Ryder has always been wary of Southern lords meddling in the affairs of the North.
The news that a Tyrell, of all people, was interested in the northern lands sends ripples of mixed emotions through the smallfolk.
Most northerners scoff at the idea, distrustful of a southerner's intentions in their harsh, unforgiving land. Yet, some see the potential: steady work, a reliable source of coin, and perhaps a better future for their families. Ryder falls somewhere in between.
He first hears about the Tyrell lord while drinking in a tavern near the Neck. He's nursing an ale, half-listening to the murmur of conversations around him, when the name Tyrell comes up. He recognizes the name, if only because his ma' often grumbles about how the Reach lords provide most of the food the North can't grow.
The Tyrells have a reputation for being shrewd, but fair, a quality Ryder can respect. They offer goods at cheaper rates than the traders from Essos, who are always looking to squeeze every last coin out of a deal.
Now, standing in front of a mirror, Ryder shifts uncomfortably in the new clothes that have been thrust upon him. They're fine, much finer than anything he's ever worn. They're a gift from the southern lord, something he isn't entirely sure how to feel about.
His new position, as a sort of overseer or manager, feels strange to him. He's never been one for fancy titles or positions, but this one comes with benefits he can't ignore. He even has a personal assistant, Ollie, a young man who had trained to be a maester but decided against taking the vows.
Ollie has been offered a different path by little lord Tyrell, paid training, he calls it.
The little lord wants the smallfolk to learn how to read, write, and even do some advanced math.
Ryder has never heard of such a thing. Paid training? It sounds too good to be true.
Ryder wonders if the old gods sent this Tyrell as some kind of blessing, but he can't shake the suspicion that there's more to it. He's seen the wickedness that can lurk behind a lordly smile, he only has to think of the Boltons to remind himself of that.
"Are you even listening?" Ollie's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. The younger man swats Ryder on the head, exasperation clear in his voice.
"Ouch!" Ryder yelps, rubbing the spot where Ollie hit him. He shoots an indignant glare at his assistant. "The fuck was that for?"
"Pay attention," Ollie replies, clicking his tongue in that annoyingly superior way of his. Ryder personally thinks the lad is a bit of a cunt, but he's a smart one. If Ryder is going to make the most of this opportunity, he'll have to learn to listen, even if it means putting up with Ollie's haughty attitude.
Ollie straightens the parchment in front of him, where numbers and strange symbols are scribbled in neat rows. "Now, as I was saying, you need to understand the basics of arithmetic before we can move on to anything more advanced."
Ryder sighs but leans in closer, trying to focus. Numbers were never his strong suit, but Ollie insists that this new role requires more than just muscle and common sense.
"Take this example," Ollie continues, pointing to a column of figures. "If you're managing the resources for the mining operations, you'll need to calculate the amount of stone extracted versus the labor costs. Let's say you have twenty men working the mine, and each man can extract fifty pounds of stone in a day. How much stone is that in a week?"
Ryder furrows his brow, trying to process the information. He counts on his fingers under the table, mumbling the calculations to himself. "Uh… a thousand pounds a day? And" he thumbs his ear thinking hard, "… seven thousand pounds in a week?"
"Exactly," Ollie says, nodding with approval. "Now, if you know how much you're paying each man per day, you can calculate your total labor costs and compare it to the value of the stone you're extracting. This is crucial for ensuring the operation is profitable."
Ryder shifts uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. "And if it ain't profitable?" he asks, half-joking but also genuinely concerned.
"Then you make it profitable," Ollie replies with that same annoying certainty. "Or you go back to digging in the cold dirt for nothing. Your choice."
"Alright, let's say I've got the math figured out," Ryder says, leaning back in his chair. "What's next?"
Ollie's eyes narrow as he considers the question. "Next, we move on to logistics."
"It's not just about knowing the numbers; it's about managing people, resources, and time. You'll need to coordinate with the miners, ensure supplies are delivered on time, and keep everything running smoothly."
Ryder rubs the back of his neck, feeling the pressure of the responsibility. "Sounds like a lot."
"It is," Ollie agrees. "But you're not alone in this. You've got the support of the Tyrell lord, and you've got me to help you. We'll take it one step at a time."
Ryder nods, feeling a bit more reassured. The whole situation still feels surreal, him, a mere whore's son, managing a mining operation for a southern lord.
Something is exciting about it, too.
A chance to prove himself, to rise above the life he'd always known.
"Alright," he says finally. "Let's get to it."
Ollie gives him a rare, approving smile. "Good. We start with the basics, and soon enough, you'll be running this operation like a true lord."
Ryder chuckles, shaking his head. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Ollie. I'm still just a Northman trying to make sense of all this Southern nonsense."
"Maybe," Ollie replies, "but you've got potential. And that's more than most can say."
Ryder finds himself getting more comfortable with the numbers and the responsibilities.
Maybe, just maybe, this southern lord wasn't as bad as he'd feared. The thought brings a small smile to his lips as he listens to Ollie's explanations, ready to embrace whatever challenges come next.
Lael stands behind Robb, with Rickon clinging to his cloak, the little boy's shaking body tugging at his heart. He tucks Rickon closer to his side as they watch the two guards escorting Catelyn Stark toward King's Landing under the cover of night.
"I'm alone now," Robb whispers to himself, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
Lael scoffs softly, lifting Rickon onto his hip and purposefully shoulder-checking Robb in a lighthearted tease. "What am I, chopped liver?"
Robb glances down at him—blasted northerners and their height. "Huh?" he asks, sapphire eyes alight with amusement, a welcome distraction from the grief that still lingers.
"You aren't alone," Lael says, deliberately looking at Rickon, who's gradually calming down. "You have your brothers, who are here for you. They might not have any advice, but they're a hell of a motivation."
"Plus, you have me," Lael adds, looking out over the balcony. He knows that Ned Stark would stand here, watching over his family as they grew.
Now, Robb is in that place, and Lael feels the weight of allowing Robb's whole family to walk into a hostile environment. He's letting the man he lov-
The father of the man he admires dies a death that one such as Ned Stark doesn't deserve.
No, Lael has put preventatives in place. He has the youngest of the Sand Snakes playing handmaiden for Sansa, and he trusts little Arya to find her way out.
Her character development is necessary, especially if the Night King exists in this world, though he does live in a universe where Willas and Garlan Tyrell exist.
The thought of ice spiders makes him shiver mentally.
Feeling Rickon getting restless, Lael lowers the boy to the ground and ruffles his hair. "Your mother will be fine," he assures, crouching down to tilt his head, signaling for one of his more maternal staff members. "Why don't you go with Marnie? She can show you these cool sticks you can take pictures with."
"…I guess," Rickon says, still downtrodden.
Marnie steps forward immediately, taking the young boy's hand. "Little one, you will absolutely love these. Milord has such a fascinating mind…" Her voice fades as she guides Rickon away.
"Plus, you have me. What do you mean?" Robb repeats Lael's words, and Lael has to suppress a shiver as he hears the taller boy step closer. Turning around, Lael grins playfully, hiding his wish to blush as they stand closer than what's proper.
"I—yeah, I mean I've invested millions into this land. I've learned the ways of the North, as much as I can in the short time I've been here, and I've come to adore the gruff but loyal men of the North."
Now he's just rambling. "You've been kinder than I anticipated. I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I came here, but the friendship we've built is one I cherish." Lael shifts on his heels, feeling like a fox under a wolf's gaze. "Besides, Theon is your—"
His words are interrupted by a pair of lips. Robb's midday stubble adds a pleasant sensation as he cups Lael's face, pulling him closer.
They only break apart when their lungs demand air. Lael watches in a daze as Robb pulls back, eyes wide. "I—" Robb stutters, then realizes his hand is still on Lael's cheek and pulls it back.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," Robb says with a flush. When he starts to walk away, Lael reaches out and grabs his wrist.
"Wait," he whispers. "Please, don't go. Don't do this."
Robb pauses. "Do what?" His tone is thick with emotion.
Lael steels himself. "Don't distance yourself from me. If that was just a stupid impulse, I'll forget it, but don't walk away from me after that unless you're willing to admit it was a mistake."
"I can't go through this again," he whispers. Robb turns back and breathes deeply upon seeing the tears in Lael's eyes. He steps closer as Lael continues, "Your friendship means more to me than my feelings for you."
Lael's breath hitches when Robb reaches to wipe a tear with his thumb. "Don't cry, especially for me," Robb says softly, looking down.
Robb drops his hand. "I need time, to make sure I'm not using you for my own selfishness. Will you give me that? I can't give you a future, I'm lord of the North. I need-"
Lael cuts him off with a soft, sad smile. "We can make our future whatever we want it to be, but I understand." He steps back.
With a teasing grin, he adds, "But you can only kiss me again when you decide a chance at us is worth it."
Robb stops him before he can go this time. "Does this change our friendship?"
Lael gives him a serious look. "Like I said, our friendship means too much to me to throw away simply because you don't return my affections."
Lael hesitates for a moment, then steps forward, closing the distance between them. He stands on his toes, gently pressing a soft peck on Robb's cheek.
It's quick and fleeting, but it leaves a warmth that lingers.
Robb blinks in surprise, his cheeks flushing deeper. Before he can say anything, Lael grins mischievously and pulls back, his eyes twinkling with playful satisfaction, with that, he turns and walks away as he heads down the corridor, he purposely doesn't look back, but he can most certainly feel Robb's gaze lingering on him.
The tension between them simmered with unspoken possibilities.
A/n:
I looked through my story and I can't find any mention on of Catelyn left yet, if I missed it point it point it out to me plz.
So…was the kiss too soon? Not ass climatic as you thought?
I tried to keep it angsty without going over reaching. Robb was raised by Ned and I'm sure Ned always taught him that a man's character is more than who he fucks, I mean he has Robert as claimed brother, I'm sure he's seen some things.
Also, I just don't find Westeros as homophobic as people think, most royalty and nobility in medieval period didn't care as long as there were an heir and it was discreet.
Plus aincent Greek was hella gay.
All of history is hella gay tbh.
Anyway Robb does have reservations against it, but it's more focused on how the lords will respect him and his duty to pass on the stark name.
There are ways around it obviously, he has four siblings whose children he could name heir, or we could find some throwaway woman he marries and Lael spells their dna into the womb surrogate style.
I don't like cheating stories so I won't have Robb be pulled between Talia or Lael. Robb is one who commits to his lover, as seen as when he broke the oath to Frey.
Ramble done:)