Chapter Text

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Robb says, staring at the screen in front of him.

“It can’t be,” Jon echoes.

“We all had too much coffee and this is a collective hallucination. Or Pyp and Grenn spiked our coffee,” Ygritte says, not moving her eyes from the screen with the definitive results for the Pykexit referendum in front of her. “Guys, admit it, you spiked our coffee.”

“We drank the same coffee as you,” Pyp says, sounding outraged. “We didn’t.”

“What’s going on?” Director Mormont asks, coming into the room. “We have the definitive results, don’t we?”

“So it seems,” Robb says. “So it seems. But - do you see what we see, sir?”

“What’s so strange about them? Surely they didn’t vote to leave, did - oh, shit.”

“Guys, Pykexit is still trending like there’s no tomorrow,” Sam informs them from his so-dubbed social media kingdom - he has four screens in front of him checking fifteen different social networks and news sources.

“I could imagine that,” Robb sighs, “but they didn’t really leave, did they?”

A moment later, his phone rings. “Uh, that’d be Theon. I imagine he’s seen the reports, too.”

“Answer that, I’m really curious of what your local boyfriend has to say,” Ygritte says.

“Yeah, nothing good probably.” He takes the call. “Hey, I’ve just seen -”

“How in the name of everything that’s holy and unholy can I come from a country where half of the voting population is completely fucking bonkers?” Theon shouts in exchange, and Robb can hear that he’s halfway drunk.

He can entirely guess why.

--

--

“All right,” Director Mormont says after they all had another round of coffee and have looked at the results some more, “we need a plan here. Next issue is all covering this mess. Understood?”

Everyone in the room nods - no one would be dumb enough to antagonize Jeor Mormont when he hasn’t slept for twenty-six hours and has more coffee in his system than most of them put together, which is saying a lot.

“Stark, given that you’re good at covering, you’re going to the parliamentary hearing the moment it’s held. Snow, you’re on the socialists - you cover Stannis’s side and see what the hell’s the deal with his new VP and find out if they’re for real or it’s all publicity. Ygritte, you’re taking pictures at the parliamentary hearing. Tarly, you’re taking pictures at the Socialist congress or whatever it’s the next press conference that they hold. Tris, you’re taking a plane to Pyke right now or as soon as you find one and you cover me what’s going on with bloody Greyjoy and his party and if you interview a few voters here and there no one will mind. Pyp, Grenn, you mind the social networks while Tarly’s off taking pictures. For now we can all go to bed for the next four hours or so, this next week is going to be hard on all of us. Got it?”

Everyone gets it.

--

--

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, and did I say fuck?”

“Theon?”

“Ah, you’re here,” Theon sighs, standing up from the sofa as Robb comes into his living room. He had said that he’d crash here tonight rather than going back home, but if he has to be at the parliament for the entire next week it makes no sense that he’d take a two-hour commute now, would it?

“And you were swearing in a dark room on your own.”

“Yeah, well, the assholes I happen to share a citizenship with managed to fucking defy all odds and not decide any fucking thing, which I suppose is going to cause a massive shitstorm, and if they re-do it and leave wins where the fuck does that leave me? I mean, I’m graduating in two months, I don’t have a job yet and I can hardly apply for study visas, and by the time I’m done and looking for a job they will have deserved getting kicked out in the most horrible way -”

Robb takes his arm and sits on the sofa, dragging Theon down with him - he doesn’t even attempt to not go with it. He’s too tired.

“Now, you listen to me for a moment. First, it means that the other half of your country is made of smart people. Second, I’m sure you’d find some work quickly, you’re good at what you do.”

“Yeah, means nothing -”

“Third, if everything else fails, well, I know we’ve been dating for two weeks and it might be somewhat excessive, but there’s engagement visas, you know.”

What?

Theon looks at him straight for the first time since he came in. “Have you just said -”

“I’d be entirely amenable if it meant keeping on dating you, but don’t worry, it’s not happening for now. And since tomorrow I have to go stalk Lannister way too early in the morning, I’d go to bed if you don’t mind. That also means that since it’s your bed, I’d expect you to join me.”

Theon can’t help it - he has to smile in spite of everything and he gives Robb a tired nod as they stand up. “Fine, you win. But I’m holding you up to that engagement visa promise.”

“Good, because I’d be more than up for keeping it.”

Shit, and the most ridiculous thing is that he obviously means it.

Theon doesn’t know how he lucked out like this, but he’s not going to complain.

--

08.00 AM: Pyke’s stock market opens losing ten points. Absolutely no one could have predicted it, except about every halfway decent economist in Westeros.

08.05 AM: King’s Landing’s stock market opens with a seven points loss. Riverrun, Sunspear, Lannisport and Highgarden all open with a five points loss. Storm’s end has a two points loss. Winterfell is the only stock market in all of Westeros opening at a flat zero per cent. We’re sure Balon Greyjoy is thrilled to hear that.

08.10 AM: the Pyke dollar loses the most staggering amount of value against the Westeros dollar since the last six months of Aerys Targaryen’s government. People are on queue outside banks to buy Westeros dollars. This absolutely will not make the situation any worse, will it?

09.05 AM: Balon Greyjoy finally breaks silence and issues a statement on the referendum result. The statement reads, the people of our islands have taken their stand and we’ll discuss with Lannister, but he can forget to kick us out based on this result. When asked what he means, given that he was the main leave supporter, he replied that he wouldn’t leave on PM Lannister’s terms. The staff here at Westeros Financial admits to being fairly perplexed and to needing a lot of alcohol, if this is what we are in for.

--

“Our father’s a bloody moron,” Tyrion declares, taking a last drink from his almost-empty wine bottle and entirely not moving from his very comfortable place on Jaime’s sofa. “He hasn’t issued a statement yet, has he gone insane?”

Jaime shrugs and drinks from his own bottle. “Not as much of a bloody moron as Greyjoy. Have you heard him? Now like hell he wants to leave, after seeing the effects. What a complete wanker. If he ruins my wedding indirectly I’ll kill him myself.”

“It’s in two weeks, calm down.”

“And I’m marrying the head of Stannis’s staff, do you think that there’ll be time for marriage if this entire mess doesn’t blow down?”

“True, but it’s Stannis. He’d give her time off for a bloody wedding.”

“... That was an excellent point. Shit, I’m drunk. Hasn’t Father said anything yet?”

“Nope. He should resign, if you ask me -”

“Are you insane? He loves that seat more than he loves about anything in the world. He’s never going to resign.”

“Right. Good point.”

“Fuck this, I’ll go get more wine - this is going to be my early stag party.”

“Stag parties are just before the weddings, usually, you know that?”

“Oh, shut up, I need an excuse to be drinking at nine in the morning and they’re overrated anyway.”

Tyrion can’t find any fault with that reasoning and accepts gladly a second bottle when Jaime hands it over.

--

10.00 AM: PM Lannister finally releases a statement. I am willing to conduct negotiations over the referendum’s results but I will refuse to talk to Balon Greyjoy for the moment on account of him presuming what I can or cannot forget to do. That’s actually fairly reasonable, all things considered.

10.10 AM: The Westeros dollar is in free fall - the Essos dollar is gaining ground on it for the first time since the last Lannisport colony gained independence. No one is feeling particularly sad about it, truth to be told, even if when reasoning seriously on the matter, the entire staff is starting to feel honestly scared by this turn of events.

10.20 AM: Balon Greyjoy reportedly flying to King’s Landing for the afternoon’s parliamentary hearing. Stannis Baratheon has announced a WSP emergency meeting followed by a live conference for later tonight. Hopefully someone will speak some sense.

10.30 AM: Harlaw PM Rodrik Harlaw officially states the following. Given that Harlaw voted against separation from the Iron Islands in order to stay in the Seven’s Union last year, if Pykexit is the eventual outcome, we are ready to vote on it again and eventually leave. We are Westerosi and we would like to stay Westerosi, regardless of what the IIIP preaches.

10.40 AM: Pyke dollar in complete freefall. Excuse us but we are so baffled about this turn of events that we have no clue of what we should even say - or better, we could have predicted it, but we really didn’t want to believe it would be happening for real.

--

“You’re shitting me,” Grenn says. “You really are shitting me.”

“I’m not! You can check it on YouTube, it’s a minor channel in Saltcliffe but I was there, I heard him say it.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Grenn sighs, opening the browser.

“What’s up?” Pyp asks him, trying to do a selection of reaction tweets to put on the magazine’s website later - surely he can put something together while they wait for either Robb or Jon to send in their piece. Robb first, probably - the hearing’s in minutes, while Stannis’s press conference is until later this evening.

“Tris says that Greyjoy’s openly admitted that he was harsh in promising to use the money they allegedly pay the Union to boost the local fishing industry on local television.”

“What?”

“Yep. Some local program called Good Morning Saltcliffe. On some local channel. Named Independent Saltcliffe Television.”

“Come on, he heard wrong.”

“Let’s see. Hold on, Tris, it’s up. Wow, look at the amount of viewings.”

Grenn presses play. A nice-looking sensibly dressed woman is interviewing Greyjoy, whose black suit with golden tie seems fairly out of place all things considered.

“Can you guarantee that the money you promised the Islands would save, should they leave, will effectively go to the national Fishermen’s fund?” She asks.

Greyjoy stares at her as if he wants to murder her, then plasters a smile on his face.

“No, I can’t, and I’ve never made that claim,” he says, with such a straight face Grenn almost envies him.

“What?” Pyp can’t help shouting. “But it was on bus advertisements!”

“Yeah, I think he has somehow decided to forget that,” Grenn says. “Right. Tris, okay, sorry, it was legit. Do I forward the link to Robb so he can use it later in case? Yeah. Sure. You have the interviews and the article but you can’t put it together properly now? Okay, send the files over, Pyp’s gonna format it and publish.”

“Hey, why me?”

“Because you’re the one who can edit videos, not me. I wasn’t first in the social media traineeship.”

“You were third?”

“You still were first.”

Pyp sighs deeply and goes to check on the Dropbox folder they use to share video interviews waiting for Tris to upload the interviews and to send his article.

This is going to be a very long week.

--

--

“I can’t believe he’s late for this hearing,” Ygritte groans as she checks her camera settings for the umpteenth time. Then again, she has nothing else to do - at least Robb can check the internet. He has the laptop turned on and his Word document open so he can take notes as soon as Greyjoy shows up. He should have done that twenty minutes ago - Lannister is fuming, not that Robb isn’t feeling him.

God, he’s empathizing with Tywin Lannister, what is the world coming to.

“Is he really that much of an idiot,” Robb huffs, and then finally the son of a bitch walks inside the room without any hurry whatsoever.

Dressed with a black suit and golden tie and handkerchief.

“Wow,” Robb whispers, “Theon is probably in pain now.”

“Because his father’s a joke?”

“Because of that color arrangement.”

“... True. It’s atrocious. He really has no taste for anything, does he?”

“No,” Robb agrees. “Okay, he’s stopped apologizing for being late, let’s listen to whatever he has to say.”

Greyjoy goes to his seat, his back straight and with the face of someone who’s going to try and bluff his way out of this mess.

Robb takes a very deep breath.

Then the man starts talking.

“Isn’t it funny?” He starts. “When I won a seat ten years ago and I said that I wanted to lead a campaign to get the Islands to leave the Seven’s Union, you all laughed at me – well I have to say, you’re not laughing now, are you? Of course, we didn’t reach the target yet, but you’re just in denial. The union as a political project is in denial that half of us want to leave. You’re in denial that your stock market is crashing. You’re in denial that we have had the power to make you tremble!”

“He’s not saying that,” Ygritte groans.

“I’m afraid he is.” Robb takes notes down desperately - seven hells, that was just so completely fucking missing the point that he can barely believe it. Didn’t he notice that his own currency is at its lowest? Sure as fuck less than the Westeros dollar.

“What happened at the referendum was a remarkable result and for the entire continent’s politics! What our people that your Union has oppressed since we were let in have done was rejecting your false imperialism, Lannister!”

“Everyone around him is literally facepalming,” Ygritte whispers. “I’m definitely taking pictures of all of them.”

“Please fucking do. Is he even serious? Lannister looks like he wants to murder him.”

“Well, why wouldn’t he, I can share that sentiment,” Ygritte agrees before zooming on the face of some poor person from Dorne who is sadly sitting behind Balon and looking like they’d like to commit harakiri as soon as possible.

“We want to be an independent, self-governing, normal nation. That is what half of us have done and that’s what we will do if we vote again, and we will, unless you understand that you need us more than we need you!”

“He’s fucking bonkers.” Robb can’t believe that this is the way he’s spinning it.

“The question is what do we do next? Of course, we shall go vote again for a definitive result and then we’ll take all the necessary decisions.”

“Ah, now he’s backtracking.” Ygritte sounds livid. “And he had the gall to insult Jon on that ship, I can’t even -”

“What did he do?”

“Ah, right, he probably hasn’t told you. I’ll brief you later.”

Robb goes back to his notes and types down frantically.

“What I’d like to see is a grownup and sensible attitude to how we negotiate a different relationship if our people decide to eventually leave, and even if they didn’t, I think a clear message has been sent.. I know that virtually none of you have never done a proper job in your lives, or worked in business, or worked in trade, or indeed ever created a job. But listen, just listen -”

A few people start booing, not that Robb is surprised about that.

“I can’t believe this,” Robb says, feeling dread rise up his spine. “He didn’t say that.”

“He just did.”

“Does he even know that there’s Ray Maribald behind him? Gods, that guy founded the hugest charity for war veterans in Westeros after he fought two wars and became a conscientious objector, I can’t believe it.”

“Of course he doesn’t.” Ygritte shrugs. “Does he ever have a bloody clue of anything?”

“Order!” Barristan Selmy, the President of the Parliament says, even if he doesn’t sound too happy about the prospect. “Ladies, gentlemen, I am wondering myself why Mr. Greyjoy is even here, given how much he despises this institution, but please, let’s hear what he has to say, shall we?”

“Oh my fucking - that was glorious.” Ygritte is trying not to burst out in laughter. Robb bites down on his tongue, agreeing fully with that.

“Something has happened here,” Greyjoy starts again. ”We should just have clear some sensible economics – my country and your countries, between us we do an enormous amount of business in goods and services. That trade is mutually beneficial to both of us, that trade matters. If we choose to leave and you reject any idea of a sensible trade deal the consequences would be far worse for you than it would be for us.”

“He didn’t say that,” Robb groans.

And then, the entire room except IIIP party members erupts in laughter.

At the exact same time, Robb’s phone beeps. He dares taking it out - it’s Theon texting him.

THE ISLANDS ONLY EXPORT BLOODY FISH AND IRON AND NOTHING GROWS ON THERE EXCEPT MAYBE FUCKING TURNIPS, WHEN WE’RE LUCKY. IS HE FUCKING INSANE? WHY AM I RELATED TO THAT PIECE OF SHIT? I NEED TO DRINK SOME MORE GDI

“Your boyfriend has a point,” Ygritte says over the rest of the room booing and laughing all over again. Sure he does. Robb will try to console him later tonight.

Barristan Selmy stands up again. “Order, ladies and gentlemen, order! I understand that you’re getting emotional. But please, let’s be better than this. You’re acting the way IIIP usually acts in these chambers after all.”

Robb wants to erupt in laughter at this point. Damn, he might not have agreed with Selmy on everything he ever said, but that was just - that was just so good he doesn’t even have words for describing its magnificence. And Greyjoy is angry now. Good.

“You’re quite right Mr. Selmy,” Greyjoy says, barely containing his irritation. “IIIP used to protest against the establishment and now the establishment protests against IIIP! And as I was saying before, even no deal would be better for the Iron Islands than the current rotten one that we’ve got. Why shouldn’t we be pragmatic, sensible and realistic and agree on cutting us a sensible tariff-free deal in case we do in fact leave, and then recognise that however the outcome turns out to be, the Iron Islands will be your best friends in the world, that we will trade with you, cooperate with you! And now I shall expect our illustrious Prime Minister to let me know his answer.”

Lannister isn’t fuming, Robb thinks.

Lannister is beyond fuming.

--

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Jon says, shaking his head as he looks at the e-mail Robb just sent him with the notes from the parliamentary hearing.

“Did he actually even say that? I can’t believe it. I so cannot believe it.”

“Well, look at the positive side.”

“Which would be?”

“We just dodged a bullet. Imagine if we had to go to the Parliament and Robb and Ygritte got the press conference.”

“... You have a point or a thousand,” Sam agrees at once. He has the camera ready, they’re all sitting waiting for Baratheon to come out and at least the atmosphere’s not too tense - the room is small, there’s no decor other than the party banner on the wall, and it’s definitely an easier job than Robb’s. Baratheon also said he’d do a private interview with one of the journalists - the one who asks the least stupid questions, he said backstage - and Jon kind of hopes that they win it if only because it would definitely look good on his CV and Baratheon looks like the kind of person who does sensible interviews.

He looks at the clock - it’s 9 PM sharp, and it should start now -

Well, damn. The door opens at once and Baratheon shows up, trailed by Davos Seaworth-the-infamous-socialist-voter-from-the-floatilla-day. Baratheon actually did meet him a day after, and the next day he didn’t go back on his words and actually made the guy VP. Which he apparently could do because the man had a party membership and being his VP didn’t imply he had to be MP.

Baratheon is dressed impeccably as usual, with a sensible grey suit and red tie along with a white shirt. Seaworth instead is dressed - well. Okay, not the same as he would when going to work, but the heavy pants and jacket were definitely bought as casual clothes to wear during winter, not as formal ones. That said, he’s not looking like he’s taking it as a joke - the clothing is used but not worn out, and the green sweater he has under his gray and red jacket does make a decent picture, all things considered.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Baratheon starts. “We shall be taking questions for the next fifteen minutes, but before, I should like to anticipate some of them and release my statement about Balon Greyjoy’s parliamentary speech today. As in, I find it utterly and completely ridiculous that he should already ask for facilitations should his country decide to secede, and while I am loathe to agree with PM Lannister on quite everything, I can only agree with him if he doesn’t want to discuss the situation with Greyjoy and I will not try to use this to my political advantage. You may ask now.”

Everyone starts talking at once. A staff member calms them down, and then the questions start.

Can you explain us why you chose a VP so hastily when you didn’t want one up until this point?

Mr. Seaworth, is it true that you have been arrested during strikes under the Aerys Targaryen government?

Mr. Baratheon, your wife filed for divorce a few weeks ago but you wouldn’t comment until now - care to do so?

“Good gods,” Sam whispers, “are these people writing for actual newspapers or gossip magazines?”

“Someone has no clue of what we’re even discussing here,” Jon agrees as those two try to deflate some more dumb questions.

Then he raises his hand.

“Yes, Mr. -?” Baratheon asks, seeing him in second row. “You may stand.”

“Snow. Jon Snow, from The Wall. I was wondering, you said you will support PM Lannister when it comes to asking for a better representative than MP Greyjoy. But could you please explain to our readers what is your plan in the long run and how does the Socialist party plan to act in the wake of this result? Of course, your VP is welcome to chime in.”

Baratheon sends him a grateful look. Seaworth gives him an approving look, good thing that.

Then Baratheon just stares at him with full intention.

“We will wait until the islands find a better spokesperson than MP Greyjoy, for sure, and should Harlaw want to talk to us as a separate entity we shall support it entirely. Once that happens, though, hoping that they are reasonable about the matter, we will support them if they decided to vote again, and our local branch will do its best to campaign truthfully. However, if PM Lannister decides that we should vote again before doing so, I promise that I will hold another referendum.”

“Indeed,” Seaworth chimes in, “but since it’s frankly ridiculous that such an important decision should be left up to such a small margin, it will only be valid if at least seventy per cent of the population goes to vote and at least sixty percent of them agrees on the result. Anything less would be an insult.”

Jon is entirely in agreement. Also, Stannis turns and looks at Seaworth approvingly.

Wait, are his cheeks maybe slightly redder?

He decides he’s too tired and it’s a trick of the light.

“Thank you very much,” he says, before sitting down again.

Twenty minutes later, someone from the staff tells him that as he asked the only smart question, he and Sam are welcome to interview both Baratheon and Seaworth privately later.

--

“What - who has just gone to Harlaw, again?” Grenn is fairly sure that Sam just spoke a bunch of total gibberish to him, but it might be that checking all the social media for the last few days without sleep might have just gotten to him, at last.

“Kraznys mo Nakloz,” Sam says again, slower.

“Who?” Grenn can’t honestly remember who the fuck is this guy supposed to be.

“That dumb politician from the Free Cities? They’re having primaries right now, he’s that guy from Volantis who keeps on saying that Westeros is the absolute worst in existence and that he’s campaigning to make the Free Cities great again, all nine of them?”

“The fuck, when was it that they were great according to him? It’s like, the one area in between Westeros and Essos where there isn’t a recession going on!” Pyp chimes in.

“Well, apparently he has, like, a two percent approval ratio. But satirists love him because he’s just that much of an idiot, there’s an entire pamphlet in Volantis about how ridiculous his campaign is. Anyway,” Sam adds, sipping from his coffee, “he’s gone to Harlaw.”

“Why?”

“To open a golf course. He apparently owns an entire business of golf courses in Essos and decided he should expand. He’s rich, what can we say.”

“According to the internet, because he exploits his workers,” Pyp adds.

“I’m not surprise. Anyway, Tris just said he landed in Harlaw saying that they should keep on like that and take back their country from the horrid Westerosi oppressors.”

Grenn looks that up because come on, it can’t be that bad, can it -

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “It’s really. He really said that.”

“Yes.”

“In Harlaw.”

“Yes.”

“Where they all voted to stay?”

“Apparently.”

“We’re not paid nowhere high enough for this,” Grenn declares.

No one disagrees.

--

--

“Robb, fuck’s - if your brother has to call you at four AM can his ringtone not be the Imperial march?”

“Argh, sorry, but Mormont said to keep it open if there were job news,” Robb says apologetically before grabbing the phone and taking the call. “Jon? Yeah, yeah, well, I’m awake now. What’s the - what? No. No, you’re shitting me. Okay, okay, I’m coming in. I’ll be there in twenty. Yeah, thanks, two cups.”

“What? You have to go in?”

“Well, given that your father has just stepped down as IIIP leader…”

“What?”

“Yeah. Apparently he was locked in consultations with everyone else today and he resigned. Not from MP, though.”

“What? Sorry, he didn’t - but he wanted to leave - yeah, as if. What a fucking hypocrite. And who’s the substitute?”

“They have no bloody clue.”

“They don’t have one.”

“Victarion apparently refused straight-up. Euron’s still in jail for punching you in the face. Aeron’s not really even running. Seems like they’re in a conundrum of the worst kind.”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay, I can see why you’d go. Just tell them that they aren’t allowed to steal you over when I graduate.”

“Oh, Mormont already knows I need that day free. I’ll be back as soon as this dies down.”

“Yeah, if they don’t implode first.”

Robb laughs, because that’s an excellent point, and then gets out of bed and puts on yesterday’s clothing that he had left lying on a seat - Theon’s gone back to sleep by the time he’s done. He sends a longing look at the bed and then he steps out - at least after this, Mormont will have to hire him and Jon for good. Traineeship his ass.

--

--

“Hey, what do you say about this?” Robb calls Theon the moment the statement’s released. “I mean, your sister was never involved in politics, was she?”

“No, because she’s smart and thought our dad’s politics were shit,” Theon says. He still sounds sleep-deprived - then again Robb’s barely been in during the last three days. He could camp at the magazine’s offices, at this point. “Anyway, if she’s negotiating then this thing might actually get solved without bloodshed. She’s not an idiot and she’s sensible and she’d never dream to say that the Islands don’t depend on food imports. Hey, if you want to talk to her I can just tell her to give whoever of you draws the short straw the first interview, she wouldn’t mind.”

“Really?”

“Hey, you offered me an engagement visa if idiots listened to my father, didn’t you? That’s the least I owe you.”

“Shut up, I did it because I’m selfish and I’d like to date you in spite of this bloody referendum’s results.”

“That was almost fucking romantic. Go do your job, won’t you?”

“Yeah, sure.” Love you too, he’s about to say, but maybe it’s too soon, and so he doesn’t.

Not just yet.

“What does your boyfriend have to comment about this?” Jon asks.

“He says things might look up because she’s the only smart person in the family. Also, she might accept to let us interview her first.”

“What, really?”

“See, he’s not that much of an ass.”

Jon fakes a groan, but given that he hasn’t slept in thirty-six hours and he doesn’t mean it in the first place, it’s not that convincing.

“I see that finally they understood that girls accomplish more,” Ygritte declares after taking a swig of her beer - she’s been sipping one for the last hour while her films develop. Stannis declared that even if they were backing Lannister in not speaking to Greyjoy, there should be a pro-Union march to make him understand that promising referendums to win elections and then handle them this poorly is a bad idea, and so she went and took pictures with real film. She says that they come out better and she loves taking pictures of marches - surely it’s more fun than parliamentary hearings. “Hopefully this mess dies down soon. Also Jon, don’t you dare head for the coffee machine.”

“But -”

“You haven’t slept in an entire fucking day if not more and Mormont is worried for your health, just crash in the dark room while I get the photos ready.”

“Well, if you put it like that -”

“There’s a couch in there. Move.”

Jon shrugs and goes with her - Robb needs to remind him to marry her already, since at least she managed to convince him to do it when he couldn’t for the last, what, sixteen hours.

“Right,” he says, going back to where Sam, Pyp and Grenn are sitting - they’re all checking the social media. Lately, just one of them wasn’t going to cut it. “Do we have anything new from Tris?”

“Nothing flattering,” Sam sighs. “He says that everyone in charge at the IIIP has disappeared. Like, literally.”

“How?”

“In the sense that you can’t find them physically. They don’t answer their phones and they’re just - nowhere to be found.”

“I can’t believe it,” Robb groans.

“Guys, actually he just sent me an update - it’s on Victarion Greyjoy.”

“Okay. What about him…?”

“He’s, uh, been spotted in a disco.”

“A disco.”

“Apparently a very trendy disco in Old Wyk.”

The four of them look at each other.

“I’m going to the restaurant downstairs and buying some fucking tequila. The more chime in, the better quality.”

Everyone puts in ten dollars.

Robb buys two bottles - he’s fairly sure that they’ll sorely need them if this is how things are shaping themselves to be for the next half day.

--

6.00 PM: Asha Greyjoy is now at the emergency meeting PM Lannister has called in King’s Landing. The other representatives are Sir Wyman Manderly for the North, Sir Arthur Dayne for Dorne, Sir John Royce for the Vale, Margaery Tyrell for the Reach and Sir Tytos Blackwood for the Riverlands. Hopefully she’ll manage to give her people back some dignity, because until now their representatives haven’t quite managed to get as far.

7.30 PM: the meeting is not over yet. The markets are in stall. At least no currency has plummeted further down. According to our Dr. Luwin, it’s a good thing. Dr. Pycelle is currently muttering about the apocalypse possibly coming down upon us if negotiations shall fail.

8.45 PM: the situation has not changed in any way whatsoever but Victarion Greyjoy was apparently arrested after he was found driving while inebriated in Old Wyk. We have no economics-related comment to this nor have our experts, but the entire office agrees that if anyone should be allowed to be inebriated in this moment, it’s us.

9.37 PM: the emergency meeting is over - an accord has reportedly been reached. Asha Greyjoy has assured that should another referendum take place it would be on the Union’s terms as far as the minimum amount of voters required goes, and she also agreed on having a representative from each country supervise the procedures. On his side, Lannister has agreed on immediate elections after the referendum, whichever result is eventually reached. Stannis Baratheon has declared himself fully satisfied with the meeting’s outcome. In short, Asha Greyjoy has never been in politics but has managed to solve this entire mess in two hours while her relatives were nowhere to be found. We are of the opinion that maybe we should all just put her in charge at this point.

10.15: the value of every currency in Westeros is finally rising upwards, albeit tentatively. Is this the light at the end of the tunnel? Only the future will tell, but everyone in this office is calling for blessings to shower upon Asha Greyjoy for the rest of her mortal life.

--

--

“God, I can’t believe it’s over. My sister is a saint.” Theon is definitely drunk, Robb decides. Then again most of them are - after they finished putting together the issue about the post-definitive results of the referendum, they all went to Sam’s place because he’s the one with the bigger living room. Robb called Theon and told him to crash there, too, and now - now they’ve been progressively drinking all of the alcohol they had bought in celebration. They still have some ten bottles of whateveritis left, not that he’s caring by now. He’s just less drunk than most of the others because he can hold it better, but he can barely distinguish what he’s tasting by now.

Meanwhile, drunk or not, Theon is totally not moving his head from where it ended on Robb’s thigh a while ago.

“I think everyone agrees. Too bad she isn’t into politics,” Ygritte declares - she’s sitting up against Sam’s couch. Jon also has his head on her thigh, except that he’s completely passed out. Right. He never held alcohol that well.

“Too bad that Robb won’t need to give you that engagement visa though,” Grenn declares. “Y’r father would’ve been even madder.”

“He doesn’t need a visa if he wants to get engaged.”

Wait, what?

“‘Sides, my father’s mad already ‘cause he’s definitely going to lose his Union paycheck at the next elections. Who cares. Fucking deserved it.”

“Can’t we hire him for the political analysis columns, that’d be spot on.” Pyp doesn’t sound that drunk either.

“I just want Mormont to hire me and Jon, then we can discuss him,” Robb says, his hand going to Theon’s hair. “No offense given.”

“Never wanted to write columns anyway, you can have them. Fuck, at least people saw that my father’s party was a joke. That’s great. Now if Lannister gets sent home too I might actually change my official residing address for real and stop voting in the fucking islands.”

“Right,” Ygritte slurs, taking another drag from what seems Dornish red - good choice. “He’s right. That’s a good point. I mean, I know Mormont’s already decided his press line f’r the next elections, but guys. Guys. Lannister needs to go. We need to start campaigning for fucking real.”

“For Stannis, I hope,” Sam says.

“‘Course, for whom otherwise? Even Mance Rayder’s said he’s not running this round. Guys. If Stannis wins we even get a VP who knows something about how real people actually make ends meet.”

“Good point. Nice guy,” Robb agrees. “So what, not so secret pact where we all swear that we vote Socialist?”

“I’m in,” Theon agrees soundly without moving an inch.

“Yeah,” Pyp chimes in.

“Stannis looks kinda standoffish but Jon says he’s cool, so I’ll trust him,” Grenn declares before reaching for a fresh beer bottle.

“The hell of a question is that, I always voted for that party anyway,” Sam says. “Mormont also owes us a bloody pay rise.”

No one disagrees with that.

“Also Ygritte, didn’t you know his campaign manager?”

“Right. Brienne. I can give her a call after this madness dies down and after she comes back from her honeymoon.”

“Did she manage? In this climate?”

“Well, either her husband went to Baratheon and threatened him or something or Stannis is that ethical, but they’re in the Summer Islands until next week. Shit, now that’d be nice.”

Robb thinks about what Theon said before regarding possible engagements and decides to bring that subject up later when they’re not completely plastered.

But he thinks he’ll be happy to bring it up, indeed. At least this goddamned Pykexit deal did do him good somehow, didn’t it?

--

--

10.05 AM: Asha Greyjoy has again stepped up for her country, or so it seems like. Every Ironborn representative in the parliament has offered her to take her father’s seat after he was forced to resign for good, but she has apparently stated that she’s not a complete masochist and she’ll do her duty for her country but she has limits. We can’t honestly disagree with this line of thought.

10.30 AM: Markets have taken to the news extremely well. The Pyke dollar has finally gained some ground since the referendum. Every stock market has opened positively. If this is the light at the end of the tunnel, it was a long time coming.

--

End.