Bran took a frantic gulp, coughing as the water hit his throat. "He... he pushed me," the boy whispered, his voice cracking. "The man with the golden hair. The Queen... they were..."
Alaric gripped Bran's shoulders, not to shake him, but to ground him. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper that cut through Bran's panic.
"Bran. Hey. Look at me."
Alaric waited until the boy's eyes found his. They were wide and glassy, darting everywhere else.
"I know," he said quietly. "I saw him too."
Bran sucked in a breath like he might start crying.
"But listen," Alaric went on, keeping his voice low. "They're not here anymore. They're back in their rooms. If we run in there right now, yelling about what you saw… what do you think they'll say?"
Bran hesitated. His mouth opened, then closed.
Alaric raised a finger. Not to silence him — to slow him.
"They'll say you slipped," he said. "That you climbed somewhere you shouldn't have." His mouth hardened.
"They'll say I'm lying. And people will believe them."
Bran's hands shook around the waterskin. "But my father—"
"I know," Alaric said at once. "Your father would believe you." His voice softened. "And he'd draw his sword. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow. And once that happens… it doesn't stop."
Bran swallowed.
"People would die," Alaric said. "Good people. Men who never hurt you. And Winterfell would pay for it."
That landed. The fear in Bran's face shifted. It wasn't panic anymore. It was weight.
Alaric brushed the dirt from the boy's cheek with his thumb. "So we do this the smart way. You slipped. The frost took your feet. I was close enough to catch you. That's it. That's the whole story."
Bran nodded, unsure.
"We don't forget," Alaric said, leaning closer. "We just don't say it out loud. Not yet." A thin smile crossed his mouth. "You grow up. You get stronger. You learn how this world works."
He squeezed Bran's shoulder. Firm. Steady.
"Today, all you have to do is live," he said. "Can you do that?"
Bran drew in a slow breath.
Then another.
"Yes," he whispered, and nodded.
Alaric scooped Bran up. The boy was a featherweight, but the secret he carried weighed a ton. Alaric didn't run for the Great Hall—it would be empty and dark. He ran for the Guest House and the Lord's Chambers, where the life of the castle was tucked away behind heavy oak and thick furs.
As he sprinted across the moonlit courtyard, his boots crunched like breaking glass on the frost. He didn't just shout; he roared.
"GUARDS! TO THE BROKEN TOWER! LORD BRAN HAS FALLEN!"
The cry shattered the silence of Winterfell. A window slammed open in the Guest House. A torch flared in a guard tower.
Alaric reached the base of the stairs just as the first few Stark guards stumbled out, half-dressed, clutching spears. Then, the heavy doors of the Lord's solar groaned open. Ned Stark appeared, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, his face pale and eyes sleep-heavy—until he saw the limp shape in Alaric's arms.
"Bran?" Ned's voice was a ragged whisper.
Alaric skidded to a halt, falling to one knee as if his legs had finally given out from the adrenaline. He breathed heavily, making sure he looked like a man who had just sprinted for a life.
"He fell, My Lord," Alaric gasped, his head bowed. "From the Broken Tower. I saw him slip... I caught him just as he reached the stones. I think... I think the frost took his footing."
By now, more figures were appearing in the shadows of the gallery above. Alaric spotted a flash of golden hair—Jaime Lannister, standing in the darkness of a doorway, his face unreadable. Beside him, Cersei's silhouette was rigid. They had heard the shout. They had come to see if their "problem" was dead.
Catelyn Stark rushed down the stairs, her nightgown trailing in the dirt. She snatched Bran from Alaric's arms with a sob. "He's cold! Ned, he's so cold!"
"I... I fell, Mother," Bran whispered into her neck. His voice was small and shaky.
Alaric felt the gaze of the Kingslayer move from the boy to him. Jaime wasn't a fool; he knew the odds of someone "just happening" to be under that specific window at that specific time. But what could he say? 'Why were you there to catch the boy I pushed?'
Catelyn held Bran so tightly it looked like she might fuse with him, her tears wetting his hair. Ned stepped closer, his shadow falling over them both. He looked at the Broken Tower—a jagged silhouette against the stars—and then back at his son.
"Bran," Ned said, his voice low but carrying the steel of a Lord. "You know the rules. You were climbing again."
Bran looked up, his eyes darting briefly to Alaric. He saw the slight, encouraging nod from the man who had just saved him. Bran swallowed hard, his voice small but steady.
"I... I saw a flower, Father," Bran lied, the words coming out in a rush. "A pale blue one, growing high in the masonry of the old tower. I thought... I thought Mother would like it. But the stone was wet. The frost..." He choked back a sob that was only half-fake. "I slipped. I reached for a ledge, but it broke away."
Ned looked up at the heights. From where Alaric had supposedly caught him, the drop was nearly eighty feet. At that height, hitting the ground wasn't a broken leg; it was a closed casket.
"You fell from the high ledge?" Ned asked, his face turning a shade paler.
"I tried to hold on," Bran whispered. "I fell for so long. I thought I was going to die."
He swallowed.
"And then… I hit him."
Bran looked up at Alaric. "He caught me. It hurt. But he didn't let go."
A heavy silence settled over the courtyard. The guards stared at Alaric with new respect. Catching a boy from that height took more than luck. It took timing. Strength. Nerve.
From the gallery above, Alaric saw Jaime Lannister's hand tighten on the railing. The golden secret was safe—for now—but the look in the Kingslayer's eyes said he understood how close this had come. And how dangerous Alaric might be.
Ned turned back to him, his face grave.
"Thorne. You saved the future of this House. If you hadn't been there, my son would be lying dead on the stones."
He paused.
"You saved his life. The North does not forget that. You have the thanks of House Stark. Go to the kitchens and warm yourself. We'll speak of reward after the maester has seen to my son."
Alaric bowed his head.
As the Starks rushed Bran inside, the courtyard slowly filled with curious, half-awake onlookers.
Alaric straightened and brushed dirt from his knees. He glanced up once more at the gallery. Jaime Lannister was still watching.
Alaric met his eyes. Gave a short, proper nod—the kind a loyal guard gives a royal guest—then turned away.
[System Notification]
Mission Status: Success
Reward: 250 Monarch Points
New Title Unlocked: Protector of the Bloodline(+10% Influence with House Stark)
Alaric headed for the kitchens, already moving past the rescue.
He had a silk pillow hidden in a stone niche.
And tomorrow, a very angry, very confused Lady Sansa waiting for answers.