[King's Landing, Early Morning, 21st day, 9th moon, 298AC]
Ser Torrhen had always risen before the sun.
In Winterfell, that meant frost on the beard and stiff fingers around the hilt of a blade. In King's Landing, it meant humid air and the faint stink of the city rising from stone.
He preferred the frost and cold of the north.
He was already armored in boiled leather when he heard boots crossing the yard below the Stark manse. Not the hurried stride of a guard or the clatter of squires.
No, these steps were measured and calm, collected even.
'Ah, it must be Alaric,' he thought with a small chuckle
Torrhen stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the training yard. The sky was only beginning to pale. The men were not yet assembled. Only Alaric stood there, cloak loose over his shoulders, gloves in hand, speaking quietly to two men of his Winter Guard.
Torrhen watched him for a moment.
Not assessing him as a lord.
Assessing him as a man.
Alaric had not slept much. That much was clear in the set of his shoulders. Not fatigue, he always had hid that well, but something tighter.
Torrhen descended the steps without calling out. Alaric sensed him anyway.
"Ser Torrhen." He said with a curt nod
"My lord." Ser Torrhen replied in kind, fully strapping his longsword sheath around his waist
They clasped forearms instead of the usual noble courtesies. It had been that way for years when they were alone.
"I thought we might inspect the men before court," Alaric said. "I would have your eyes."
"You always have them." A small smile spreading at his lord and charges continued confidence in him.
Alaric gave a small nod at that. Appreciation, not indulgence.
They walked the perimeter of the yard as the northern men filtered in. Steel rang soon enough. Orders were given, corrections made. Torrhen watched footwork, discipline, and the sharpness of attention.
Alaric watched something else.
After a time, when the men were fully engaged, Alaric said quietly, "Walk with me."
They left the yard to the side gate, stepping into the narrow path that led toward a quiet stretch of ground beyond the manse. Not a forest, nothing like the Kingswood, but open enough to speak freely.
Alaric removed his gloves as they walked.
"You have been doubling the watches," he said.
"Yes."
"You expect trouble," Alaric said, not quite a question, more of a statement in nature
"I expect opportunity," Torrhen replied. "Trouble follows."
Alaric almost smiled at that.
They walked in silence for several paces.
Then Alaric said, evenly, without flourish, "If I were to fall here or anywhere sometime in the neat future, could I trust that you would hold the North together?"
Torrhen did not slow.
He did not ask what prompted the question.
He answered it.
"Of course, my lord, I would do it by any means necessary."
Not boastful, nor uncertain.
Alaric studied him sidelong. "How?"
Torrhen took his time.
"By keeping Winterfell quiet first. Panic spreads faster than fire. I would send ravens before rumors could ride. I would put Lord's Umber, Karstark, Manderly, and Dustin in motion immediately. Strength at the borders prevents ambition within."
Alaric listened without interruption.
"I would call the banners only if the insult required it," Torrhen continued. "Not before. Rage makes men foolish."
"And if the insult is my death?" Alaric asked.
"Then I would measure who benefits most."
No hesitation.
"And if it is the crown?"
"Then the realm burns whether we wish it or not, our words are Winter is Coming, i would intend to make that not a warning, but a promise."
That earned him a long look.
Torrhen did not look away.
Soon after a short pause in the talk, they stopped walking.
Alaric removed his signet ring.
Not dramatically, or with any kind of ceremony.
He slid it from his finger and held it in his palm.
Torrhen had seen that ring for years. Seen it raised in judgment. Seen it pressed into wax. Seen it signal authority without words.
He had never seen Alaric remove it outside of sleep.
"There are days," Alaric said quietly, studying the band of metal in his hand, "when I envy men who only need to be brave."
Torrhen understood that tone. It was not a complaint. It was something closer to resignation, or even quiet exhaustion.
"To be brave is simple," Torrhen said. "To rule and command is not."
Alaric let out a breath that might have been a faint laugh.
"Bravery ends at death. Command lingers after."
Torrhen folded his arms.
"You do not sit where you sit because you wished to be admired," he said. "You sit there because you are suited for it."
"Suited," Alaric repeated.
"Aye, suited my lord, we all see it, the north sees it."
He hesitated, then added plainly, "I thank the gods I do not sit where you sit."
Alaric looked up at him fully then.
"That is honesty."
"It is the truth, i dont think I am quite suited for any role in ruling or the sort," he added with a dry chuckle
The signet ring turned once between Alaric's fingers.
"I will not die here," Alaric said, more a promise than statment.
"No, you will not, and I, no, all of the north shall see to that."
"But if I do–"
Torrhen stepped forward.
"If you do, I will bury every man responsible before I ride home."
The words were not loud, they did not need to be.
Alaric held his gaze for several long seconds.
Then he nodded once.
"I know it to be true, thank you."
That was it.
No oath demanded. No vow extracted.
He slid the ring back onto his finger.
They resumed walking.
After a few moments, Alaric spoke again.
"I have prepared letters," he said. "One for Winterfell. One for the Wall. One for White Harbor."
Torrhen did not ask what they contained.
"You will carry them if necessary," Alaric continued. "You will not wait for consensus. You will act."
"You would trust me with that?" he inquired
Alaric turned to him with a smile, not a courtly look, but a true smile. "If not you, then who else?"
Not dramatic. Not sentimental.
Certain.
Torrhen had been entrusted with lives before. Men placed under his command, and hosts being prepared for battle.
But this was different.
This was legacy.
"You do not need to speak as if you are already gone," Torrhen said.
"I am not," Alaric replied. "But it would be foolish not to prepare, especially in a cesspit of a city like this one, where daggers and lies await every corner."
They stopped again near the edge of the grounds.
Alaric looked toward the distant silhouette of the Red Keep.
"There are currents here most men do not see," he said. "They mistake stillness for peace."
"You see them," Torrhen said.
"Aye."
A simple answer.
Torrhen studied him.
Alaric did not look young, despite being only nine-and-ten.
He had never looked young, not in the way other boys did. Even as a child, there had been something measured about him. Something that weighed before it acted.
Torrhen had never questioned it.
He had simply adjusted to it.
"You are not alone in that sight," Torrhen said.
Alaric glanced at him.
"No?" he asked, not out of questioning, but almost seeking assurance
"No. I may not see as far. But I see enough."
That earned him something rare.
A true, genuine smile and the warmth that came with it
"You are my most trusted confidant," Alaric said quietly.
Torrhen stilled.
He had been called a knight, captain, even a sword and shield.
Confidant was something else.
"I am glad you think so highly of me, Alaric," Torrhen replied.
"Only because you deserve such high praise, Torrhen." Alaric rescinded in kind, that same smile still adorning his face
They did not need to say more.
A bell rang faintly in the distance, the city was waking.
They began walking back.
As they neared the yard again, Alaric slowed.
"There is one more matter."
"Yes, my lord."
"In court today, I may contradict you," Alaric said, a little awkwardly at that
Torrhen did not react at first, he was more so confused. "Why?"
"To redirect attention–"
"Toward you." He interrupted, not rudely, just finishing Alaric's thought for him
"Aye, I wish for them to be more focused on me, instead of you, Dorren, or any of our companions."
Torrhen considered that.
"You wish them to see division?"
"I wish them to underestimate all of the north, they may see me as a player, but if there's dissent, the many voices at court may continue their ignorant underestimations of us."
Torrhen let out a quiet breath through his nose.
"They already do."
"Good, let them continue to see as 'mere' barbarians." He said with a curt laugh
There it was again, that dry humor.
"If you must make me look the fool," Torrhen said, "do it convincingly."
Alaric's eyes sharpened slightly.
"I would never make you a fool."
"Then make them think I am only steel, nothing but your sword or shield."
"That is the intention." Alaric finished with a wry grin
They soon reached the yard, and the men straightened as they approached.
Alaric paused before stepping through the gate.
"If it ever comes to it," he said, voice low, "you have full authority to withdraw me."
Torrhen blinked once. "Withdraw you?"
"Aye."
"From court, or from any situation that need be."
It was not a jest.
Torrhen studied him carefully.
"You believe I would drag you from a fight?"
"I believe," Alaric said calmly, "that you would do what is necessary."
It was not a basic command or order, but true trust in his judgement and ability.
"If my position or safety is ever compromised," Alaric continued, "I need someone who will not hesitate. My being dead would do the North no good afterall"
"You ask much."
"I do, you are my first sworn shield after all."
Torrhen nodded once.
"Then I will not hesitate."
Alaric held his gaze, measuring him.
Then he broke his gaze away, he was satisfied.
They entered the yard together, and the men resumed their drills.
For a time, they moved among them in silence.
After a while, Alaric spoke again, almost casually.
"You never remarried or had any more children."
It was not a question.
"No, I did not."
"Do you regret it?" Alaric asked, truly worried, if not only a bit
Torrhen thought on that.
"No, I do not. Rodrik's mother, Rowena, was my one true love. I could never remarry after that short happiness I had with her. Besides, you and Rodrik are all I need."
Alaric absorbed that.
Then, quietly, he replied, "I am glad."
Torrhen did not respond immediately.
After a moment, he said simply, "As am I."
The sun had fully risen by then.
Court awaited. Politics, smiles, and ever-watching eyes.
But in that yard, in that hour, none of it pressed in.
Alaric adjusted his gloves.
"Walk with me," he said.
Torrhen did.
Not behind, not ahead, but beside.
And that, more than any title or oath, was what mattered.
As they stepped beyond the yard and toward the waiting horses, Torrhen allowed himself a quiet, private pride.
He had never worn a lord's mantle, never sat at the head of a hall with banners hanging behind him. His name would not be sung beyond the North, nor carved into keeps for grand deeds.
But he had stood beside one who would shape such things. He had steadied him when needed, spoken plainly when others would flatter, and been trusted with matters that outweighed crowns.
That was no small honor.
Whatever King's Landing held, its whispers, its smiling daggers, its shifting loyalties, it would find the North unbroken.
Not because of fear, nor because of bluster, but because its strength lay in men who knew their place and held it firmly.
Torrhen adjusted his cloak against the growing warmth of the morning and walked on at Alaric's side, content in the knowledge that he stood exactly where he was meant to be.