Castle Black, as Lord Commander

It had been a long day.

The Wildlings and the men of the Night's Watch were at eachothers throughts. Now, the added awkwardness of the Baratheon forces were likely to be the final, successful tinder in this bonfire ready to ignite.

You breath a deep, tired sigh as you continue signing the writs on the table before you, your plate of roasted ham and potatoes cold and forgotten.

There is a knock on the door, and a young voice chirps, "Lord Commander." It's Olly, your attendant.

"Come." Even your voice is hollow and drawn out.

The young lad enters, empty-handed and approaches you. You lean back in your chair, placing your quill on the papers before you and taking care not needlessly mar the papers beneath with errant ink. You place your now free hands on your shoulders and need, stretching your tight muscles out and feeling cracks and pops as you do.

"You have two summons, Lord Commander," Olly stops before your desk across from you, "one from Tarly, who has some urgent matter to discuss, and one from the Witc... from the Red Lady."

You smirk, catching his aborted use of the term 'Witch'. Young, superstitious, and, with a twinge of concern, showing early signs of Thorne-influenced bigotry.