" . . . The stars are lovely tonight," mused Bran Stark, stroking the unkempt mess that is his beard. "A pity nobody in the city would be able to see it. Daenerys did a wonderful job of standardizing lighting in the city. Too wonderful, I think." The wheels on his chair creaked as he pushed on them, slowly driving him along the quiet seaside. Aside him paced a nervous Arak Snow, improvising a long spear as a walking staff.

"My lord," he began. "With no offense intended for your sound judgement, I still believe that you made a rash decision when you requested only me as your guard. I fear for your safety greatly. Any number of things can happen so many miles from the city." Bran chuckled lightly, sounding a little more like a rasp. Stories told by old smallfolk tell of him traveling beyond the wall to commune with ancient sages of the Old Gods. Arak was not sure if those stories were true, but whatever happened, the lord Bran looked far older than he was and should be.

"Why would I need more guards? I have you," Bran mumbled. "And enough of this 'my lord' nonsense. I hear it enough from my submissive vassals. Bran is a fine enough name, would you not say?"

"I'm sure, my lo- Bran," Arak answered, catching himself. The two of them continued to silently make their way down the beach, the spear tapping to the rhythm of the wheels creaking. Arak decided to break the silence with something that had been harboring his mind for the whole walk. "I feel as if a stroll upon the sand was not your full purpose of requesting me to escort you here," he said, already feeling guilty for accusing his liege of anything.

"Excellent perception," Bran said, smiling. "There is more to be done outside of relaxing to the sound of waves. I should have seen to this years ago. Do you remember the old commander . . . what was his name . . . ah yes, Quorik?"

"Yes, my- Bran," Arak said. "He passed, quite a long time ago."

"Yes, that he did. Now, I haven't gotten around to filling his position yet, but perhaps I should now. I was hoping that your eye for character would influence my decision. Any competent looking soldiers catch your eye?" Bran asked, an odd twinkling seeming to form in his own.

"Well," Arak stammered, fiddling with his spear. He had not expected his lord to even allow him to speak in the beginning of this walk, let alone listen to his counsel! "I would like to put forth my instructor, Sarin. He judges fairly, and is well liked by his men."

"Actually," Bran interrupted, the twinkle getting more apparent. "I was thinking more of a younger officer. He's a tad inexperienced, true, but his valor is unquestioned. I believe he goes by Arak." Arak's eyes shot wide at that.

"Surely not me, my lord! Even I could tell you it would be most unwise to hand a command position to a-"

"A Bolton?" Bran said, eyes narrowing. "Believe me true, I had toyed around with offering the position to another skilled tactician, William. However, I saw immediately the flaw in that. Aye, he'd lead. Aye, he'd win. And when he wins, he'll turn his forces right around and send them at Winterfell. I think that you wouldn't be so inclined to make such a decision, would you?"

"Surely not me, my lord!" Arak said, stuttering almost every word.

"Good, now that we are on the same page, you will take the command position, and I will not hear a word of objection out of you. Is that clear?" There was no response. "Good, that was not so difficult, was it? Now we may go back to enjoying the quiet darkness the sky has to offer." With another push and creak, the wheeled chair made its way further down the beachside. A dark figure, out of the corner of Arak's eye, seemed to crawl out of the river. Was it a figment of his imagination? He turned to look, and discovered to his horror that it was not.

"Duck, my lord!" he shouted, lifting his buckler just in time to catch a bloated pincer crashing down on his liege's head. With his other hand, he lifted the spear and drove it into where he guessed the neck was. It dove in, and stuck. The man-creature stumbled back to the sea, but righted itself. Before it could, Arak grabbed the handles on Bran's chair, turned it around, and began racing for the city. The Red Keep, dominating the skyline within its walls, was but a speck on the horizon. "How far is it till we reach the castle!?" he asked, between breaths.

"If I were to guess, three miles," came Bran's response.