"Maester! Get the Maester!"
Guards flooded in, soaked from the rain and tracking mud across the floor. In the center of the chaos, four men carried Robb Stark. His head lolled back, eyes rolled up, pale as a corpse.
Alaric watched from the shadows of the gallery, remaining perfectly still.
Maester Luwin hurried down the steps, his chain clinking wildly. "Set him down! Gently, you fools! What happened? Was it a fall?" He fell to his knees, immediately tearing at Robb's riding leathers to check his chest and pulse.
Theon Greyjoy paced near the hearth, drenched and hyperventilating. His usual arrogance was entirely gone. "It wasn't a fall," he choked out. "We were riding. Just riding. Then... this black mist. Smoke. It swept out of the treeline and hit him right in the chest. He just dropped from the saddle."
Ser Rodrik Cassel gripped the hilt of his sword, his face like thunder. "Mist doesn't knock a man off his horse, Greyjoy. Was it an ambush? An arrow?"
"There were no arrows!" Theon yelled, his voice cracking. "I'm telling you what I saw!"
The hall went dead quiet, save for Robb's shallow, ragged breathing. Luwin looked up, his hands trembling. "No wounds. No blood. His heart barely beats it's like he is in a deep sleep...."
It was time. Alaric stepped out of the shadows and walked calmly into the center of the hall. He didn't say a word.
Not wasting time feigning grief. He just extended a sealed parchment toward Maester Luwin.
He knew Robb was fine—simply locked in a deep sleep for the time being. If Luwin or Rodrik found his coldness unsettling, that wasn't his problem.
Luwin frowned, wiping the rain and sweat from his hands before taking it. He broke the heavy wax seal—the direwolf of Stark.
Before coming to the hall, Alaric had spent 100 MP to forge it. It was a 'System-perfect' replica. The handwriting, the phrasing, the exact wax used in King's Landing—flawless
"What is that, Luwin?" Rodrik demanded.
"A letter from Lord Eddard," Luwin muttered, scanning the lines. As he read, the color drained from his face. "This... this makes no sense."
"Read it," Rodrik ordered.
Luwin swallowed hard. "Should Robb fall to ill fate, and my Lady Catelyn be absent, Bran must be protected. I name Alaric Thorne as Captain of the Hearth-Guard, sworn solely to Bran's defense. He is granted absolute command of the inner keep's security. Trust his word as my own."
Rodrik stared. Then he scoffed, loud and harsh. "Let me see that." He snatched the parchment, his eyes scanning the loops of Ned Stark's handwriting.
"The hand is genuine," Luwin said quietly. "The seal too."
"The hand is genuine, but the mind is mad!" Rodrik snapped, glaring at Alaric. "Lord Stark would never bypass his own officers to put a ward in charge of the keep's security!"
"Are you questioning your Lord's seal, Ser Rodrik?" Alaric asked, his voice steady.
Theon stepped forward, his lip curling into a sneer. "You're a nobody. You think a piece of paper makes you commander here?"
Alaric didn't look at Theon. He raised his right hand.
From the archways leading to the inner corridors, heavy, synchronized footsteps echoed. Five men stepped into the light. They were massive—seven feet tall, clad head-to-toe in thick black-and-red plate armor. The Blood Knights.
The reaction was violent.
"Swords!" Rodrik roared. Steel rang out across the hall as every Stark guard drew their weapons, forming a defensive ring around Robb and Luwin.
"Who in the Seven Hells are these men?!" Rodrik bellowed, shifting his stance. "How did they breach the walls?!"
"Stand down!" Alaric barked, commanding the room. He looked at his own towering knights. "Sheathe your weapons. We are not a threat."
The five behemoths didn't hesitate. They stepped back and rested their hands by their sides.
Alaric turned back to Rodrik, keeping his hands visible. "They are the guard Lord Eddard provided. I brought them in through the Hunter's Gate during the chaos of your ride. I didn't announce them because, frankly, Ser Rodrik, your security has failed. The heir to Winterfell is lying half-dead on the floor."
Rodrik's jaw tightened. He didn't lower his sword. "You bring foreign mercenaries into my castle and expect me to bow?"
"I expect you to protect Bran," Alaric said smoothly. "Which is exactly what I am here to do."
Before Rodrik could argue, Dae—Alaric's shadow minion—slipped into the hall. He moved quietly, holding a small object wrapped in cloth. He bowed to Alaric, then placed the object on a nearby table.
It was a small, shattered glass vial. The inside was coated in a strange, oily black ash. A foul smell, like burnt sulfur, immediately hit the air.
"Found in the courtyard, Master," Dae said calmly. "Discarded near the Greyjoy's saddlebags."
Every eye snapped to Theon.
Theon went rigid. "What? That's a lie! I've never seen that before in my life! You planted that!"
"Did I?" Alaric asked, finally looking at him. "You were the only one riding close enough to Robb to see this 'mist'. And now we find this near your horse."
"You son of a bitch, I fought beside Robb!" Theon drew his dagger.
"Enough!" Rodrik shouted, stepping between them. He looked at the vial, then at Theon, deeply conflicted. "Theon is Lord Balon's son. He's been here for years."
"And if he had a hand in this, he is an assassin," Alaric said, his tone perfectly reasonable. "And if he didn't, whoever did this is still in the castle, and they might try to silence him next to cover their tracks."
Alaric stepped closer to Rodrik, lowering his voice. "We don't know what we're dealing with, Ser. Put him under guard. Not in the dungeons, but confined to his quarters. For his safety, and ours, until we know what that shadow was."
Luwin nodded slowly. "It is the safest course, Ser Rodrik. Temporary confinement is not a sentence."
Rodrik glared at Alaric, hating the logic but unable to deny it. He looked at his men. "Escort Theon to his chambers. Post four men at his door. No one goes in or out."
"This is madness!" Theon yelled as the guards grabbed his arms. "You're letting this bastard take the castle!"
Alaric watched them drag Theon away. He didn't smile, but in his vision, a pale blue prompt flickered to life.
[System Update] Objective Progress: The Kraken's Humiliation — Phase Advanced. Reward: +1,000 MP. Current Balance: 4,224 MP.