Anavett settles back in to monitoring her husband's bannermen and trying to get a good feel of the political situation she's married into. Generally speaking, it's about as well as can be expected, considering the circumstances. Alisander Stark had not been the son they'd expected as heir, and consequently he hadn't been tidily introduced to everyone in advance. He'd been mostly raised away from the North, in the care of Jon Arryn. When he'd first shown up to ask them to march south to avenge their lord and his heir, he must have been nearly a stranger to them. She gets the impression that there'd been a lot of concern about too much southern nonsense leaking in to weaken the north and chip away at its traditions, with a new lord that had spent so much time away, marrying a strange lady who had apparently bewitched his brother into dying to silly southern stupidity. But leading them in battle (Apparently her husband is quite deadly with a blade? Good, maybe that means he won't die.) has seemed to quell any of the major doubts, especially when combined with her plot of marrying in the Godswood. It seems to have solidified his power base nicely, even if many are still very cranky about this whole affair. (As long as he lives. He really, really needs to live.)

The broad strokes of what's going on seem to be, for the most part, fairly legible. Some, like Umber and Glover, are here out of some combination of thirst for glory, boredom after being cooped up all winter, and a fierce and sincere love of Brandon. Others, like Flint and Bolton and Hornwood, seem to have gotten concessions about several things, mostly something to do with hunting. But then there are the strange ones, like Reed and Mormont, here out of what seems to be sheer bloody loyalty. Which is very charming, but she's really not sure what to do with it. Fortunately, she doesn't have to figure it out just yet. She's got a different priority in mind. That is, figuring out White Harbor and its lord. Fortunately for her, Manderly is far too cosmopolitan to think that just letting the south sort itself out will work out fine, and sees the benefits of helping a new lady get settled in up north. One of the benefits of ruling over the largest port in the north is understanding how connected everything really is. He's also probably angling for the future crown to prioritize naval trade with the north, which is fair enough, really, frankly she hopes he gets it.

There is an undercurrent of concern for their homeland, which surprises her, even though it makes sense in retrospect. The recent false spring followed by a brutal resurgence of winter was disruptive to everyone, but it was deadly to the north. An apparent resurgence of spring caused the smallfolk to leave their winter shelters to rebuild roads and reclaim homes and farms less fortified against the cold, and then the frost returned. What an awful tragedy. And no outside help has come, of course, because the crown was too busy going mad and setting lords on fire and whatnot. Damnation, but she hates Targaryen madness. There are very real problems in this unfair world of theirs without inventing new ones. And it's never the ones in power that suffer from the bickering.

Maybe she can pester her father until he sends aid to assist with the reconstruction, probably sold as a way to make up for dragging his damn feet with joining the rebellion and having the gall to demand a double wedding after his life was saved. She's tempted to try and declare her intention to do so now, maybe back him into a corner of looking like a terrible ally, but... no. He might overreact after Lysa's attempt to strong arm him failed so spectacularly. It'll mean less benefit to her husband this way, declaring intentions and then following through is always a good way to display power, but it's ultimately safer. If she fails, it'll make the situation worse, and make her and her husband look weak and ineffective, and, well. She has spent the last several months occasionally screaming at her father behind closed doors. So, realistically speaking, it might not. But he has a soft spot for her, and he does seem to feel some guilt about what he did to Lysa, so... he might want to make it up to her. If it seems like it'll repair his relationship with her, he might give up the resources he has the habit of hoarding like a miser. It won't, of course, that's gone forever (like the grandchild he killed in his daughter's womb, poor Lysa) but she can nonetheless try to play nice and dangle the temptation of reconciliation in front of his nose. It'll be a bit cruel, especially knowing she'll be leaving in a couple of weeks and might never see him again, but, well. Being ice cold does suit a lady of the north. And it'd be something for the poor people that froze, all alone and abandoned by those that had the responsibility to help them. Yes, she can see about doing something about this, and if that makes her a cold hearted bitch, then she's a cold hearted bitch who works for the good of her people. She's just fine with that.

But that's beyond the scope of this dinner, and for now her job is to be pretty, charmingly sharp witted, and clearly invested in the north. She is all of those things, and happy to show them off. They can get to know her too, while they're all together, and hopefully she can leave most of them with a favorable enough impression of her.

It's very easy to win the loyal houses over, just by it being obvious how much she cares about Alis and about the North. In theory she could be faking it, of course, but no one thinks this particularly likely, as Southern ladies do have a certain reputation that she is entirely failing to live up to, to widespread happiness. Plus, political marriage or not, people can pretty much always tell when a marriage is loveless, and this one seems to clearly not be that (as opposed to, say, Lord Bolton's). There are still some things hinging on just how competent Alisander will be, as a Lord, but his early signals are all positive.

The people who loved Brandon as a person do require some convincing, but it's convincing of the form "getting to know their Lord and his Lady" and the way Alis keeps showing up to supper with his men and being respectful of (and even take pride in) his Northern heritage and tradition suggests that being awesome runs in the blood, plus the way both Brandon and he seem to like Anavett also speaks well of her own character. But overall, this will be more the work of a long while, of effectively seducing them into the more personal kind of loyalty.

The likes of Flint and Bolton and Hornwood probably do not give a shit about her and do not care to have an impression of her one way or the other. Such is the way these things go.

Alis continues to play his character as usual, and even though the stress lines around his eyes and mouth deepen as the evening evolves he will resolutely not retire early, tonight, and will join the drinking competitions that will inevitably occur. But obviously people like the Greatjon can drink him under the table so he'll only go as far as being extremely drunk (and put on an affect of being drunker than he is) and not let himself go all the way to blacked out.

Of course, that's when the Greatjon decides this is a good moment to suggest a sparring match. A respectful one, of course, one does not bare steel against their Lord but they can do the next best thing in the spirit of friendly competition (and also gauging if the rumours really are true), and Alis is of a mind to accept this challenge.

His wife can tell that the socializing is getting to him, for all that she’s enjoying learning more of her situation. Poor man. She will do everything possible to support him, which mostly just seems to be being here with him, gently reaching over to touch his hand or smile at him when she knows he's tiring of all of these people. But also it means noticing when he wants to go out and have a (slightly drunken) sparring match instead of all of this talking and eating business, and working to get him the thing he wants. It seems a little silly, but sure, why not. Languishing sword skills are foolish in a war, and besides, she is a little bit curious to see exactly how good he is. More reassurance that he'll come back alive to her. (Which he really needs to do, okay, she has concerns.)

"I think I'd like to see that, if I may attend to spectate," says Anavett, smiling. She fishes out a grey-blue handkerchief from a pocket, and gets to finding a decent spot on her husband to attach it. A proper southern lady does in fact keep at least one nice handkerchief, for this sort of occasion of bestowing favor. Also for wiping the stray leak of a nostril, but the romantic reasoning is the one they'll say if anyone asks. This is also a little silly, especially to all of these northern lords, but she expects he'll appreciate it all the same.

He accepts her favour to wear on his breast pocket, then takes her hand to bow down and kiss it.

    "M'lady 's shoor?" asks the Greatjon. "Might ruin 'is image fer ya!"

"The Greatjon certainly talks a lot for someone who's about to land on his ass," Alis says, slowly, enunciating every syllable to make sure he doesn't drag any words.

    "Fightin' words, lad!" he booms, getting to his feet—and then having to steady himself.

"They're meant to be."

    "Come on, now, let's get sumplace bigger!"

Anavett knows of a decent enough spot nearby where they'll have space and fewer things to break. She even knows which servant to go (politely) pester to fetch suitable blunted practice swords for both parties. Soon enough, everything is settled, and Anavett perches on a nearby half wall to spectate. She's not the only spectator; apparently Alis's men all agree that this seems like it'll be great fun.

And his men are not the only ones who heard about it. Zak somehow finds himself standing not quite right next to Anavett but certainly close enough that they could hold a conversation. He's leaning back against a wall and smiling at Alisander.

Alisander's dropped his Lordly cloak and is now in simple leather protections, tied over his breeches and shirt to keep them close to his body and allow easy movement. The Greatjon is dressed similarly, and both of them start off by facing each other, some distance away. Umber is still shouting loudly about this and that and making japes, but Alis has returned to a more quiet, contemplative state, and despite his (fairly obvious) state of inebriation there is still something undeniably sharp about his eyes as he assesses his opponent.

It occurs to her that drunken sparring matches are a bit more dangerous than non drunken sparring matches, and she maybe should have pushed for this to be moved to tomorrow, for her husband's safety. But they are well and truly committed, and it'd erode his position of power to doubt him now. She'll just have to hope very hard that nobody gets majorly damaged, and also separately for her husband to win, because she does, of course. Judging by the way he's looking at his opponent, though, he's likely already secured that future victory.

He already has her silly little handkerchief that lets him know (silently, unobtrusively) that she's rooting for him, so there isn't any particular reason to join in on the various cheers. She'll smile a little to banish her last minute fears, and gets to hoping very hard that this wasn't all a terrible idea.

It wasn't.

He's not the best swordsman she's ever seen, probably, depending on how many good swordsmen she's seen in her life. Not while drunk. His steps have an obvious sway to them, his reflexes are delayed and slowed, his movements are sloppier than they ought to be. At least it's all obvious to him, which frustrates him to no end. So he does his best to, well, correct for them. Since his reflexes are worse, he will not let Umber cut it close enough to risk being hit too much. Since his steps are unstable, he will favour strategies that are robust to misplaced momentum, and even ones that use excess momentum one way or another.

And the Greatjon is also drunk, and most importantly has a fighting style that is not at all able to counter any of that. It's clear he usually relies on raw strength and speed to make up for cunning and dexterity, and he tends to go for relentless, nonstop aggression to always keep his opponent on his back foot.

So the end result looks a lot like a bull trying to trample a hare. The hare just does not have to even try very hard—at least, to all appearances—to dodge. Alis spins to let Jon overshoot him, using Jon's own momentum to make him lose balance. He moves in a fluid and, yeah, quite drunk way, but it works out fine, and it's almost like he's liquid for all that the Greatjon can't seem to land a proper hit. And in the meantime he uses every opportunity to land his own hits, mostly by making the Greatjon walk right into them. It doesn't take very long for the Greatjon to be on his ass with Alis's sword at his neck, and for him to grudgingly say, "I yield! Damn, lad!"

...unfortunately once it has been established that Alis won the first round, he promptly turns away to vomit on the floor. Uh, yeah, spinning while drunk is perhaps not the greatest of ideas. But for the benefit of his image, he merely wipes his mouth with the back of his bracer and looks completely unaffected by it as he extends his other hand to help the Greatjon to his feet.

She actually hasn’t seen many sparring matches, nearly all of them being her little brother Edmure's. Because of his age, these 'matches' involved more padding and enthusiasm than any real skill. Had her two older brothers lived past infancy, she'd likely have more of an idea of what they're like with proper men instead of boys. But they didn't, and so she didn't have any particular reason to go, and several reasons not to. Watching the practice of strangers is not a proper ladylike activity, especially for a lady betrothed at the age of twelve. So, she doesn't have a lot of experience at judging these sorts of things. Even still, it doesn't take an expert to figure out that even while he's drunk, her husband is talented with a blade.

Maybe those thoughts about not letting her watch men fight were onto something, because. .... Well, she can see the beauty in it, and sort of understand how these sorts of displays of strength might tempt a lady to do something stupid. And if she feels a little tempted to throw herself gleefully to the arms of the winner, then, well. That's quite all right, isn't it, he's her husband. She's allowed to be drawn to the beauty of the way he moves. And he's very, very pretty. Though, poor man, the drink has not done him any kindness, has it. Even as he handles it with grace and immediately moves to help his bannerman back to his feet.

Zak leans towards her a bit and says, "Just wait until you see him in proper shape. It's a sight to behold." Which is a pretty innocuous thing to say, really, him being proud of his friend and brother like that, except she has a bit more context than that, doesn't she? What was it that Alis called it? Mind reading?

Oh no, she’s been caught. Someone knows she finds her husband appealing. But… she eyes Zakary in return, and notes that she’s probably not the only one. Heh. Don’t they have a habit of sparring a lot? That seems like it might be foreplay.

“I believe it,” she agrees softly, with some degree of amusement. And then, is her husband going to spar again, or are they done because he vomited, because that would be very reasonable but also nooooooooo he was prettyyyyy and looked like he was having fun.

Oh they're going again, the Greatjon does NOT want to give in so easily.

...it goes predictably at this point, to be honest. Especially given that now, with an empty stomach, Alis is in fact a lot less affected by the inebriation than earlier. The Greatjon doesn't literally never hit him, he does get a handful of hard swings in that each count for like five or six of Alis's, but it still ends the same way every time.

His wife watches every one with a fond smile on her face. She’s such a lucky woman. So, so, so lucky, and she’s definitely flushed from lingering spring chill, yep. No other reason. Surely.

Eventually the Greatjon does concede that his Lord is the better swordsman at least when they're drunk.

But he wants a rematch when they're sober, which Alis agrees to give him with a smirk.

Oh good, that’s sorted, and her husband only has a few bruises to show for the whole affair, along with a much improved mood. Good, his safety and well being is the most important part. And, yet, paradoxically: damnation, that’s sorted, the show is over.

But this does mean she can come down from her perch and find her way to his side to kiss him! So she does that. This course of action being a tactical political decision or not doesn’t factor into it; she is his wife, she’s allowed to be affectionate with him, and she wants to, so she shall.

He does not let the kiss be longer or deeper than a peck, though. "I should wash my mouth, I would not want milady to taste—well." Vague nod in the direction of the vomit.

“Mm? Oh. Yes. You’d handled it so well I’d forgotten,” she says, a little embarrassed.

He grins and shakes his head. He's feeling kind of grimy, mostly because of the drunkenness, and kind of needs a bath, even if at this time the water will be cold. Cold is good, honestly.

She grins back at him, then notes that this is probably the best exit they're going to get.

"Well done, my dear husband. Though I do think that ultimately you must concede the drinking contest," says Anavett, raising her voice a little to be heard to their assembled audience. She looks meaningfully at his bile, then raises her eyebrows. "So if it will suit you and your bannermen, might I beg permission to tend to what will no doubt soon be a splitting headache?"

"Milady has first priority on my time, naturally," he says. There's some jeering, again, as usual, but the others agree that after such a match is as good a time as any to retire for the night. The gods know that the Greatjon will need some care for his bruises.

Excellent! Then she can gently whisk her husband off (with a little apologetic smile to Zakary) to her rooms in an efficient flurry of activity. Alisander Stark is on one of her couches with a cup of water and a slice of bread in record time.

"Should I also fuss with getting a bath prepared, or would you rather just go to bed?" she asks softly, as she unties and removes the leather armor from atop his clothes for him. She will have to figure out where to send this to get it properly taken care of, she doesn't have very much practice at handling this specific aspect of managing things, but she expects it shouldn't be too difficult.

"Bath. Definitely bath."

"Will do, my dear," she says, as she gets the last of his leathers off of him. His armor is carefully bundled up, and then off she goes with it to see about getting it and a bath seen to. Fortunately for herself and her husband, she tends to collect servants that find this sort of thing charming rather than grating.

Soon enough, she returns, looking vaguely triumphant.

"Your bath is being prepared now, and your leathers and training sword are being seen to and should be returned to your quartermaster and the yard, respectively," she informs him, sitting beside him to pet his hair.

"Thank you, milady," he sighs, leaning into her hand. "You are a blessing."