Alaric felt the shift in the air-the sudden, sharp weight of royal execution hanging over the yard. He didn't flinch. Instead, he dropped to one knee, the picture of a humble, dutiful protector, though his eyes remained fixed on the King.
"Your Grace," Alaric said. His voice was a low, steady rasp that carried across the yard. "I am only a ward. I wouldn't dare strike royalty. I was training with Jon when the Prince insisted on showing us how a King fights. He told me to 'defend myself or bleed.' I only held my ground so he wouldn't trip and hurt himself."
"Liar!" Joffrey shrieked, grabbing Cersei's silk dress.
Alaric looked at Jon, then at the crowd of guards and stable boys. "I'm sure everyone saw how brave the Prince was. If he fell, it was just the ice. The North is hard on people who aren't used to it. I only caught him so he wouldn't hit the stone."
It was a perfect lie. By calling Joffrey "brave" and blaming the "ice," he forced Joffrey to either agree or admit he was weak. Sansa stood near her mother, her fingers twisting her skirt, unable to help.
Cersei's face turned white with rage. "He's mocking us, Robert. He's mocking the crown."
Jaime didn't wait for the King to speak. With a sharp shing, his sword was out. The steel glowed in the torchlight. He stepped toward Alaric, looking ready to kill.
"A ward who talks like a lord," Jaime muttered. "Let's see if that wooden toy can stop real steel."
[WARNING: 'Jaime Lannister' has initiated combat!]
[Threat Level: LETHAL]
Alaric's hand tightened on the wooden training sword.
Before Jaime's blade could taste the air between them, another sound cut through the courtyard—the heavy, unmistakable ring of Stark steel. Lord Eddard Stark stepped forward, his face a mask of frozen granite as his own sword, though not the greatsword Ice, blocked Jaime's path.
"Lower your steel, Ser Jaime," Ned commanded, his voice carrying the authority of the North.
Jaime's eyes turned cold. "The boy hit the Prince, Stark. In the south, we call that treason. He'd already be a head shorter."
"This isn't the south," Ned snapped. He looked over at King Robert. "Robert, this is a training yard. People get bruised. My ward says it was a spar. Your son says it was an attack."
Ned looked at Tyrion, who was still by the wine barrel, then at the guards. "We have witnesses. My son Jon was here. Your brother Tyrion was here too. Before we start killing people in my own home, let's find out what actually happened."
Tyrion let out a dry, short laugh, raising his cup toward the King. "It was a lively display, King. Joffrey wanted to show the ward how a Prince handles a sword. Unfortunately, the Prince found that Northern gravity is far more loyal to the ground than it is to the Crown."
Beside her husband, Catelyn Stark gripped Sansa's hand, her eyes darting between Alaric and the Kingslayer. Sansa remained silent, her heart hammering against her ribs, but her eyes never left Alaric. She had watched him save her brother, and now she watched him defy a Prince.
The tension in the courtyard shifted like a breaking ice floe. King Robert's gaze moved from the red-faced, sniveling Joffrey to the cool, indifferent Tyrion, and finally to the calm ward kneeling in the dirt. Robert was a man who lived for the roar of the melee, and he knew a lie when it smelled of milk and cowardice.
"Is that true, Tyrion?" Robert bellowed, his voice vibrating with a sudden, dangerous mirth. "The boy beat him with a wooden stick?"
"Beat is a harsh word," Tyrion replied, his voice dripping with mock diplomacy. "I'd say he offered the Prince a very thorough education in balance. Joffrey was quite... persistent. He kept running into the ward's practice blade as if he were trying to headbutt it."
The courtyard erupted into a muffled wave of snickers. Cersei's face twisted as if she had swallowed ash.
"ENOUGH!" Robert's voice thundered. He turned on Joffrey, his eyes burning with a mix of shame and fury. "You let a ward humiliate you with a toy? You charge in like a blind bull and then come crying to your mother about 'treason' when the dirt meets your face?"
"But Father, he—"
"I said enough!" Robert snapped. "You've embarrassed the Crown, you've embarrassed your name, and by the Gods, you've embarrassed me. You will go to your chambers, Joffrey. No feast tonight."
Cersei stepped forward. "Robert, you cannot truly mean to punish your son for the insolence of a servant!"
"The servant was training, Cersei!" Robert shouted. "Your son was playing at war and lost to a better man. Be glad it was a wooden stick and not a Northman's axe."
The King turned his gaze back to Alaric. "Stand up, lad. You've got a steady hand. Don't let these fools bother you."
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Mission Update: The Lion's Pride Broken.
Objective: Successfully navigate royal judgment. (Success)
Reward: +100 Monarch Points (MP)
New Status: Target 'Cersei Lannister' has marked you for 'Removal.'
[SYSTEM: BALANCE UPDATE]
Previous Balance: 500 MP
Current Total: 600 Monarch Points
Alaric stood slowly, feeling the weight of Jaime Lannister's gaze still boring into his back like a physical blade. Jaime slowly sheathed his sword, the metallic click sounding final, but the promise of violence remained.
He began to walk toward the Inner Ward, but a flurry of blue silk caught his eye. Sansa was walking toward him, flanked by her attendants. Her expression was carefully neutral for the public eye, her "Little Dove" persona firmly back in place.
"Alaric," she said, her voice poised and steady, though her blue eyes darted around as if the stones themselves had ears. "Are you quite alright? That was a... vigorous display."
"I am perfectly alright, Lady Sansa," Alaric replied, bowing his head in a show of respectful duty.
"The Prince merely slipped on the frost. The North is a cruel place for those not born to it."
Sansa gave a stiff, regal nod and turned to leave with her maids, her silk skirts rustling against the frozen earth.
As she passed within inches of him, Alaric leaned forward just a fraction, his voice dropping to a low, vibrant rumble that only she could hear.
"Keep your window open tonight, Little Dove," he muttered, the words ghosting against her ear. "I have a different kind of education in mind for my lady".