“Scotland won’t last long. If it was practically doomed before when Stark was very well alive, now it’s all a matter of time before whoever becomes Prime Minister to come back crawling to us, begging for forgiveness.” Selyse couldn’t really imagine the pathetic excuse of a leader that would come out of the new country, but whoever it was, it wouldn’t make a difference; there was no way Scotland could stand strong as a nation not now and not ever. “They lack everything. No allies, not enough funds. The demise will come sooner rather than later, I’d say.”
She wanted to desperately to see the image that Melisandre painted, that Stannis would be finally seen by the masses as the one person with enough strength of character to make England a better country, and that the Starks were nothing but selfish traitors, looking for nothing but to help themselves. “One day, soon. God will see to it.”
The biggest problem of it all, however, was that, had the independence been anyone else’s idea, it might be difficult to win Scotland back, but the Starks were the most influential family there. Selyse didn’t doubt that even dead, the image of Eddard Stark would spark more loyalty from the northerners than Stannis at the present time (these people were blind, that was obvious, but as far as that, there was little that could be done, at least for now). “But still, let’s say they do come and beg not only for help but for forgiveness, what do you think we should do? If it happens, we can’t just take Scotland back like nothing happened.” Melisandre had always been the voice of reason, so of course hers was the most important opinion. “Wouldn’t you say this couldn’t happen without them paying for what they did?”
“A cup of coffee would be lovely.” She glanced at the clock on the wall before talking again. “Actually, if you still have that bottle of gin lying around, I’ll take it instead,” Selyse said with a grin.
Melisandre let out a laugh. A northerner, begging forgiveness? They were too damn proud in Scotland to get anywhere near begging. Perhaps she figured them muttering a half-hearted apology through gritted teeth. "Now that's an outlandish image. The may not all be as proud as the Starks, but can you really figure, say, Umber begging for anything besides more whiskey after a pub's closed? And definitely not for forgiveness. The Scottish are just too proud, except they'll tell you it's 'honor', not vanity."
Melisandre nodded at Selyse's assessment. She was dead on, as usual. "You're right of course, in their situation, they really have no other choice than to metaphorically bend their knee to us or accept economic, political and social ruin. Their only real ideology was independence, but they've got that now and without a strong leader figurehead, they'll be stuck scratching their head and asking '...now what?'. I guess not everyone's so lucky as to have such a good person in charge as we are." And it was no empty flattery, Melisandre wasn't secretive about her admiration for Stannis's sensse of justice and duty, even if she did think he ought to occasionally be more lenient on certain fronts. As far as she was concerned, he was the best possible persson to be in charge of England.
The redhead considered Selyse's words carefully. She'd already given some thought to the matter, of course, but had never arrived at a completely satisfactory solution for that potential problem. With Scotland in its current state, it would be all too easy to be lulled into a false sense of security and be the target of later attacks from different sides. "Well, we obviously can't let an insurgence like that go unpunished, that would probably get all sorts of accusations of weak will thrown at our admnistration. At the same time, there's obviously no sense in recurring to Orwellian tactics or anything to even remotely touch the population, or even most of the leaders, since the country failing on its own is enough to discourage a second revolution, I'd say. No, the best solution would probably be to have certain... figureheads and leaders stand trial for high treason."
Mel smiled at her friend but shook her head. "Nah, I took it home. But there's a pub right around the corner where they've got some nice margharitas. I haven't been there myself, but I have been meaning to." She stood up from her desk and grabbed her purse off it, hanging it from her shoulder. "That sound good?"
