The madam, Erena, was the proprietress of the most frequented establishment in Wintertown.
While the locals simply called it the Winter Town brothel, its true name was a flourish of Low Valyrian, a tongue the rough northern clients cared little for and made even less effort to pronounce.
Erena had arrived from Volantis nearly two decades ago, and in that time, she had turned the property leased to her into the premier destination for the men of the North, far outstripping the smaller, seedier hovels nearby.
For Palpatine, the establishment possessed a value far greater than its outward shame suggested.
It was not merely a house of flesh and cheap pleasure.
If properly handled, it could become a listening post, a sanctuary for the discreet agents he intended to cultivate, a place where secrets were loosened by wine, ale, warmth, and exhaustion.
Better still, it could provide something he required with increasing urgency, a steady flow of coin.
And in this world, as in his last, money was the fuel of an empire.
It was a necessity he felt acutely.
Siphoning coin from his mother’s purse and then scrubbing her memory was a clumsy, unsustainable tactic.
It was a parlor trick, and it needed to end.
With a steady stream of independent income from the brothel, he could begin the real work.
He could find the artisans needed to manufacture the specific innovations he had in mind….
Things that could generate decent profits and increase trade, commerce, and industry for his uninnovative house.
Eddard Stark hardly budged on some of his suggestions, so he would have to take more drastic measures.
He would provide the man with things he could never overlook and show him that House Stark, and consequently the North, could improve their economic and political station amongst the other great houses.
In that grand design, Erena’s role was simple.
She was to die.
With no children, no lawful heirs, and no clear inheritor, the property would eventually default to the lords of the land…House Stark.
That was the cleanest path, provided the transition was managed correctly.
The woman he had sent Mara to contact was Nella, one of Erena’s managers.
If Erena was the heart of the establishment, Nella was her lung, ambitious, resentful, and desperately hungry for the seat of power she thought she deserved.
People, he noted with a dry satisfaction, remained predictable no matter which corner of the galaxy they occupied.
So he had done what he had always done best…
Days ago, during his little foray into Winter Town, he was guided by the force right to her place of work, where he saw her through a window, felt the shape of her emotions, and glimpsed into her mind.
She had been in the right place at the right time, and he had always been a master of capitalizing on such coincidences.
Since then, he had pressed his invisible fingers into her psyche, using the Force to widen the cracks of her insecurities until her will bent entirely toward his design. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
She would be his creature.
His little tool in the pits of the underworld.
And of course, once Erena lay cold in the ground, their ambitious friend Nella would be lifted to fill the void.
The transition would be seamless, a clean transfer of ownership, a document of approval, and the steward’s seal to lend the arrangement the legitimacy of Northern law.
A simple suggestion, with the force into the mind of Vayon Poole, would ensure the ink was dry before the body was even buried.
“Milord Robb,” Mara ventured, her voice low, “I know it may not be my place to ask, but what do you truly want with such a place?”
“Power, Mara. A step up on the ladder,” he replied simply, taking care not to add more detail.
It was a vague, metaphoric reply, yes, but as she said, it wasn’t her place.
He had met with Nella only three times, each encounter lasting no more than a few minutes.
She was competent enough to grasp that opportunity never arrived without a price.
She understood the cost of power just as clearly as she understood the scent of danger, and if she hadn’t, he would’ve found another candidate.
When they first met, she recognized the threat he posed, but he felt it was time to reinforce that fear.
She had never seen him as he truly was.
During their brief meetings, he had draped himself in a Force mask…a Sith illusion that twisted the air around him, altering his voice, his stature, and his very aura.
To the former whore, he appeared as a tall, hooded figure, his face a landscape of shadows lost beneath a dark cowl.
He was a ghost, a master of the unseen, known only by the name he had whispered into the abandoned cabin where they first met.
Sidious….
It was a name Mara knew all too well, though the truth remained hidden behind a veil of misdirection.
She did not know that Sidious was him, and he was Sidious.
He had wrapped the identity in layers of confusion, making it very difficult for her to uncover the trail.
In her mind, Sidious was an unknown, vague variable, perhaps another servant like herself, perhaps something else, or someone who was pulling Robb’s strings.
And the Sith Lord encouraged the delusion.
It forced her to question her value; if she was merely one of many, she was expendable.
If she believed she could be replaced with the ease of a worn-out horseshoe, then she would do whatever was necessary to remain useful.
She would strive to be worthy of his favor, not out of love, but out of a desperate need for survival and her own lackluster ambitions.
Until she secured her place, she would continue to do his bidding, serving as the silent raven between the castle and the town.
He had instructed her with extreme caution that Nella was never to see her face.
She was never to learn her name.
There was to be no thread, however thin, that might lead a curious gaze back to the gates of Winterfell, nor back to him.
He knew the risks.
If Nella discovered the identity of the messenger, she might grow bold.
Ambition made people useful, but it also made them restless, and Nella was precisely the sort who might hire men to uncover the identity of her unseen benefactor if she thought the risk worth taking.
He would not be surprised if she had Mara followed, seized, or questioned, and Mara wasn’t one to stay silent if she was threatened with harm.
If that restlessness became inconvenient and Nella’s curiosity eventually outweighed her caution about him, he would be forced to discard her painfully.
But for now, fear and suspicion held her in place.
Later, when Erena lay cold, that fear would harden into something far more reliable.
Nella would understand then that (Sidious) was not merely a patron with power and irresistible promises.
He would show her that no door could lock him out, and no soul was beyond his reach, not even in death’s sanctuary.
None….
“I have much to think about. You may take your leave, my friend,” he said, dismissively waving a hand without looking up.
“And as you pass the kitchens, see to it that a wedge of cheese and a heel of bread are brought up. I find myself rather hungry.”
He had returned to his work before she even reached the door.
The scratch of the quill resumed.
Palpatine had spent the better part of two hours creating that map, not like a land map, but a map out of the radical restructuring of the Northern administration, replacing antiquated oral traditions and decentralized tallying and accounting with a standardized system.
It was merely another of his written reforms, one he could not yet employ, but setting it down still served a purpose.
Ideas committed to ink could be refined, hidden, returned to, and weaponized when the proper moment arrived.
Support the cause guys !!!
Sorry for the Late Update.