He extended a hand.
The wooden chest, where the boy kept his garments, slid across the room and came to rest beside the bed.
It was nearing the end of winter, but this cold would take weeks upon weeks to truly vanish even with the nearing of spring.
Now that he thought back on it, this world seemed to have an odd cycle of weather and seasons.
The weather was untypical for what seemed to be a temperate planet.
His stomach growled loud and indignantly, interrupting his thoughts.
He was hungry; that was the situation now.
A quick walk to the main hall of this castle would do him well to find something to eat.
He’d beckon a servant to bring him food lest he remain here with a stomach that wouldn’t cease to disturb him.
“Master Robb! I had heard you were awake, but to see you up and about… and eating, no less. It is a sight that gladdens my old heart.”
Maester Luwin’s voice preceded him as he entered the hall.
He stopped, looking down at the boy with a mixture of professional relief and genuine affection.
Robb sat rather upright, his face possessing more color than it had only two short hours prior.
As he had told the lady Stark, and so it had come to fruition, he looked around, wondering where she had gone off to now.
The Maester’s gaze fell upon the plate of heavy, rustic bread, fried fish, and salted meat the boy was currently, yet with a certain grace, slowly dismantling.
He frowned slightly, his chain clinking as he leaned in.
“I think a softer meal with more liquids, perhaps a hearty onion soup or a bowl of broth, would be better for your constitution than these harder meals,” Luwin suggested, his tone a blend of a physician’s caution and a grandfather’s worry.
“Your body has been through a great ordeal, young master. We must not rush the mending.”
“I appreciate your advice… Maester,” Palpatine said softly as he looked up to observe the man from what he had recently found out to be an order of learned men they called maesters.
Appointed to these castles to serve as healers, advisors, councilors, innovators, etc.
And less so of the innovation.
Their little order was marked to be around for many centuries to millennia, yet for all that time, this world had barely progressed in technology.
Were the peoples of this world blind to the implications that this so-called learned order was often purposely stunting the growth and hoarding knowledge for themselves like a pyke to spice, or was it because he was more adverse and intelligent to see treachery wherever it may lie?
Few things could escape his notice.
A little knowledge from the boy’s mind had made him see a lot and think about a lot, and to be honest, he was not impressed by his household nor the other households of this kingdom.
They are wasteful and blind to the true limits of power they could achieve.
His father, Ned Stark, was a disappointment; he was in all his talks and actions of honor a fool, naive to the needs and knowledge of properly running a kingdom; he was neglectful, uninspired, and too entrenched in old traditions and norms.
He was politically stunted and unbureaucratic, something that could be said for most of the other northern leaders based on Robb’s memory.
A sign of failure for one who leads a great house, he could’ve guessed already the numerous holes Ned found himself in, rigid as he was.
He’d seen types like him very often in the past, on Naboo, on Coruscant, and Corellia, and in the Senate, and things rarely went well for them.
A pity.
He hadn’t met the man, but filtering more through these memories had given clarity to the type of man this body’s father was, an understanding the nine-year-old couldn’t necessarily process prior to when he possessed him, as he had his head on other childish endeavors, which was to be expected of one his age.
Speaking of the devil, he wondered where such a man would be at this moment.
It has been two hours since he had awoken; by now the entire castle should have heard of it.
His second little sister, Arya, a toddler, had greeted him while she was being taken around the castle by a servant girl to see their mother.
“Where is my father, Maester Luwin?” He inquired using the Force to check if he was telling any lies.
“Well …
young lord, he had journeyed northward to one of the villages; a band of thieves had stolen some grain, and he had ridden out to bring them to justice.” Luwin said, “Fixing up the words so they fit the ears of a child.”
A half-truth, the emperor realized, as the man didn’t want to say the truth of what was truly happening or had happened.
Perhaps these bandits killed the villagers and forcefully took their food; at the same time, it was a minor issue.
So why had Ned not sent his henchmen to have it resolved instead of him going personally?
Ah yes, the answer came to his mind now.
‘A lord must always set an example and be immersed in the happenings of his lands.’ These are the words of the good Lord Stark, yet he followed them haphazardly and misguidedly.
It was still disappointing to know that these people couldn’t even get enough food to sustain the entire population through the winter without needing to steal from their neighbors.
Even in the wider galaxy, he was aware of the issues that arose from dealing with a food crisis.
However, these crises were often caused by the need to feed millions and billions of mouths across multiple planets, rather than just the population of this snowy land.
He couldn’t tell, but he doubted it surpassed two million.
And oftentimes planets grew their own food that would more than support their wants and needs unless their environment were completely incapable.
Exhibit A: It being toxic, an ocean world, a lava world like Mustafar, a city world like Coruscant, or merely a solid rock.
With advancements in agriculture, food could be grown anywhere using terraforming techniques and technology.
The north being cold was not the worst issue; they just lacked the proper tools, skills, etc.
So no matter the chill, food still could be grown in abundance as if it were an agri-world that was basically covered with farms planet-wide.
The northern people and its rulers failed themselves to see how they could go about finding more resourceful and efficient ways to grow food than through glass gardens that were few and very expensive to construct while also being limited in the quantity of what could be grown inside.
How deficient it all was, and this was the type of society he had to live with until the pathway to escape this planet revealed itself.
This was the place he had to plan and bid his time in.
O, how he wished to torment something to release some of his built-up scorn and hatred.
The tendrils of his lightning made flesh smoke like grilled meat.
Sorry about the late update.