Politics was a woman's job in Olenna's not so humble opinion.
Oh sure, it was the men who ruled, who took care of the petitions and the alliances and the financing of the state; but politicking - the art of calculating the future, of manipulating it to best suit one's purposes - that was best left to the women.
If she was to be completely fair, Olenna had to admit that every once in a while the likes of Tywin Lannister and Doran Martell appeared - true players of the Game the both of them - but the majority of the men she had met in her long long life were closer to the likes of Robert Baratheon, Mace Tyrell (her own son, oh how the disappointment still hurt), and Ned Stark.
One was completely blind to the whole idea of politics, thinking only in the present; the other seemed to have completely ignored all of her lessons and though he tried, the gods knew Mace looked in the right places with the right intentions and yet somehow always came up with the wrong conclusion; and the last... Well.
Ned had surprised her, she had to confess. She, like all southerners she was sure, had considered the North as completely barbaric, completely incapable of critical thought, and completely unaware of the Great Game that they all played south of the Neck. The Lord Stark was a pleasant lesson that one could not become too consumed by hubris and arrogance lest they be blinded to others' brilliance. Truly, Ned was a diamond in the rough - in the rough being the main point here.
The man had been dissatisfied, chosen his preferred solution and then worked to gain allies to make it become a reality. What he failed to understand was that details were the be all and end all of any plan. One couldn't just make a to-do list and call it a day. No. For a plan to work, for traitors to not have their heads chopped off thank you very much, one needed to know the how's, the what's, the where's and the when's. One needed the what ifs and the plans B and C, all the way through to Q.
In the years since Lord Stark had first come to them, Olenna had been hard at work. It wasn't enough to have allies, one needed to ensure the links between each faction were so tight and so many, they may as well resemble chainmail. Figuratively speaking of course. A compliment here and a suggestion there to her kin, and suddenly Mira Forrester was to become a handmaiden to Margaery, Lynesse Hightower had wed Jorah Mormont at the Tourney of Lannisport, Romylda Redwyne was betrothed to Norran Manwoody and Garlan, Jonelle Hightower and Aster Redwyne were to foster at Sunspear, Blackmont and White Harbour respectively.
Of course her kin were not the only that were given advice that would benefit them in the future. After a quick word to one of her granddaughter's handmaidens, one of the Fossoway cousins negotiated a squiring position for his son with some Dornish Knight, and Highgarden's master at arms had recommended to his brother Lord Peake that he send his second son to squire for Ser Helman Tallhart.
The Reach, the North and Dorne were now irreversibly tied.
All this was beyond the Stark's capabilities, so although he had impressed her, although he may not be as bad as she had expected at the Game of Secrecy and Conquest, Olenna could hardly let him be the only one coming up with their treasonous plots.
So it was with great pleasure that she received a letter from Catelyn Stark requesting to begin a correspondence regarding potential future endeavours between the Starks and Tyrells. Catelyn was hardly on the level of Olenna herself when it came to double speak and secrecy, but she was competent enough - more competent than her husband, that was certain.
For over a year, letters were exchanged, ideas discussed and plans modified, and now Olenna was finally going to get the chance to see the Starks, the lynchpin of their operation, in full: the Lady that had so delighted the aging Reachwoman with her not-quite-refined ingenuity, as well as the children that the entire thing depended upon.
These Northern Games were another reason Catelyn Stark was impressive. A land of people widely viewed as savage and uncultured for their lack of anything remotely fun, their obsession over winter and storing food and saving money... urgh! it was all such a bore. But Catelyn had found the one thing that could endear the south more to her new homeland while working within the Northerners' tastes. Not just the Northerners in fact, but all of the Seven Kingdoms were interested in this new Northern entertainment, and some were even making the long trek from their own lands to attend the very first Northern Games in history.
All the Northern Houses would be attending of course, as well as some of the Tullys - most likely only Edmure and Brynden the Blackfish as Olenna had heard Lord Hoster's health had been ailing recently. Besides, it wouldn't do to leave the seat of a Great House completely unattended - and a few Houses from the Vale, the Redforts and the Royces being the most prominent. Olenna had even heard that Tywin had sent his second son to investigate and gather information; and then of course there was Olenna herself along Margaery and Loras, as well as a contingent from Dorne that Garlan would be accompanying as he was fostering with the Martells.
At last, all of her grandchildren in the same place. The old woman allowed herself a small smile at the thought.
More importantly, all parties of the Alliance would be in one place. Who knew what could be accomplished when they didn't have to rely on ravens and the Old Tongue to communicate. Though it seemed Stark had accomplished much of his own goals.
Margaery had absolutely squealed when they came within sight of Moat Cailin, her and her brother rushing to the window of their carriage to get a better look. Olenna had almost had a heart attack when Loras had leaned out too far and almost fallen, only to be caught by one of the guards and pushed back inside. He had then gone on a long rant and lecture about how Moat Cailin had once been almost untouchable when it was whole, how it guarded the Neck from intruders trying to invade the North and how the castle was credited as one of the main reasons the Faith of the Seven had never made it far North.
His sister had slapped his shoulder and told him to stop telling them things they already knew and instead look at those pulley systems!
Olenna loved her grandchildren, truly.
They weren't entirely wrong in their excitement, she thought. Even her old heart had accelerated a time or two as they passed by the fortress and travelled along the Kingsroad through previously non-existent villages and farms, and she may have had to hold back a gasp at the sight of Castle Cerwyn when they stopped one night, reportedly only a small holdfast but now truly a sight to behold. Tall granite walls, a long line of guards placed along the road to welcome them, a glass garden the size of an entire field and a fountain in the main courtyard. Nothing like the derelict wooden shacks or austere plain stone keep she had expected.
It was strange to think she was aware of the sudden wealth of the North, she was aware that all the money these Houses were earning through trade was being funnelled into expanding their farms and glasshouses and increasing their defences and the strength of their holdfasts, and yet she still expected to find crumbling stone, small wooden houses, Lords bedecked in poor quality wool like common peasants.
Seeing was believing she supposed. She would have to ensure a maester or two were sent to update the maps of the Citadel, because such inaccuracy simply wouldn't do.
When it was time to make their move, Olenna didn't want anyone thinking the North was a backwater little country filled with huts in the mud. They needed to be seen as formidable as the south was, or the split of the Seven Kingdoms would not last more than two generations. The Northern Games would be the first step towards that purpose, she presumed.
Not only would these Games showcase the skills of the Northerners, but it would also bring any who wished to watch or participate to Winterfell, and what a sight that was. Out of all she had seen so far of the North - and granted it wasn't much considering they had stuck to the Kingsroad and any nearby keeps - Winterfell was by far the most impressive. Though perhaps Moat Cailin came close.
A castle the size of an entire town, two thick and tall walls with a moat and drawbridge between them, hundreds of guards patrolling the top of each wall. It was completely impenetrable. It wasn't a great beauty, but perhaps that was only her own biased opinion. It was difficult to find any castle beautiful when one lived at Highgarden, after all none could compare to the grace and enchantment that was the seat of the Tyrells.
Still, it was far from the boring and austere grey keep she had expected (she should perhaps put her expectations to the side to avoid having her preconceptions repeatedly demolished). It was indeed made of light grey rock, with green lichen climbing up the walls a third of the way, the white and grey banners of the wolf tastefully decorating the guard towers and a visible burning brazier in each one.
It was her understanding that barring a few repairs here and there on some barely used towers and the interior decorating, the castle hadn't been changed by the sudden influx of gold, meaning it had been this impressive even back before the Rebellion, when the Starks were as poor as a Great House could be.
Tut. The state of southern education. She really must send a letter to the Citadel in the near future, have them update their teachings on Northern affairs. The Starry Sept too, demand they stop spreading word of savage Northerners sleeping on hay and feasting on blood. Thankfully, she had the precognition to request a maester that had lived his former life in the North to teach her grandchildren. Best their education prepare them for their future after all, especially little Margaery.
Speaking of...
"Children." Olenna called, and twin heads of honey brown hair swivelled towards her. "We will soon be arriving at Winterfell, where the Starks shall be awaiting us." She said, leaning forward to ensure she had their attention. "It is of the utmost importance that you conduct yourselves admirably, do you understand?"
"Yes, Grandmother."
"Good." A sharp nod and a tap of the cane showed the old woman's satisfaction. Normally she would trust in her education of the children, trust that they knew how to comport themselves and wouldn't bother stating the obvious. But this was important. "You remember what I asked of you before we left?"
"We need to make friends with the Starks." Loras recited, his hands clasped cutely at his front.
"Because it's important to the trade alliance that we continue our good relationship even through the next generation." Margaery continued, quoting Olenna almost word for word.
"That's right." The elderly woman nodded. "The Starks are important. They are friends to the King and have grown in power since the Rebellion, as you learned in your lessons. We must foster close relationships with them all, especially the children."
"Do you think Sansa will want to sew with me?" Her sweet granddaughter asked, eyes wide and pleading. Olenna allowed herself a soothing smile.
"Of course, my dearest heart. The Lady Catelyn tells me little Sansa very much enjoys the womanly arts, though she is a little younger than you."
"That's alright, I can teach her anything she doesn't know yet!"
"And I can spar with Lord Robb! I'm almost his age, I can keep up!" Loras interjected, jumping slightly in his excitement and making the carriage rock uncomfortably.
"And little Jon too, remember."
"But isn't Jon a bastard?"
"Loras!" Margaery gasped, a hand coming to cover her mouth.
"What? He is a bastard!"
"That's enough from you, young man." Olenna interrupted, knowing that if she let this continue it would end with the girl slapping her brother and them both turning away from each other to hide their tears. Not to mention the horror of Loras calling the future King of the Seven Kingdoms a bastard to his face. "'Tis true, Jon is a bastard." She ignored Loras' smug smile at his sister and pinned him with a hard glare. "He is however Lord Stark's beloved nephew, Lord Robb's only cousin so far and the only child of Robb's age within the vicinity. The two have been raised as brothers, are reportedly never without one another, therefore Loras there will be no mention of Lord Jon's birth status. He is to be treated with the same respect as the rest of his family, is this understood?"
"Yes Grandmother."
The child's lowered head and sheepish foot shuffling didn't pull at Olenna's heart. It didn't.
"Good. Besides, you've both received the same letters from Willas as I, and you know your brother is fond of the boy, claims he is smart and polite, with the grace and dignity of any highborn child his age. I'm sure you will find a good friend in him, my dear."
Another reason the planning should be done by the women, she thought. Oh there was no other option than to have the boy pass as Brandon's bastard boy, but to have a supposed bastard foster with not one but two Great families when he reached the right age? Impossible. Simply not done! The King would simply have to come south under the guise of squiring, or one of his cousins could foster with the Tyrells and Martells and the boy could simply 'accompany' them. Image was important. Image was how they pulled this whole thing off without Tywin or Varys finding out.
Regardless, Winterfell was in view, they would be within her walls within the hour, and as soon as she had a moment alone with Ned and Catelyn, they were going to go over this whole plan again and again until she was satisfied.
Winterfell had never been so full.
With Aunt Catelyn's new Northern Games beginning in less than a week, it seemed the whole of the North - nay, the entire country had gathered at the seat of the Starks to watch. And indeed, there were people from all over the Kingdoms, not just the North. It was an endless cycle of introductions and politeness.
First came the Tullys, Aunt Catelyn's brother and Uncle. Jon didn't like Lord Edmure all that much, the young man - still a boy really - sneering a little and pursing his lips when he greeted Jon, despite showing affection to all the others. He didn't let it bother him, Aunt Catelyn had explained how southerners viewed bastards and if Edmure didn't want to hang around Jon, then he didn't want to hang around Edmure! Ser Brynden was way more interesting anyway. He ruffled Jon's hair just like he did to Robb and promised them he'd tell them stories about battles!
A few days after them came Tyrion Lannister, accompanied by a hundred guards and a dozen servants, along with Lionel Lefford and Harrald Westerling. Lord Lionel was by far the oldest, but even he was still young enough to not have any grey hairs, and Lord Tyrion had only recently come of age. Tyrion was also the only one that didn't look like he smelled something unpleasant when greeting the Starks, and Jon in particular, and from what Jon had seen at dinner the little man seemed quite funny, making his entire table roar with laughter. He and Robb had asked if they could go join them but Aunt Catelyn had said they were too young.
The Tyrells and the Martells arrived within a week of each other and again, everyone had gathered in the courtyard and welcomed them, introduced themselves and made quick small talk. There were promises of spars, promises of lessons, promises of tours. Everyone was very busy.
Jon and Robb suddenly found themselves entertaining half the heirs of the North, as well as sons of southern houses that they had barely begun learning about. Mychel Redfort said his father was hoping to foster closer relations with the North by fostering a Northern heir, and Smalljon Umber, a boy five years their elder, kept making eyes at the older girls. He'd even started a conversation with Asha on one of the few occasions she left her rooms. Unfortunately for him it ended with him on the ground holding a hand between his legs and the other against his bloody nose before he had even managed to finish his sentence.
Obara Sand, one of Oberyn's daughters had liked that. She had promptly swept the younger Greyjoy girl under her arm and led her away while laughing at the poor boy's plight.
Margaery Tyrell had been nearby and her shock and confusion at the scene had ended with the boys taking an entire afternoon to teach a few of the girls on where and how to hit a boy if he ever made rude and unwanted advances. It was an unexpected day, even more so when Loras laughed and winked at Jon after helping him recover from a hard blow from a Mormont girl, joking that they should run from the hills as none could escape the wrath of an offended lady. Lyra Mormont hit him in the face too for calling her a lady.
Jon had never seen so many different people from so many different places, heard of so many different customs and ways of life. It was incredible, it was eye opening, it was joyous.
It was tiring.
With all these visitors, with all the commotion of the Games, Jon had barely any time for himself. Barely any time to think, to understand, to assimilate what his Aunt and Uncle had told him about his parentage and his future. He almost started crying when Lady Olenna apologised for not curtseying properly. He wasn't even 10 yet! No one should have to curtsey to him! He never even knew his father, had never even met a Targaryen at all, but everyone had to bow to him because he had fire in his blood?
It made no sense. And yet, he may not be a man grown, not for a while yet, but he was no longer a child. He had Stark blood in his veins and had been raised by Starks, and he knew his duty and he knew he would accomplish it. If only he could just have a little silence to properly come to terms with it all though!
Even as he sat at his desk, quill in hand, he flinched every time a ring of laughter sounded down the hallway despite the door being locked. He had already broken two quills from holding them too tight!
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Jon turned back to the blank piece of parchment before him and began to write his fourth attempt at a letter.
To Prince Viserys and Princess Daenaerys Targaryen,
Hello.
I have tried to write this letter a few times now and I'm afraid I have so far been unsatisfied each time. I have learned many things recently about myself, my life and my family, and I hope you forgive the confused mess that this letter may turn out to be. I've decided that this will be my last attempt, that I will send it regardless of how idiotic it seems.
So introductions first, I guess. My name is Jon Snow, or Jaehaerys Targaryen I suppose. Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, your nephew.
(I hope you don't mind me writing in the Old Tongue, I was told your tutors had ensured you know it).
I live with my mother's side of the family, in Winterfell, with my cousins Robb, Sansa, Arya and little baby Bran. I know you keep up to date with news from Westeros and that Prince Oberyn (who insists I call him Uncle despite refusing to call me anything other than Your Grace when in private) visits every few years, so you must already be aware of all this, but since I know nothing of you, I thought it best I start from scratch.
Are you happy where you are? Oberyn assures me you're taken care of, but I'd like to make sure myself. Not that I'd be able to do much about it, but I suppose I am the head of our House. If something was wrong, I could enlist the Starks to help. I know they would.
I imagine that wherever you are, you are receiving a proper Targaryen education, unlike me, although please do not worry. I am being taught to lead and rule, and of the history of our House, and Uncle Ned says that when I am older I will go to Highgarden and Sunspear to learn more about the south so that I may rule it properly.
I'm not sure what else to include in this letter. Until we know more of each other, I suppose all I can do is give a basic introduction. When you write back will you tell me of yourselves? Your hobbies, the things you are good at, the things that annoy you, your lessons? I personally love sparring, I hate arithmetic lessons but history is interesting, and I also really love going riding with my cousin Robb.
I truly hope you are both happy and loved, and I look forward to meeting you both one day. Until then, I hope we can exchange many more letters like this one.
(Not like this one, this one is pathetic, I hope we can exchange much better letters than this one. Please write back.)
With hope, your nephew,
J.
After sealing the letter, Jon stared at it in silence, cheeks gradually becoming hotter and hotter. It was awful! What would they think of him? He wanted them to like him - not only that but he wanted them to trust him as their head of House despite his young age and the fact he knew nothing about them. Should he rewrite it? But he still had no idea what to say to these strangers, his last living relatives from his father's side.
Ashamed, Jon flopped onto his bed with watering eyes and burning cheeks. He would give the letter to Prince Oberyn. There was no other choice. Any first letter he wrote would be ridiculous, stupid, but it would open the gateway to many more deeper and more personal ones. Hopefully.
He didn't need their love or trust or loyalty now, it would be many years before he met them, many years before he would take the Throne. And he was still a child, he couldn't be kingly no matter how hard he tried. He didn't know what kingly even meant.
He would figure it out. There was time. There was plenty of time and he had plenty of family members and allies who would help and support him, even without this written correspondence to his exiled Aunt and Uncle.
All would be well. He would learn.