The stone halls were colder than the yard, but Alaric didn't feel it. He was still buzzed from the System's success.
He headed for the kitchens. A shadow moved near a pillar by the Guest House.
"Nice catch," a voice said. It sounded rich and smug.
Alaric stopped. Jaime Lannister stepped into the torchlight. He didn't look worried about the boy who had almost died; he looked like he'd been caught doing something.
"Ser Jaime," Alaric nodded. A small icon flickered in the corner of his eye—the System was scanning Jaime.
"Tell me," Jaime said, leaning against a railing. "What's a guy like you doing at a ruined tower at midnight? Are the girls here that boring?"
"I like the night air," Alaric said. He kept his voice flat and looked Jaime in the eye. "Good thing, too. Otherwise, Lord Eddard would be waking up to a dead son."
Jaime's eyes narrowed. He knew the timing was too perfect. "Lucky for the kid. And lucky for you. Just don't let the 'hero' title go to your head."
Jaime walked away. Alaric watched him go. He knew the truth now, and the Lannisters knew he was the only one who could get them COUGHT.
By morning, everyone was talking about it. The ward from the dead house had caught the falling prince. Alaric was called to Ned Stark's office. Ned looked tired.
"Alaric," Ned said. His voice was heavy, like he was still processing how close he'd come to losing Bran. "The North doesn't forget a debt like that. Neither will I."
"I just did what I could, My Lord," Alaric replied.
Ned sighed. "I was going to leave you here with Robb. But Bran keeps asking for you. And Sansa says she feels safer with you around."
A screen popped up in Alaric's head:
[Stark Influence: +15%]
[New Job: Personal Guard to Sansa Stark]
...
Alaric walked out of Ned's office. The hallway was packed and loud. With the King's people everywhere, Winterfell felt more like a beehive than a castle.
Near the Great Hall, he saw a flash of blue. Sansa was walking his way with her maids. She looked calm, like a proper lady, but as she brushed past him in the crowd, her hand hit his. It was fast. He felt a scrap of paper slide into his palm before she walked on without looking back.
Alaric didn't stop. He moved to a quiet corner of the courtyard and hid behind a stone wall to open the note. The writing was fancy but messy:
Our spot. When my parents are with the King.
He tucked the paper into his shirt. He knew where she meant: the big tree in the woods.
Hours later, while the Great Hall was noisy with everyone eating breakfast, Alaric slipped into the forest. Sansa was already there under the branches. She had her hood up to hide her red hair.
She turned around when she heard him. She didn't look like a princess anymore. She just looked like the girl who used to throw pillows at him.
Alaric walked quietly over the frozen ground. He stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.
Sansa gasped, but she didn't pull away. She leaned into him and turned around, burying her face in his neck. Her fingers gripped his shoulders hard.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, the words coming out in a rush. "I was so selfish. I was mad that you left. But if I had made you stay... Bran would be..."
She choked on a sob and held him tighter. She couldn't stop saying sorry. Her heart was thumping against his ribs. She looked like she was still seeing her brother's limp body in her head.
"You saved him," she said. "While I was acting like a brat, you were saving his life. Thank you, Alaric. Thank you."
Alaric didn't say anything. He tilted her chin up and kissed her.
They sat down together between the thick roots of the tree. Even with the cold air, it felt warm where they touched. Sansa gripped his hand with both of hers and leaned her head on his shoulder.
They watched the towers of Winterfell in the distance for a long time.
Finally, Sansa looked down and spoke in a low, shy voice. "I wanted to give myself to you last night."