The damp smell of stone and the steady clink-clink-clink of hammers fixing armor drifted through the window. Alaric stood in his room, watching a blood-red sun rise over the water.
A heavy, slow knock thudded against the wood.
Alaric opened the door. Ned Stark stood there, his face pale and his eyes rimmed with red. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in days.
"Alaric," Ned said, his voice low and weary. He stepped into the room, making the small space feel even tighter. He held out a thick scroll sealed with the grey wax of a direwolf. "I need you to leave for the North. Today."
Alaric leaned back against the wall, his face a mask of boredom. "Something wrong, My Lord?"
"I need this delivered to Robb at Winterfell," Ned said, his grip tightening on the parchment. "It has my orders for our men and my thoughts on what the Lannisters are up to. I can't trust this to a common messenger. It has to be you."
Ned's expression shifted, the hard lines of a Lord softening for a moment. "Stay at Winterfell for a while. A few weeks, maybe a month. Things are getting... complicated here. It's better if you're away from the capital until the air clears."
Alaric took the letter, playing the part of the loyal soldier. He gave a short, crisp nod.
"Understood. I'll need an hour to get my gear and my horse ready."
"Go then," Ned said, clapping a hand firmly on Alaric's shoulder. "And ride hard. The Kingsroad is no place for a man to travel alone these days."
As soon as the door clicked shut, Alaric's bored look vanished.
Dangerous? He had enough power to face a small army on his own. The ride did not worry him. What bothered him was that his morning was ruined.
Still, the timing worked in his favor. He had matters to settle beyond King's Landing. He could handle them along the way.
He moved through the castle like a ghost, keeping to the quiet corners until he reached the Tower of the Hand. With a soft flick of his wrist, the lock on Sansa's door gave way, and he slipped inside.
The room was warm, filled with the soft orange glow of the morning. Sansa was sitting on her bed, her fingers buried in the thick fur of her wolf, Lady. The wolf's golden eyes snapped to Alaric the second he entered.
Sansa jumped up, her cheeks turning a bright pink. "Alaric? You're here so early... is something happening?"
"I'm heading out, Little Dove," Alaric said, his voice a low rasp as he walked toward her. "Your father is sending me back to Winterfell to deliver a message to Robb. It seems I'm leaving King's Landing behind for a while."
The light in Sansa's eyes went out. Her fingers dug deep into Lady's thick fur, and her lip shook just for a second before she pulled herself together. She put on her best "Lady of the House" face, but it couldn't hide the sadness.
"Back to the North?" she whispered, her voice tiny. "For how long?"
"Three, maybe four weeks," he said. He reached out and ran his thumb along her jaw. The touch reminded her of the night before, and her breath caught in her throat. "Don't look at me like that. I'm leaving Nyx here with you. He'll stay hidden in your shadow. If anyone even looks at you the wrong way, they won't survive the night."
He leaned down and pressed a hard, slow kiss to her forehead. It wasn't the fiery kiss from last night; it was a cold mark, a way of saying she belonged to him.
"While I'm away, stay in this room as much as you can," he told her, his voice turning into a low, deep rumble. "If Margaery Tyrell comes by, ignore her. If the Prince or the Queen asks for you, tell them you're too sick to move."
Sansa looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes, even as the sadness lingered. She leaned into his hand and placed her own palm over his heart.
"I'll do exactly what you say," she breathed. "I'll be sick. I'll stay in the dark. Just... come back soon, Alaric. This tower feels so much colder when you aren't here."
Alaric gave her one last, sharp look. Then, he stepped back and vanished into the shadows. He had a letter to "deliver," and a long road ahead.
...
Cersei Lannister heard the news before the city gates had even fully closed. In her room, she poured a cup of wine, her eyes cold and bright with victory. To her, this wasn't a smart move by the Starks; it was a retreat. She thought she had finally chased the "Northern dog" away from the King's protection.
Within the hour, she sent out her own riders. These weren't knights in white capes, but killers who worked for the Lannisters. Their orders were simple: make sure Alaric never made it home.
Two miles north of the city, Alaric sat tall in his saddle. His sharp senses mapped out every inch of the road. He wasn't nearly as helpless as Cersei thought. Even though he had left his most powerfull... support, Nyx, to guard Sansa, he wasn't alone. A Blood Scout moved through the bushes beside him, completely invisible to the world.
Alaric pulled his horse to a stop under the dark trees and called up his System. A blue screen glowed in the air, showing he had 5,932 MP. He knew Cersei would send killers, and he was ready for them.
He spent 1,600 MP to summon two massive, ancient Dire-Wolves. The ground at his feet seemed to leak black ink as two huge, dark shapes appeared out of thin air. With a silent thought, Alaric ordered them to hide. The wolves turned into smoke and flowed directly into his own shadow.
As they merged with him, Alaric felt his mind sharpen. He felt faster, stronger, and more lethal. He tightened his sword belt, his knuckles white against the leather.
Further down the road, the forest felt thick and heavy. Alaric sat on a rotting log in the middle of a narrow path. He looked bored, idly tossing a small stone into the air and catching it over and over.
The Lannister riders burst into the clearing. Their red coats were dusty, and their eyes were full of greed. They circled him, their horses huffing as they trapped him in a ring of steel.
"There he is," the leader sneered. He had a jagged scar on his face and a cruel smile. "Ned Stark's little pet. Did you get tired of running, boy? Or did you just pick a nice place to die?"
the men laughed, the sound loud and ugly in the quiet woods.
"Look at him," another joked, drawing his sword. "No shield, no armor. Just sitting there like a peasant. The Queen wants your head, dog!!, but I think we'll take a few of your fingers first."