Chapter 6

Dawn broke over the sea, and I, Alaric Stark, the heir to the North, awoke to the sound of the ocean crashing against the hull of the ship. My mother, Ashara, was already by my side, her gaze heavy with worries that kept her awake through the night. The storm had arrived unheralded, and we were in its grasp.

"Don't worry, Mother," I said, attempting a smile despite the fear I felt as well. "Starks are made for the cold, and I am a Stark, am I not?"

She held me tightly, an embrace that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "You are, my little wolf," she whispered back, "and nothing will change that."

Uncle Ned entered the cabin, his eyes as grey as the stormy sky outside. "The storm is strong, but we will endure," he declared with a certainty I knew was for our sake as much as his own. "Alaric, have you ever seen such a tempest?"

"No, Uncle Ned," I replied, climbing up the bed to peer through the small porthole. "But I've read about them, in the old tales. The seasoned sailors say they are the breath of the gods."

He smiled, pride glinting in his eyes. "Indeed. And what else do they say?"

"That every sailor must respect the sea, just as a lord must respect his people," I recalled, echoing the lessons he had imparted to me.

The days stretched on, and the storm showed no sign of abating. We occupied ourselves with board games and storytelling. My mother spoke of the gardens of Dorne, where flowers bloom even under the blistering sun, and I could see the homesickness in her eyes.

Uncle Ned taught me about the noble houses of the North, about duty and honor. At times, he seemed distant, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of what awaited us in King's Landing. I wanted to inquire about his worries, but something told me to hold back. He would speak when ready.

When the storm finally broke, the sky cleared, blessing us with a night full of stars. We all stood on deck, tracing constellations. "That one is the Great Bear," I pointed out.

"And that is the Sword of the Morning," my mother contributed, her finger drawing a luminous arc across the sky.

Uncle Ned observed, his visage illuminated by the celestial light. "It's comforting to know that some things remain constant, even amidst chaos."

It was indeed. Despite the lingering fear, I found myself enveloped in an odd tranquility. The sea was vast and enigmatic, but beneath the star-studded expanse, I understood that every star was a tale, and mine was just beginning.

In the ensuing days of calm, I frolicked across the deck, imagining myself as one of the heroes in my mother's stories. Uncle Ned watched with an ever-present smile reserved just for me.

Then, one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, I overheard him speaking to my mother. "Ashara, do you reckon he's prepared for what lies ahead?"

She cast a glance my way, her eyes brimming with a resolve. "He is stronger than we both envisage. And he has us. He will learn, and we will guide."

I feigned inattention, but their words kindled warmth within me. I might only be one year and four months old, but I felt as though I had lived through a lifetime. And somehow, I knew I was ready for the future.

Now, as King's Landing came into view with its towering structures and bustling harbor, the weight of the future rested upon my shoulders. But I was not alone. I had my mother, my uncle, and the Stark name.

As we drew closer to the docks of King's Landing, a certain stench began to assault my senses. The smell of excrement and urine almost formed a tangible cloud over the city, and I realized, grimacing, that despite five moons since the Lannisters' invasion, the capital had not fully recovered from the havoc they wrought.

I mustered a considerable portion of my willpower to suppress the urge to retch from the stench. "Perhaps I should have wished for immunity to foul odors as well..." I mused silently, slightly irritated at myself for overlooking such a detail in my list of desires.

As we neared the harbor, Ned spoke, a mix of pride and apology in his tone, "Welcome to King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, Alaric."

I couldn't help but respond with a grimace of disgust, "It smells like shit."

Ned and Ashara burst into hearty laughter at my blunt remark, their amusement providing a welcome reprieve from the foulness that enveloped us. After a moment of shared laughter, which I eventually joined, Ned added with amusement, "You need not worry, Alaric. We shall only stay for the day, and on the morrow, the ship will be ready to depart for White Harbor."

A wave of relief washed over me at his words, and I nodded eagerly, glad at the thought of leaving this fetid city so soon.

As we docked, the lively port came into view, teeming with merchants. But beyond this animated scene, I also noticed a considerable number of young boys who seemed to be beggars, an understandable sight given that a war had just commenced. A thought sparked in my mind, a potential plan where I could turn this to my advantage—summoning these children to the North to bolster the population and workforce, which, intentionally or not, would provide these kids with a home and an opportunity.

Setting those thoughts aside for the time being, a carriage awaited us as we reached the road that led to the Red Keep. I quickly surmised that Ned must have sent a raven ahead of our arrival, although how they pinpointed the exact day of our arrival remained a mystery to me—or perhaps they simply dispatched a carriage each day in anticipation.

Upon entering the carriage, I sat next to Ashara, who scooped me up, placing me on her lap and wrapping me in an embrace. We remained in that comforting hold until we reached the Red Keep.

Upon entering, a servant led us to where King Robert was now, which happened to be the throne room. When we came into view of him, he stood up and approached with open arms and a wide smile, heading straight for Ned.

"Ned, my brother, I am glad that you have finally arrived!" he exclaimed with a warmth that seemed to fill the room.

The King's greeting was robust, and the embrace he shared with Ned was one of warriors and brothers reunited. I couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity about this man, this Baratheon, who now sat on the Iron Throne. His reputation was a tapestry of valor and excess, of strength and appetite, and I pondered which thread I would come to know best in the days that followed.

As our first evening in King's Landing drew to a close, and the Red Keep's stone halls echoed with the distant revelries of court life, I found a moment of quiet to ponder the game of thrones I was about to enter. Looking out a narrow window at the sprawling city beyond, the pieces began to move in the grand game that awaited me, Alaric Stark—the boy with a man's mind and the heart of a wolf.