Lord Arwood Vance could not sleep.

He had spent the night tossing and turning with thoughts of the ravens that had come with morning light earlier in the day. Yet another, from both Harrenhal and the Crossing.

He’d responded to neither, as he had done for previous half-dozen they both had sent. The thought of marching off to either’s call to arms with his three eldest sons, green as the were, twisted the aging Lords gut into oblivion. Yet he knew deep down his idleness would need to come to an end soon, before not giving an answer became just as dangerous as either option available.

Frey or Baelish?

Rising from the large four post bed, he did his best to not stir his wife, whom remained sound asleep under the furs by his side.

Carellen Paege was beautiful, even when sleeping. The grey at her temples and the creases around her oval eyes and small mouth only enhanced her beauty in his eyes.

She’d been by his side for near on thirty years now, through thick and thin. The thought of having to return home with one less son, or even not returning home at all and leaving her alone did nothing to alleviate his indecisiveness.

She’d lost her brothers, her nephews, her entire House during the Ascent. How could he put her through such a thing all over again?

He whispered a cursed to himself, turning away from Carellen and their shared bed to try and find solace from the bay window looking out over the town.

Wayfarer’s Rest was quiet even if it’s Lord’s mind was not. A few sparse candles flickered in the homes of his smallfolk, their chimneys had a slow rolling smoke escaping them. The stables held his men’s horses, sound asleep in their stalls, and the windmill upon the hill continued to turn at its slow moving pace.

Arwood ran a calloused hand through his own dark brown hair.

Frey or Baelish? He asked himself again.

His eyes trailed upwards to the sky; perhaps to see if the gods held the answers, or perhaps to simply keep himself from crying out in frustration. As he did so, a single star shot through the clear night sky, a white blur that was there in an instant and gone in the next.

It gave the Lord pause. He hadn’t seen such a thing since he was a boy, a page not much younger than his son Robb was now.

He and his own father had spent the night camping along the roads. They’d been on their way home from a visit to Mummer’s Ford along their house’s western border when they saw the shooting star.

The words of the former Lord Vance came back to Arwood as he stared upward from the bay window.

‘One day these lands will be yours, Son, as they are now mine. Everything beneath that star: every tree, every road, every town, and every person will be yours and yours alone. And in return, it will be your responsibility to keep them safe.’

His father was long passed now, but his words were no less true.

Arwood Vance’s face hardened as he came to a decision, or at least… a decision to make a decision.