trace of her presence.
Every shadow carries risk. Every risk carries opportunity.
In the quiet of her chambers later, Althea reflected on the day's victories and challenges. The first major alliance had begun to form, minor lords were subtly guided, and the Black Stag's impatience revealed weakness. Yet the threats remained internal ambitions, external attacks, and the ever-present danger of missteps.
Her dreams returned, more vivid than before. She saw Harrenhal as a massive board, the minor lords and lords as pieces moving according to invisible rules. The Black Stag lurked, eyes gleaming, plotting. And the Old Gods whispered once more.
The threads are aligning, child. Choose which to pull, and which to cut. Every decision reverberates.
Althea pressed her hand to her chest, feeling both the weight and exhilaration of her growing power. I will not falter. I will guide the threads. I will rise.
The corridors of Harrenhal seemed to lean closer around her, aware of a new strategist, a cunning manipulator whose web began to extend into every corner of the castle. The first seeds of alliance had been planted; loyalty, carefully nurtured, was beginning to flourish.
And in the shadows, the Black Stag prepared for a counter a test Althea would meet with strategy, calculation, and subtle power.
The game had grown larger, more dangerous. But she was ready. Every shadow, every whisper, every subtle manipulation now served her design.
Althea was no longer merely a player she was a weaver of destiny, and Harrenhal itself became her chessboard.