A Feast of Wolves and Dragons
"A crown of flowers weighs less than gold, but its memory clings longer."
— Valyrian Court Whisper
(Rhaenyra Targaryen POV)
The great hall of Maidenpool, though not so grand as the Red keep's own, glittered with thousand a thousand candles and the finery of lords and ladies. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, sweet wine, and the murmur of a hundred conversations. I sat beside father at the high table, still wearing the wreath of flowers Alaric Stark had placed upon my head. It felt heavy, yet wonderfully light, a crown unlike any other. Alicent sat on my other side, occasionally reaching up to touch the blossoms, her eyes still wide with the day's marvel.
My own eyes, however, kept drifting across the hall, searching. The feast was a blur of colors and faces but I sought only one: the boy who had seemed to dance through the joust, whose every move was a marvel. I had never seen such a thing. Not even Uncle Daemon, for all his boasts and skill, had seemed so... inevitable.
I found him at last, near the far end of the hall, seated amongst a cluster of northern lords. He was no longer in his plain grey armour, but wore simple, dark woollens, befitting a Stark. His black hair, with its strange red streaks, caught the candlelight, and those grey eyes, flecked with silver, seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. He was quite, listening more than speaking, a stark contrast to the boisterous lords around him and all he gave them in return is amused smile. He did not boast, did not preen. He simply was. Whenever he moved among those drunken lords there was a quite grace about him, more like a cat stalking his prey rather than a wolf, starks are known to be. His hands, when he gestured, were surprisingly delicate, not the rough, calloused hands of a typical warrior. I wondered if these were the hands that could paint, or pluck a tune from a lute, as I had heard whispers of his uncommon interests.
"He is very quiet, is he not?" Alicent whispered, following my gaze. "For a champion."
"He does not need to shout for folk to know his worth," I replied, a strange fierceness in my voice. He was not like Lord Jason Lannister, who spoke of his own prowess until your ears ached, nor even like Uncle Daemon, who loved to shock and provoke. Alaric Stark was different.
Alicent and I were whispering when I saw the very being I had been secretly observing approach the high table. He bowed towards us, then directly addressed Father.
"Your Grace, I have brought something for you"
He unfurled what looked like a painting. There was sudden gasp the moment the full painting was revealed; I think it was Alicent. It was a beautiful scene of various intricate buildings, clearly a grand civilization, with three dragons flying overhead in distinctive colors of gold, red and green. It was one of the most beautiful painting I had ever seen. The colors were so bold, and you could see each building clearly, with all their different shades and sizes. It was like standing right there, not just looking at a painting.
"I had heard of your interest in Valyria, so with help from my maester, I drew this according to their descriptions. I hope you like it. It took me a while to draw it with all these colours. I hope I was able to capture the Valyrian civilization in all its glory."
Now everyone was looking at the painting, mesmerized. Father took the painting from him and began to examine it more closely. Up close, the buildings were even clearer, and you could make out tiny people too. I could see the happiness in my father's face.
"Young Alaric," Father began, his voice thick with drink, "you have brought me one of the greatest gifts I have ever received. Your performance in today's tourney was also one of the greatest; I did not know that movements like those were even possible." Father took another look at him and, swaying slightly, asked for the sword from a Kingsguard. "Kneel, young Alaric. You said you had to participate as a mystery knight since you were not a knight. Today, you get to be knighted by the King himself!"
Since I had first seen him on the tourney grounds, this was the first time I had seen his expression truly change. Even the lords and ladies present fell silent at the King's declaration.
Alaric smoothed his expression, then knelt gracefully before the King. Father, with surprising steadiness for his condition, tapped the flat of the sword on each of Alaric's shoulders. "By the Warrior, I charge you to be brave! By the Father, I charge you to be just! By the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent! Arise, Ser Alaric Stark, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!"
The hall erupted in cheers, some genuine, some perhaps out of surprise at the King's sudden pronouncement. Alaric rose, his face calm once more, though his silver-flecked eyes held a hint of something unreadable. He bowed to Father. "You honour me, Your Grace. I shall wear this title with pride. Once again, I must apologize for my father's absence on this auspicious day."
"Think nothing of it, Ser Alaric," Father replied, waving a hand. " I am a father myself — there is no place in this world I'd rather be than at my wife's side."
Alaric, now Ser Alaric, nodded, his silver-flecked eyes meeting mine for a fleeting heartbeat. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, and I felt my cheeks warm. He had remembered me.
Later, as the feast grew louder and the musicians played, I saw Alaric speaking quietly with some of his northern kin. He was a still pool in a raging river, calm amidst the boisterous lords. My thoughts kept drifting to him, not to Uncle Daemon or the other knights. Alaric Stark. The name felt new and important on my tongue. He had defeated the best of the realm, even my fierce uncle, with a quiet grace that made him seem even more powerful. And he had seen me, truly seen me, choosing me, the King's daughter, --
as the Queen of Love and Beauty.
The next morning, the air was crisp and cool — a welcome breath after the heavy warmth of the feast hall. As soon as I woke, I went looking for Uncle Daemon; he hadn't been at the feast. When I ran into Alicent, she told me she'd seen Uncle Daemon flying off on Caraxes the evening before.
With Uncle Daemon gone, we decided to look for Ser Alaric instead — I wanted to ask him about his sword, about the painting — about everything. But no matter where we looked in the castle, we couldn't find him. So we asked Lord Mooton, who was conveniently with Father at the time.
When we asked after Ser Alaric's whereabouts, Lord Mooton told us no northerner had been staying in the castle proper — instead, they were lodged at an inn called the Wolf's Den, owned by House Stark. According to him, the Starks had inns in every major city in the Seven Kingdoms, save King's Landing — inns built for northern traders and travellers.
I hadn't known that. From the look on Father's face, neither had he.
It didn't take Father long to grant us permission to visit — so long as we took the King's Guard with us.
It was a rougher place than I was used to, smelling of woodsmoke and strong ale, and the honest scent of common folk, but it felt... real. And there was Alaric Stark, sitting on one of the benches, a lute in his hand, tuning its strings, with a small book open before him.
"Ser Alaric!" I called, bouncing over to him, Alicent a little more demurely behind me. Our Kingsguard stood a little distance away, keeping a watchful eye.
He looked up, those grey-silver eyes meeting mine, and a genuine smile touched his lips. "Princess Rhaenyra. Lady Alicent. A pleasure to see you both. Did you sleep well after the festivities?"
"As well as one can when one's father snores like a dragon," I declared, making Alicent giggle. "What are you doing?"
"I'm tuning this fine instrument while I wait for my companions," he said, his smile easy and warm.
"Is it true?" I blurted all at once. "That you sing songs, and cook, and that you really painted that beautiful picture you gave Father?"
"Slow down, Princess," he teased, eyes glinting. "Take a breath. Yes — to all of it."
My cheeks flushed hot.
"You can sing and cook?" Alicent asked, raising her brows. "And paint? My septa say noble boys should only learn swords and sums."
Alaric chuckled — a soft, pleasant sound. "Then it's good I have no septa. I find it wise to have many ways to… optimize one's day." He winked at me. My face felt warm again.
"What does 'optimize' mean?" I asked, tilting my head. "I've never heard that word."
"It means to make the best use of something — a situation, a resource. In my case, that resource happens to be time. So I cook, paint, and sing."
"Can you sing for us now, Ser Alaric?"
"Maybe later, Princess. My companions are still deep in sleep — and they were very clear about not wanting any sound this morning."
"Then why are you tuning it?" I asked, blinking.
He shrugged, feigning innocence. "Because I didn't like the way they told me. As if I'm some irresponsible child. So I'll play it — when they're deep asleep — so they regret thinking so."
It was so unexpected that I just stared at him. This was the newly knighted knight — heir to Winterfell — and here he was, planning to wake his friends out of sheer spite. Even Alicent was silent, wide-eyed beside me.
"So, Princess, how are you this fine morning?" he asked lightly, as if he hadn't just confessed to petty mischief. Alicent and I looked at each other, unsure what to say — but we were saved by the arrival of another boy.
" Hope I'm not interrupting?" the new boy said, bowing low. "Good morrow, Princess. My lady. I'm Edrick Glover, heir to Deepwood Motte."
Surprisingly, he didn't bow to Ser Alaric. I'd thought the heir of Winterfell would command the respect of every northern lordling.
"You're up? How fortunate, Ed," Ser Alaric said, his tone dry. "Did we wake you?"
Edrick gave him a sly smile I'd only ever seen court ladies give when they whispered secrets behind gloved hands.
"Aye, fortunate indeed. I know you too well, Al — that look on your face last night was the same one when you sent your father's steward to the grain cellar — or when you had those bells made—"
" I get it, I get it," Alaric cut in, flustered — the first time I'd seen him flustered at all. "No need to air my dirty laundry in front of such distinguished guests, is there?"
"Don't worry about us, Ser Alaric," I said sweetly. "We don't mind. Right, Alicent?"
Alicent caught on quickly, nodding with a mischievous grin. Ser Alaric sighed. Edrick Glover's pleased smile made me certain there was more to this tale.
"Well, it's nothing much, Princess, but this happened a few years back. I was bored out of my mind, done with my studies, barred from courtyard for something I "supposedly" did". He held up both hands, making a funny gesture with two fingers on each hand when he said "supposedly. "So I decided to prank my father's steward, who was being unpleasant at that time."
"What did you do?" Alicent asked, equally invested in the story.
" I told him I'd heard strange sounds in the grain cellar — that it might be haunted. Naturally, he denied it — so I dared him to go see for himself."
"And?" I gasped, clutching Alicent's hand.
" He went down — and the snow owl I'd hidden there flew out," Alaric said, trying not to laugh. "He screamed like a Dornish maiden seeing snow for the first time."
Edrick Glover burst out laughing first — and soon we all were. Even Alicent was giggling so hard she had to hold the table.
"Did you get punished?" she asked breathlessly.
He shrugged. "I had to haul flour sacks for a week. It was worth it."
"And what about the bell thing Edrick Glover was talking about?"
"Ah! That one, maybe some other time, Princess. That one is more of a lesson than a prank."
"Now I am really curious, Ser Alaric, what did you do?"
"Some other day, Princess. How about a jest instead?"
"If I don't laugh," I bargained. "then you have to tell me the bell story"
"Aye then, Princess. What do you call a Lannister who forgets to brag?"
I frowned. "Is that a riddle?"
"No. It's just impossible."
A laugh escaped before I could stop it — and once I started, I couldn't hold it back. It was too true. I'd heard Lannisters brag more than they breathed.
"I heard that laugh, Princess, you lose," Ser Alaric said smug as a cat.
"No, you misheard me, Ser, it was just a sigh," I said, even though there was a smile on my face. I really wanted to hear that story.
"Hmm. Very well. One more, then — about the Starks, whispered only for you." He leaned in conspiratorially.
I nodded, biting my lip.
"Why do Starks always look so serious?"
"Why?"
"Because if we smile too wide, our faces might freeze like that. And then we'd all look like grinning fools when winter comes."
This time I laughed so hard I nearly fell from my chair, courtly decorum forgotten. Alicent looked at me strangely — she hadn't caught the whispered jest.
She was about to ask when our guard stepped forward. "Princess, it's late. We must leave — there's packing yet to do for our return to King's Landing."
"Oh, must we?" I whined, a very un-princess-like sound, before catching myself and smoothing my gown. "Aye, Ser, we shall leave then. It was... truly a pleasure talking to you, Ser Alaric." I tried to sound regal, but my voice still held a hint of sadness.
He stood up, his movements as fluid as his swordplay, and bowed deeply. "The pleasure was all mine, Princess. And Lady Alicent. May your journey be swift, and your lemon cakes plentiful." He offered that genuine, rare smile again, the one that made his silver-flecked eyes truly shine.
"And yours, Ser Alaric," Alicent said, curtsying politely.
As we turned to leave, I glanced back. Alaric was still standing there, watching us, a thoughtful expression on his face. He lifted a hand, a small, almost imperceptible wave, and I felt a strange warmth spread through my chest. He was different, so very different from anyone I knew. He didn't just make me laugh; he made me think of things I'd never considered, things that felt... new.
We left the inn, the scent of woodsmoke and honest ale fading behind us. I knew for sure that this day, and Ser Alaric Stark, would be something I would remember for a very, very long time.
(Alaric Stark POV)
"Phew... thank the gods she left. I didn't know how much longer I could entertain her."
"Happy she left without making any fuss?" Edrick asked, taking a bite out of an apple he seemed to conjure from thin air.
"Did you want her to make a fuss, Ed?"
" Nah — just curious how long you could hold your tongue. I've never seen you sit still so long without mocking someone."
He wasn't wrong. I was itching to crack a joke at her or Alicent. It took everything I had to hold myself back. I really need to do something about this habit. I'd picked it up from being bored out of my mind; making fun and pulling pranks was one of the solutions I came up with to deal with the sheer monotony.
"So, what do you think of the royals?" Edrick asked, munching away.
"Nothing noteworthy," I said flatly. "King Viserys lacks that kingly presence his grandsire and his father had; he's simply not cut out for king's clothes. Prince Daemon, on the other hand, has that presence, but he'll never make a king. He doesn't have the patience for its burdens. The Queen wasn't here, but I could see her influence in the Princess; she's figured out motherly duties, but not queenly ones. And the Princess... well, she's a child, as a child should be, shielded from the terror of the real world."
Edrick was looking at me strangely now. "What's with that face? Do you feel a stomach ache or something?"
That pulled him out of it. "No, I just didn't think you'd figured out the royals so quickly, even the Queen who isn't here. No matter how many times I see you do it, it still amazes me."
Of course I could. Those three templates aren't just for show. Yoriichi's allows me to capture micro-movements like it's a 4K resolution video, Lelouch's lets me process any visual data into information about exactly what I'm seeing, and Ijin's takes my situational awareness to another level. It's like having a supercomputer in my head, constantly analysing and predicting.
We drifted into other talk until Alfin slipped into the hall, quiet as a mouse. "Everything has begun just as you planned, milord."
Finally, it has started. Alfin is the owner of this 'Wolf's Den' branch. I'd had these inns sprout up in every major kingdom, and from there, they'll spread to their cities. There were two reasons for these inns: firstly, to sell northern products like ice, beverages, and food, and secondly, to collect information from all around the Seven Kingdoms. When these branches open, the traffic of people is bound to come, and with them, information. With these in place, I won't be walking blindly into anything.
"Good work, Alfin. Don't forget to do exactly as you've been taught."
"Aye, milord. I have already picked out some of the children; they were more than happy to do anything for food and shelter."
" Make sure they're looked after. And if anything feels wrong — end it. Quietly. Don't get caught."
I knew it was cruel to even suggest something like this, but I had to make sure that the true purpose of these inns didn't get out. If that happened, it could create problems for me and then for House Stark. After all, perception matters, and these people of Westeros think the North is some savage land. We can't have people knowing certain things, not until these inns have made themselves an indispensable part of their lives.
The tourney was a success, far more than just a display of martial prowess. It was a calculated move, a subtle introduction of a new player to the game of thrones, one they wouldn't soon forget.
Viserys, drunk and sentimental, had given me a knighthood – a title meaningless in the North, yet a powerful symbol in the South. Daemon, the Rogue Prince, had been publicly humbled, a seed of resentment, perhaps, but also a spark of curiosity. Crowing Rhaenyra was a calculated risk, I was planning on crowing Queen Aemma but we can't have all, she was the only one I could crown without these southern lords making some kind of conclusion.
The painting of Valyria was a masterstroke. It fed Viserys's obsession, a tangible piece of a lost world, subtly hinting at a deeper understanding of ancient lore than any maester possessed. It was a gift that spoke of knowledge, not just power, and that would linger in his mind long after the wine had faded.
My true game, however, lay elsewhere. The 'Wolf's Den' network, now quietly expanding across the Seven Kingdoms, was my real weapon. Information, trade, influence – these were the currencies of true power, far more reliable than swords or dragons in the long run. The children Alfin spoke of, the 'eyes and ears' I was cultivating, would be invaluable. It was a cruel necessity, yes, but this world was crueller still. To protect the North, to build a future where my family, and eventually, my new sibling, could thrive, I had to play this game better than anyone.
Let the dragons dance. Let the lions roar. Let the stags charge. They played by old rules, predictable patterns. I, however, played by the optimal ones. And by the time they realized it, the North would not merely be strong; it would be indispensable.
My name, Alaric Stark, would indeed be known everywhere, not just for a tourney win, but as the architect of a new era, a silent force shaping the destiny of Westeros. The pieces were moving, and I was holding the strings.