Later that evening, after Stannis's ship had departed for Dragonstone and the household had settled into its normal rhythms, Alexander stood on the western battlements of Evenfall Hall and looked out at the sea.
The Wall of Tarth was visible from here, a dark line against the fading light, crawling across the ridgeline like a scar being slowly drawn across the island's skin. Workers were still there, even at this hour. Alexander could see the distant flicker of their torches, the tiny sparks of human activity against the vast darkness of the landscape.
His father found him there, as Alexander had known he would. Lord Selwyn had a sense for when his son needed company and when he needed solitude, and today had been a day that required the former more than the latter.
"Lord Stannis departed in good spirits," Selwyn said, taking up position beside his son at the battlement. "Or what passes for good spirits with that man. I believe I may have seen him nod with something approaching satisfaction."
"High praise indeed."
"He is not an easy man to impress. But you have managed it." Selwyn rested his large hands on the stone parapet. "Tea and coffee on Dragonstone. Volcanic ash for our roads. Dragonglass for your experiments. Shireen fostering with Brienne. You have extracted quite a lot from a single negotiation."
"I have given quite a lot in return. Stannis is not a man who accepts one-sided arrangements, and I did not try to offer him one."
"No. You offered him partnership, which is considerably harder to reject." Selwyn was quiet for a moment. "Your mother would be proud, I think. She always said you would do great things."
Alexander felt the familiar ache that came whenever his mother was mentioned, a pain that had not faded in the seven years since her death but had simply become part of the landscape of his inner life, like a familiar scar that he no longer noticed except in certain lights.
"I wish she could have seen this," he said. "The island. The partnerships. What we are building."
"She sees it," Selwyn said. "Wherever she is now, she sees it. I have to believe that."
They stood together in comfortable silence, watching the torches on the wall and the stars emerging overhead. The sea below was dark and restless, its ancient rhythms unchanged by the human activity that dotted its shores.
"Father," Alexander said, "do you ever wonder if we are moving too fast? Building too much, too quickly?"
"Every day," Selwyn admitted. "But then I look at what we have accomplished, and I think of what we are preparing for, and I cannot bring myself to slow down." He turned to face his son. "You know things, Alexander. Things you have never explained and that I have never asked about. Whatever knowledge drives you, whatever vision of the future you carry, I trust that it is real and that it matters. That is why I have supported your projects even when they seemed mad. That is why I will continue to support them."
"Even the wildfire experiments?"
"Even those." Selwyn's expression was serious. "I know the risks. I know what could happen if something goes wrong. But I also know that you are not reckless, that you have taken every precaution that can be taken. And I know that if you believe the work is necessary, then it probably is."
"Thank you, Father."
"Do not thank me. Just... try not to blow up my castle." A faint smile crossed Selwyn's weathered face. "It has been in the family for a very long time, and I would hate to explain to your ancestors why I let an eleven-year-old destroy it."
"I will do my best."
"That," Selwyn said, clapping his son on the shoulder, "is all any of us can do."
He departed, leaving Alexander alone with the night and the stars and the distant torches on the wall.
Tomorrow, there would be more work. There was always more work. But for now, in this moment, Alexander allowed himself to simply exist: to feel the wind on his face, to hear the sea below, to be present in a world that he was slowly, painstakingly, trying to make ready for whatever was coming.
The Game of Thrones was still years away. He had time.
But only if he used it well.
He turned from the battlements and descended to the hall, his mind already turning to the next set of problems that needed solving, the next set of plans that needed making.
Behind him, the Wall of Tarth stretched across the ridgeline, growing inch by inch, stone by stone, toward a future that only he could see.
* * *
Wendel found him in the map room three days later, surrounded by charts and documents and the particular kind of controlled chaos that suggested a mind working faster than hands could organise.
"You sent for me, goodbrother?"
Alexander looked up from the naval chart he had been studying. "I have a proposal for you, Ser Wendel. One that goes beyond what we have previously discussed."
Wendel settled into a chair, his bulk making the furniture creak in its now-familiar protest. "I am listening."
"The Tarth fleet currently stands at approximately one hundred vessels, split between trade cogs, war galleys, and support craft. The Eastern Division, which you will command once your wedding to my sister is complete, accounts for roughly half of that total. The Western Division, under Admiral Dane, handles the remainder."
"I am familiar with the structure. What is your proposal?"
"I want to expand the Eastern Division significantly over the next three years. Not just in numbers, but in capability. Faster ships, better armed, crewed by men and women who are trained to fight together rather than simply to sail together." Alexander spread a new document on the table. "This is my plan."
Wendel read through the proposal, his expression shifting from curiosity to surprise to something that looked remarkably like hunger. "This is ambitious."
"It is necessary. The threats we face are not going to diminish. Pirates, raiders, hostile powers across the Narrow Sea. The only way to protect what we are building is to be strong enough that attacking us would be obviously, catastrophically foolish."
"You are thinking of more than pirates."
"I am thinking of everything. Every possibility, every threat, every opportunity. The naval forces I am proposing would be capable of defending Tarth against any conventional attack. They would also be capable of projecting power across the region, of protecting trade routes, of responding to crises faster than anyone expects."
Wendel set down the document. "This will require significant investment. Ships, training, crews, supplies. You are talking about building a force that would rival the royal fleet."
"I am talking about building a force that would complement the royal fleet. One that serves the realm's interests while also serving our own. The distinction matters, politically."
"And you believe the Crown will accept a vassal house with this level of naval capability?"
"I believe the Crown will be grateful for a vassal house that can handle problems in this part of the kingdom without requiring royal intervention. Robert does not want to be troubled with pirates and raiders and the endless minor crises that plague the Stormlands coast. If we can handle those problems ourselves, we become valuable allies rather than potential threats."
Wendel considered this, his grey-blue eyes thoughtful. "You have discussed this with Lord Renly?"
"I have. He approves, provisionally. He understands that a strong Tarth is good for the Stormlands, which means it is good for his own position." Alexander paused. "He also understands that the forces we are building could be useful to him, should circumstances ever require it."
"Circumstances such as?"
"That is not something I am prepared to discuss in detail. But let us say that Lord Renly is a man who thinks ahead, and he recognises the value of having capable allies."
Wendel was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was serious. "You are playing a dangerous game, goodbrother. Building forces, making alliances, preparing for events that may or may not happen. If anyone in King's Landing perceives you as a threat..."
"Then I will deal with that perception when it arises. For now, I am simply a precocious child with grand ambitions that everyone assumes will moderate once I am old enough to understand how the world really works." Alexander allowed himself a small smile. "That assumption is convenient. I intend to take advantage of it for as long as it lasts."
"And when it stops being convenient?"
"Then I will be ready. That is the point of all this preparation, Ser Wendel. Not to avoid the storm, but to ensure that when it arrives, we are strong enough to weather it."
Wendel looked at the charts spread across the table, at the maps and documents and plans that represented years of work and thousands of gold dragons of investment. He looked at the boy who had produced all of this, this strange, serious, impossible child who spoke of naval warfare and political maneuvering with the casual authority of a veteran commander.
"I am in," he said finally. "Whatever you are planning, whatever you are preparing for, I am in. Brienne chose to follow your ideas, which means she saw something in you that most people miss. I trust her judgment. So I trust yours."
"Thank you, Ser Wendel. Your confidence means a great deal."
"Do not thank me yet." Wendel rose from his chair. "Thank me when we have actually accomplished something. Until then, I am just another knight making promises in a map room."
"A knight who will soon command the most capable naval force in the Stormlands."
"Capability is theoretical until it is tested. Ask me again after our first real engagement." He moved toward the door, then paused. "One question, Alex. All of this preparation, all of this building. What exactly are you expecting to happen?"
Alexander considered the question. He could not tell the full truth, not to Wendel, not to anyone. But he could offer a piece of it.
"I expect the world to change," he said. "Not gradually or in a predictable way, but suddenly and violently. Old powers will fall. New powers will rise. Alliances that seemed eternal will shatter, and enmities that seemed permanent will be set aside. I do not know exactly when this will happen, or exactly how. But I know that it is coming, and I know that when it arrives, only those who are prepared will survive."
"And you intend to be prepared."
"I intend for all of us to be prepared. Tarth, the Stormlands, everyone I can reach and influence. Because the storm that is coming will not distinguish between the ready and the unready. It will simply consume everyone who is not strong enough to resist it."
Wendel absorbed this, his expression unreadable.
"You are a strange boy, Alexander Tarth."
"So I have been told."
"I look forward to seeing what you become."
He departed, leaving Alexander alone with his maps and his plans and the weight of knowledge that no one else in this world could share.
The game was coming. The pieces were moving. And Alexander was determined to be ready when the board was finally set.
He returned to his charts and began planning the next phase.
Outside the window, the sun continued its eternal journey across the sky, indifferent to the human dramas unfolding beneath it.
But the Wall of Tarth continued to grow, and the fleet continued to expand, and somewhere in the depths of Evenfall Hall, a small sphere of dragonglass continued to glow with a light that had never been seen in this world before.
The future was coming.
Alexander intended to meet it.