The War Council
The council chamber of Moat Cailin was warm with firelight despite the chill winds from the Neck. Alyssa sat at the head of the long oak table, her fingers lightly tapping its surface while her most trusted inner circle took their seats.
Torran, a quiet, sharp-eyed boy, ran her network of informants with ruthless efficiency. No rumor in the Neck or White Harbor escaped his reach. "King's Landing is a nest of whispers," he began. "Even before you reach the Red Keep, there will be eyes and ears on you. My network will be working the moment we arrive."
Lysa, elegant and bold, smoothed a parchment map in front of her. She had already visited three noble courts, negotiating trade and peace, and spoke four languages despite being only twelve. "The presentation of our goods must be flawless, and our courtesies even more so. We're not just selling mirrors and silks—we're announcing that the North can match and surpass their luxuries without bowing."
Mira, slight and clever, worked closely with the builders. She crafted siege engines and improved irrigation systems, her mind as sharp as any blade. "We should showcase what truly sets us apart: sanitation, aqueducts, clean streets. Quiet demonstrations of our engineering will rattle cages without a word."
Branric, strong and broad as a young bear, was the commander of her household guard and personally saw to her protection. "My only concern is security. We'll need to watch for blades in the dark and poison in your cup."
Kael, the mute boy with perfect recall, recorded and coded messages, often acting as Alyssa's shadow in council. He tapped a small stack of coded parchments, his gaze steady, as if to say he was already three moves ahead.
Alyssa listened to them all, nodding. "We're walking into a den of lions, yes—but we're wolves. Wolves who know the game before it's played."
She let her tone sharpen, her eyes flicking to each of them. "There are… other objectives as well. They will not be public knowledge."
The room stilled.
"King's Landing is crawling with orphans. I want as many as we can take without raising suspicion. They'll come back here, to Moat Cailin, where they'll be fed, taught, and made loyal. The South has no idea how dangerous it is to hand me their forgotten children."
Torran smirked faintly. "That… I can arrange."
"Second," she continued, "the Faith of the Seven holds sway over too much of the realm. I plan to plant seeds—small doubts, subtle cracks. If chaos blooms, it will be on my terms, not theirs."
Mira raised a brow. "A dangerous game."
"Everything worth winning is," Alyssa said simply.
She outlined her magical preparations. "Food will stay fresh, impervious to rot or vermin. Every wagon, every crate, will be warded against breakage. And I'm weaving secrecy wards—no spying eyes, no listening spells." Then she leaned back in her chair, eyes on Torran. "Can we arrange a quiet, private meeting with Varys while I'm in the capital?"
Torran considered it for a moment, his sharp gaze narrowing. "It will be risky, but not impossible. If you want the Spider's web to brush against ours, I'll find a way."
She leaned forward slightly, her tone thoughtful. "If we could get him on our side, that may help in the long run." She glanced around the table, meeting the eyes of each of her advisors in turn, silently asking for their opinions.
Torran's mouth curved into a sly grin. "The Spider could be an asset, but he'll never spin his threads for free. If we reach for him, we must be prepared to pay—just not in coin."
Lysa folded her hands neatly. "Varys plays the long game. If we can convince him your vision benefits the realm—or his own ambitions—he might offer more than information."
Mira's brow furrowed. "He's dangerous, Alyssa. If you walk into his web, make sure you're the spider, not the fly."
Branric rumbled lowly, "If you meet him, I want twice the guard nearby. Whispers are fine, but I don't trust the man not to have a blade hidden behind them."
Kael merely tapped his fingers twice, his way of signaling both caution and readiness.
When the meeting ended, each advisor left with their tasks clear. Alyssa stayed a moment longer, staring into the fire. They don't know I've seen this game before, she thought. And this time, I'm playing to win.
The Caravan
Two days later, the courtyard of Moat Cailin was alive with motion. Guards polished their armor, horses stamped impatiently, and wagon drivers checked and rechecked their loads.
The caravan was impressive:
Luxury goods: Mirrors of flawless clarity, glass bottles filled with perfume, silk and wool in rich dyes, fine jewelry, books bound in leather, tapestries threaded with silver.
Foodstuffs: Crates of fresh produce from her enchanted gardens, casks of Northern wine, rare spices, and sweet preserves.
Weapons and armor: Subtly enhanced with magic, for her own forces' use.
Alyssa moved among them, her presence a quiet authority. She checked the wards herself—invisible threads of magic humming at her touch.
Before they departed, she gave a short speech. "We go not just as traders, but as representatives of the North. We'll be tested, tempted, and perhaps threatened. But we are the strength of winter, and winter bends to no crown but its own."
Cheers rose, the sound echoing against the stone.
The Road South
Leaving Moat Cailin: The people of the Neck came to see them off, showering them with blessings, dried herbs, and tokens for luck. Alyssa accepted each with a gracious nod.
Bandits on the Road: Five days south, a band of raiders tried to ambush them at dusk. They didn't last long against her guards—or her. The survivors were given her usual choice: serve her, take the black, or die. Most chose to serve.
The Twins: Crossing the bridge, Lord Walder Frey's calculating eyes followed her every move. She returned his smile with one of her own, thinking, Your time will come. She wished she could kill him now for the horror he would orchestrate at the Red Wedding in the other timeline she remembered, but she knew this was not the time or place—patience would serve her better.
Along the Kingsroad: Villages dotted the path. Alyssa kept her promise—she discreetly handed out food to the poor, speaking with them like equals. The whispers of "Lady Stark of Moat Cailin" began to follow her south. Not all encounters were peaceful—more than once, desperate or foolish bands of highwaymen tried their luck against the caravan, only to be swiftly crushed. This time, however, she did not take most of the survivors into her ranks; instead, she planned to send the majority to the Wall to take the black, keeping only a few with skills worth integrating into her forces. Her growing reputation as a fair but unyielding leader continued to spread.
Harrenhal: The ruined fortress rose like a corpse of stone. Even from the road, she felt the echoes of death and power in its bones. Her magic prickled in warning and interest. "One day," she murmured, "I'll see what secrets you're hiding."
More Bandits: South of Harrenhal, another group of brigands struck under cover of night. They were better armed and organized than the last, but they too fell quickly. Alyssa made a different choice this time—few were kept, most were bound for the Wall. "Better the Night's Watch grows stronger than my enemies," she told Branric, her words as cold as the steel in her hand.
The Capital
The approach to King's Landing was like stepping into another world. The air thickened with the smell of salt, sewage, and spices. Her caravan's banners fluttered as they passed through the crowded gates, drawing curious eyes and whispered speculation. Merchants paused in their calls to watch the Northerners in their fine cloaks and strange goods, children darted between wagons hoping for a glimpse of something exotic, and goldcloaks tried to keep order but failed to contain the chaos. Alyssa kept her posture regal, every movement calculated to project power and control.
When King's Landing finally came into view, the city's walls looked smaller than she remembered from the show—but the stench was worse. The streets were a chaos of shouting merchants, beggars, and guards.
Her gaze swept over it all—the sprawling slums, the domes of the Great Sept, the towers of the Red Keep. She could already see the fault lines she might widen.
They reached their assigned lodgings, a modest but well-guarded estate not far from the Keep.
Alyssa turned to her advisors, her voice low but certain. She dismounted and immediately began assessing their surroundings with the precision of a commander and the caution of someone who knew the capital's dangers all too well.
She ordered Torran to have eyes on every street leading to their estate, Lysa to send word to discreet contacts within the court, and Mira to start quietly inspecting the local infrastructure for weaknesses they could exploit. Before even unpacking, she visited the markets in disguise with two guards, noting the flow of goods, the types of merchants present, and the mood of the common folk. Every moment was a step in her larger plan to understand—and eventually influence—this city. "This is where the real game begins."