The air in Winterfell following that duel carried a different taste; the taste of respect mingled with anticipation. I walked through the corridors feeling the gazes of guards and servants following me. These were no longer looks directed at the young "son of Ser Rodrik," but at a man who had humbled the pride of Casterly Rock in the heart of its own yard. A quiet pride swelled in my chest; the hours of training in the frost and the memories of the future I carried were not in vain. I had begun to change the melody of the song before the mournful tunes could even begin.
King Robert was not the type to know of the victory the moment he dismounted; he was far too occupied with his shouting and demands for wine. However, news in a castle spreads like wildfire. While the procession was unloading its spoils of deer and game at the outer kitchens, the servants were already whispering the tale. It eventually reached the ears of Vayon Poole, Ned's steward, who whispered it to his master while Ned was helping the King strip off his heavy plate in the royal chambers.
An hour later, once the dust had settled, I was summoned to the Lord's solar. The silence there was heavy, broken only by the crackling of wood in the great hearth
I found Jon Snow standing by the door, looking tense and solemn. We entered together, and Ned stood behind his massive desk, staring at a map of the North. He raised his head, and a heavy silence loomed before he spoke in his deep, resonant voice:
"Alex... Vayon tells me you made the training yard the talk of the castle today. Ser Vance is a strong man, and shaming him before the Queen's retinue is not something that passes quietly in King's Landing."
I spoke with steady resolve: "He began by mocking the North and your sons, Lord Ned. I could not allow their gold to drag our dignity through the dirt."
Ned approached me and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. For the first time, I saw a flash of genuine pride in his eyes. "You have honored the North, my boy. Your father, Ser Rodrik, hasn't stopped wiping away tears of pride for an hour. Your speed, what you did... you have proven that the North still breeds legends. But be warned: a Lannister never forgets an insult, and Jaime Lannister is watching you now with a hunter's eye
Ned stepped back and sat in his chair, turning his gaze toward Jon. Jon looked as if he were carrying a mountain on his shoulders.
"Father," Jon began, his voice wavering slightly, "I came to you yesterday asking permission to go to the Wall and pledge myself as a man of the Night's Watch. But... after speaking with Alex, and after seeing Bran today, nearly losing his mind with curiosity, I realized something."
Ned remained silent, tenting his fingers under his chin, signaling for Jon to continue.
"The Wall is not just stone and ice," Jon continued with deeper focus. "It is an honor, but it is also an eternal shackle. Bran wants to see the world, and I want to be his eyes and his shield. Permit us to go with my Uncle Benjen as visitors. I will teach him how to survive in the cold, I will watch his back, and I will see the Wall through a warrior's eyes before I decide if the Black is my eternal fate. I don't want to run away from my identity, Father; I want to find it while protecting my brother."
Ned looked at his son with a gaze torn between sorrow and relief. He knew that Jon and Bran leaving together meant keeping them away from the vipers of the capital, yet he feared losing them both.
"You both have grown faster than I wished," Ned said warmly. "Bran needs your spirit, Jon, and you need to see the truth before you swear a vow. Alex mentioned this proposal to me earlier, and I now give you my blessing. Go with Benjen... it shall be a journey of exploration, not a journey of exile. Stay by his side, Jon; the North needs men of your blood."
I left Ned's solar feeling a lightness I hadn't known, but fate was waiting for me at the turn of the corridor. In the hallway adorned with bearskins, I found Queen Cersei Lannister walking slowly, accompanied by only two handmaidens.
I stopped and bowed with total reverence, remaining down until she drew near. "Your Grace," I said in a calm tone.
"Ser Alex, or should I call you the 'Champion of the North'?" Cersei said, her voice soft and dripping with honey that hid a sharp blade. She wore a warm, false smile, her green eyes gleaming with feigned admiration.
"I am but a humble servant of House Stark, Your Grace," I replied with equal courtesy. "Winning in the yard is mere luck, while the beauty and grace you bring by your presence to Winterfell are the true glory."
Cersei gave a light, melodic laugh and signaled her handmaidens to step back. "What a refined diplomat you are! Skill with a sword and a tongue of silk... that is a rare combination, especially in this frost. Tell me, do you not feel your talents might be buried under the snow here? King's Landing has need of men with your poise and charm."
"Your words honor me, Your Grace," I said, maintaining a respectful distance. "But the sun in the South might be too bright for eyes accustomed to Northern ash. I am where my loyalty belongs, though I am always at the service of the Crown."
Cersei stepped closer, her voice dropping to a more intimate, enticing level: "Humility is a virtue of nobles, but ambition is what makes kings. I admired your style today; you were gracious to Ser Vance despite your victory. That kind of 'control' is what catches my eye. I hope to see you in the capital soon... perhaps there, we might find a place suited for a man with your ability to 'shift the scales'."
I bowed once more. "Your prayers are the height of my hopes, Your Grace. A safe journey to you on your return."
Cersei smiled, nodded elegantly, and continued her walk. As soon as she was out of sight, I felt the cold return to my body. Those pleasantries were not kindness; they were a "test of pulse." Cersei saw in me either a potential threat or a possible tool, and in the Game of Thrones, both options mean the knife is being sharpened.
I returned to my room as night began to draw its veil. I had saved Bran, secured Jon's future, and maneuvered the Queen with the language of royals. The game was no longer just a story I read; I was now the one writing its lines with my blood and steel.