"So, this is the great hero?" Joffrey drawled, his voice high and thin, dripping with arrogance. "The lowly ward who thinks himself a knight because he caught a falling boy?. My mother says the North is full of beggars and dirt, but I didn't realize they let the beggars talk like kings."
Jon Snow's jaw tightened, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his practice sword. Tyrion sighed, taking a long pull of his wine as if bracing himself for a headache.
"Prince Joffrey," Tyrion said dryly. "I thought you were busy being tucked into your silk sheets."
Joffrey ignored his uncle, his gaze locked on Alaric. He stepped closer, stopping only when the Hound stood directly behind him like a mountain of steel. "I heard your little speech, Thorne. 'Removing the need for walls?' You have a very long tongue for someone who owns nothing but the boots he stands in."
Alaric didn't bow.
He simply stood his ground, his dark eyes absorbing the Prince's features.
[System Analysis: Target 'Joffrey Baratheon']
[Status: Hostile / Arrogant / Volatile]
[Threat Level: Low (Personal) / Extreme (Political)]
"A tongue is a tool, Your Grace," Alaric said. He was calm, unlike Joffrey. "Just like a sword. Some people are just better at using it."
Joffrey's face turned a blotchy red. "You think you're my equal? You're a stray dog the Starks kept out of pity." He kicked a wooden practice sword at Alaric's feet. "Pick it up. Everyone is talking about how fast you are. Let's see how a 'hero' fights when it's not a falling kid."
"The Prince wants a fight, Boy," the Hound grunted. His voice sounded like stones grinding together. "Unless you're soft."
Jon stepped up and whispered, "Alaric, don't. He's the Prince."
Alaric ignored him. He saw an opening. If he could embarrass Joffrey without breaking the law, he'd look even better to the crowd—and show Jon that the Prince was just a loud-mouthed coward.
"A spar, Your Grace?" Alaric picked up the wooden sword. He felt the weight and measured the distance in his head. "I wouldn't want to hurt the future King. It might look bad for me."
Joffrey let out an ugly laugh. "Hurt me? Dog, give me your steel."
"The Queen wouldn't like that," the Hound said, though he looked like he wanted to see the mess.
"I said give it to me!" Joffrey snapped. He grabbed a blunt training sword from a rack and swung it wildly. "I'll show you what real blood looks like. Get on your knees, or fight."
Alaric adjusted his grip on the wooden lath. He could feel the System humming in the back of his mind, his 250 MP a safety net he hoped he wouldn't have to touch.
"As you wish, My Prince," Alaric said, a cold, predatory light entering his eyes. "Let's see if you're as sharp as your crown."
Alaric stepped into the open circle of packed dirt. The torches framed him in flickering orange light. Frost crunched under his boots as he set his stance. Loose. Balanced. Ready.
Joffrey rushed first. It was ugly.
The prince swung high and wide, all shoulder and rage. The steel blade hissed through empty air. Alaric shifted half a step to the side and tapped Joffrey's wrist with the wooden sword. Not hard. Just enough.
The steel clattered to the ground.
A ripple moved through the yard. Joffrey froze, stunned, then snarled. "Pick it up," he barked, more command than request.
Alaric didn't move.
"Again," Joffrey shouted, bending to grab the sword.
This time he came in faster. Still sloppy. Alaric let the blade pass close enough for the wind to brush his cheek. He pivoted and struck Joffrey's forearm. The blow landed flat, controlled, and precise. Joffrey cried out. The sword dropped again.
Laughter broke from somewhere near the gallery. It died fast when Sandor shifted his weight. Joffrey's face twisted. "Stop playing with me!"
"I'm not," Alaric said. "You are."
That did it. Joffrey screamed and charged, swinging with both hands like he wanted to split Alaric in two. Alaric stepped inside the arc. He slammed the wooden blade into Joffrey's ribs, then hooked the prince's ankle and shoved.
Joffrey hit the ground hard. The sound echoed off stone. Silence followed.
Alaric held the wooden sword against Joffrey's throat. He leaned in close so only the Prince could hear him. "You want men to kneel? Try harder next time, kid."
Alaric stepped back and lowered the blade. Sandor moved in fast, pulling Joffrey to his feet. "Enough," the Hound grunted.
Joffrey shoved him off. "He attacked me!" he shrieked, his hand shaking as he pointed at Alaric.
"He embarrassed me!"
Tyrion cleared his throat. "You challenged him. In the yard. In front of everyone."
Jon stood still, staring at Alaric. He didn't look scared; he looked impressed. Joffrey looked around and saw the guards and stable boys watching. He saw the judgment on their faces. His mouth hung open, but no words came out.
"This isn't over," Joffrey spat. "My mother will hear about this."
"I'm sure she will," Alaric said.
Joffrey stormed off. Sandor followed him without saying a word. The yard finally felt quiet again.
[System Update: Public Perception Increased]
[Jon Snow: Loyalty +15]
[Status: Trust Forming]
Jon exhaled slowly. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes," Alaric said. "I did."
Tyrion watched him with a sudden, unblinking focus. The smirk was gone, and the mask had dropped. "He's needed a dose of reality for a long time," Tyrion said. "I think you finally gave him the education he deserved."
Alaric wiped frost from his knuckles. "Someone needed to."
Tyrion smiled thinly. "I think," he said, "you've just made yourself impossible to ignore."
"hmmm... i guess so.."
As Alaric watched the retreating backs of the Prince and his shadow.
A sharp, crystalline chime resonated through his mind, louder and more triumphant than the previous triggers.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Objective Accomplished: Publicly demonstrate the fragility of the "Crown Prince."
Feat: Humiliated the Crown Prince without drawing blood or breaking the law of the yard.
Impact: The seeds of doubt have been planted in the minds of the Northern witnesses and Jon Snow.
[REWARDS GRANTED]
+250 Monarch Points (MP)
Alaric felt a low, dark vibration in his chest—a dry giggle that he caught before it reached his lips. He had suspected the System rewarded sovereignty over mere survival, but his gamble had paid off better than he'd imagined.
The 250 MP surge settled into his mind, doubling his previous hoard and giving him a total of 500 Monarch Points to sharpen his path south.
The silence of the yard didn't last. The heavy thud of the Great Hall's doors swinging open cut through the frost, and soon the courtyard was flooded with the heavy hitters of the realm.
King Robert led the way, his face a mottled red from wine and the biting cold. Behind him followed Ned Stark, looking grim enough to match the weather, while Catelyn walked at his side, her face pale with worry. Cersei Lannister moved with the grace of a stalking cat, her eyes finding her son instantly. Her twin, Jaime, walked a half-step behind her, his hand already resting easy on the gilded hilt of his sword.
"What is this?" the King roared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "My son, bleeding in the dirt?"
Joffrey ran to his mother, his face twisting like he was in pain. "He attacked me, Father! The ward... he hit me when I wasn't looking! He called you a fool—he said he'd get rid of all kings!"