looks like the end of days | october 3rd | scottish parliament committee room
[as roose bolton]
Roose could say he saw this coming. His lips twitch at Maege’s barely veiled suggestion, not a smile but a bodily reaction to what is being laid on the table. Roose loves a very specific kinf of beauty, one that speaks of glory above aesthetics, and what he is witnessing is undeniably beautiful to watch, the same kind of beauty to be seen in a dying animal. Puppets on strings moving out of some ideal of loyalty and trust: it is beautiful in its utter desperation.
The one person who doesn’t seem to think the same is Catelyn Stark, who sits there, by her son’s side just as she sat by her husband’s times before. Her face falls at Maege Mormont’s words, eyes fleetingly turning to Robb, hopeful and unbelievable. She glances around briefly, looking for a trace of her own discomfort on anyof the faces surrounding her: and when she doesn’t find any, Roose can almost see the heart of her, the growing concern and preoccupation. He can see hope leaving her, and that is beautiful too. Roose is not a sadist, but there is something undeniably fascinating in how masterfully human beings can dig their own grave.
Robb Stark is the only one to dare words after the unspeakable offer has been made. It’s not denial, it’s not disagreement, but rather confusion, the child asking after a second explanation of a concept that was not quite grasped upon first display. What he offers against Mormont is basilar logic, failing to understand that this is past logic and reason. It’s a country gathering around an ideal, not around a person. A Stark, because a Stark is all Scotland knows can be trusted.
After that, it’s chaos. Voices mingling in a loud buzz, filling the room. Barbrey sits silent beside him, watching the scene with the same concealed entertainment that makes his toes tingle. Jon Umber is the loudest of them all, dismissing every small remark with a blind shake of his head and strong statements of faith. Rickard Karstark questions everything: Robb’s youth, Robb’s inexperience, Robb’s actions, Robb’s position after the accident that brought them there. No one looks at the boy for a long time; no one, except for Catelyn, who wrings her fingers over the table like a prisoner awaiting her sentence.
The Greatjon stands up hastily when the arguing rises in intensity, slamming a hand against the table; Roose tilts his head, leaning against the armrest and brushes his palm against his chin, feeling the light stubble beneath his fingertips.
"That is the only Prime Minister I will vote for!" bellows the man, pointing an angry finger at Robb; the voice is deep and proud and, Roose thinks, delusional.
But useful all the same.
Many agree instantly, nodding their heads — some faces grow grave in the process, admitting to the inevitability of it; RIckard Karstark leans back into his seat and pushes the chair from the desk, shaking his head imperceptibly, skeptical. Catelyn Stark doesn’t voice her concern, but it shows in the way she looks at her son like a young soldier about to depart for war. And who’s Roose to say that is not exactly what this is?
Barbrey is staring at him.
"You are not your father, that’s true," Roose murmurs then, with what he supposes might be considered a genune smile. "But you would not be alone in this. You have your mother," he stressed, nodding at Catelyn. (That didn’t seem to soothe the widow’s unrest.) "And you have us, the full support of this room, capable businessmen and women who will be your crutch." He shrugs, almost casually, tapping a finger against the edge of the table. "Don’t underestimate yourself. You might be the leader this country calls for in these days of mourning."
The silence after his words of encouragement is short-lived. Jon Umber makes a point of underlining his agreement with a loud “Hear hear,” and a what could only be described as a victorious clap of his hands at Robb’s address.
"Let Scotland be your first priority," concludes Roose. "We can deal with SGOC for as long as needs be. We are only in this room because your father trusted us with this. Let us be in receipt of your trust as well, and give Scotland a chance to rally behind you."
[as catelyn stark]
It is as if her pleads had just been soft whispers in the abysmal silence of an inexistent wind, one that would not reach them inside this meeting room, inside this building or this cold country. She finds herself missing the south, England and Riverrun; these northmen are blind to the struggles of her family, to the position they managed to cage her husband in, to the trap they are leading her son into. She misses her children, the girls and even the boys she saw this morning. As soon as Roose Bolton and the rest dismiss her claims, she knows is hopeless and she remains silent, barely listening. A few glimpses at Robb make her aware that he is listening for her, just like Ned would have done, albeit the fear she can see in her son's eyes.
It is too soon, he should not be forced to be here; it isn't fair. But it seems that fairness and justice have left them now, along with Ned and his comfort; her strength.
One thing Roose Bolton says that is true and one thing only, she would not leave Robb's side now, wherever this road takes them, she will not leave him alone. Catelyn finds Robb's hand over the table and squeezes in a reassurance she does not feel. She hopes that her silent words reach him somehow, that is all she can do for now, the rest is up to Robb.
