Of Sorcery and Secrets
Eighteenth Day of the Second Month 293 AC
Ser Alliser Thorne is, you quickly discover on your walk courtyards and passages of Castle Black, a quietly bitter man, quiet only because of the respect he carries to you. Or perhaps it is better said the respect he bears your name. Strange as it may be, you realize you have rarely been in the company of a one who held you in higher esteem for the blood in your veins than your deeds. Perhaps Ser Richard when your met in Braavos might have been counted, though you doubt he truly respected the boy who had found a place among thieves and cutthroats before shared struggle grew into friendship.
Still for all the injustices of fate real and imagined weighing heavily upon the knight's shoulders, he can have a clever and incisive wit regarding many things, the ways of war and diplomacy, even guessing something of the nature and motivations of the Old Gods. If only he were not so quick to make judgements and so slow to change them... then again you suppose that were it not for that extraordinary stubbornness he never would have come to be here over his willingness to fight to the end for a doomed cause.
"I'm not going to unlearn how to use sword in a hurry, and I'll make damn sure the rest of the men do some sorcery to help me cut things that steel won't serve against, and guard against the things that even fine plate cannot would seem to be the best fit," he says.
"So a spellsword like Waymar?" you prompt.
"Sounds about right, though I would like to be able to heal my own hurts. What warrior wouldn't? Many's the fight that got decided by the blind twist of fate."
"Have you ever performed anything? Music, poetry, rhetoric?" you ask, earning a startled expression that tells you all you need to know on the subject.
"Father did not hold with such things..." The knight shakes his head. "Grander houses than ours trained their sons in such arts. It was a marvel to hear your brother play, and not just for the ladies that gathered like a flock of chirping doves wherever he went."
"So not for you the singer's path, then," you say quickly, uncomfortable at the mention of Rhaegar in such near-reverent tones. Your brother was a far better man than your father, but he was not without his follies or his sins. The specter of Lyanna Stark and her talk of sundered promises and lonely sorrows were more than enough proof of that.
Ser Alliser catches your shift in mood if not perhaps the reason for it and follows suite. "No reason why every one of us should be able to do everything, then. Some can be healers before all else, others fighters."
"Your Grace, wait!" Valaena shouts as she rushes off of the maester's tower beside the tall and sombre figure of the First Ranger, earning her a frown from your current companion.
"She had to catch my attention somehow. Banners or smoke signals would be so much more cumbersome, don't you think?" you jest, drawing a surprised and somewhat unwilling laugh.
"It's not seemly," he still grumbles.
"Ser, I am sending her to the Nightfort in the full knowledge that there may be ancient specters or other horrors lurking in those ruins. It would be excessively cruel to demand lady-like decorum under the circumstances," you reply, all the while hoping he would not have too much trouble adapting to your court.
The knight looks at her for a long moment, trying to make sense of her place in the world, or at least so you guess. "Velaryon's daughter?" he asks softly. Even though you do not answer he continues, "She looks to be the right age and speaks in a manner that befits a lady, one from the Crownlands no less. News
does eventually get round even here at the edge of the world. A girl of such high birth vanishing is odd enough, but one with a dragon egg besides and only a fool would fail to mark it."
You give the faintest nod, at once impressed that he had figured it out and somewhat annoyed that he felt the need to talk about it here and now. True, no one else seemed to be in earshot, but that was hardly a proper guarantee of privacy. Thankfully he does fall silent when you discreetly motion for it.
On the way out where you had left the others, Stark fills you in on the news from the Watch, though sparing with his words. There's talk of several tribes of wildings banding together to retake Hardhome, from what exactly the Black Brothers can only guess, happy that the raiders will busy with something other than testing the Wall. There have also been more sightings of strange white beasts: wolves, shadowcats, and other seen less clearly that come with the light summer snows and vanish without a trace afterwards. So far they seem content to watch at a distance rather than make any move to attack the rangers.
The sight of Argo methodically sharpening his axe drives all talk of fantastical rumor and omen out of your companions' minds for a moment, though both recover well enough to offer polite greetings, which Bronn seems to find obscurely amusing.
On steeds of shadow you send them on their way, though admittedly Argo's is closer in size to a small Volantine elephant and conjured with more difficulty.
What do you do next?
[] Speak to Maester Aemon
-[] Write in subject
[] Return to the Deep
[] Write in
OOC: Contrary to what one might thing Alliser Thorne has above average wisdom and even decent social skills. It's just that he is not often minded to use the latter besides intimidation because he is a prickly bastard. 
