Margaery didn't miss a beat. She gave them a perfectly innocent smile as she reached the bench.
She sat down, wincing for just a split second before returning to her usual composed self.
"Wonderfully," Margaery said, casually adjusting her towel. "The water on this side of the pool was just... very vigorous."
Sansa let out an unimpressed scoff, though she was fighting a smile. "Vigorous. It's a wonder you didn't drown, considering we didn't hear any splashing."
Roslin hid her red face in her hands with a muffled squeak. Margaery just hummed, completely unapologetic.
Before Sansa could press further, the water splashed heavily. Alaric stood up, steam rolling off his shoulders. Unbothered by the sudden silence, he stepped out of the pool.
He shot the three women an amused look as he pulled his black tunic over his head. "If you're done discussing the water currents," he said, buckling his heavy leather sword belt, "it's time we head back. "
Getting dressed and leaving the warm pavilion felt abrupt. As they pulled on their clothes—kept warm and dry by the pavilion's magic—the women fell into a relaxed silence.
Margaery was still moving a bit slow, but the shared vitality from Alaric's abilities was already easing her sore muscles, leaving her comfortably tired instead of in pain.
They stepped out into the cool night air.
Alaric helped Sansa and Roslin onto their horses, then turned to Margaery. She gave him a knowing look as he easily lifted her onto her white mare, saving her the effort of climbing up herself. He swung onto his own black horse and took the lead.
The ride back was quiet. Behind them, the glowing marble bathhouse stood like a monument over the ruined city—a stark reminder to anyone watching that the new King commanded impossible power.
When they reached the camp, the guards snapped to attention, slamming their spears against their shields. Alaric ignored the salute, riding straight to his large command tent.
Inside, the fire had burned down to glowing coals.
Exhausted, Sansa and Roslin didn't even bother losening their dresses. They collapsed onto the large fur-covered bed, tangling together under the blankets. Margaery followed a moment later, sighing happily as she pressed against Sansa's side and fell right to sleep.
Alaric stood in the dark tent, listening to their steady breathing. He walked over to his map table and sat down in the heavy wooden chair.
With a thought, a translucent blue interface appeared in the air, casting a faint light across the canvas.
[System Status]
Current Balance: 37,320 MP
Active Bonds:
Sansa Stark (Level 2)
Roslin Frey (Level 2)
Margaery Tyrell (Level 2)
Alaric stared at the numbers, tapping his fingers on the armrest. He had plenty of points, but that wasn't what he was thinking about. He was thinking about what Margaery had said.
Oberyn intends to offer his daughter to you.
Margaery saw it as a smart political move to secure Dorne without fighting. From a System standpoint, she was right. Claiming a Martell would give him a massive payout of points and unlock new abilities. It was free power.
But the catch.
The Sovereign Bonds weren't just about him taking power. Once a bond is established, the System forced him to share it back. his all passives with bonded partners.
Dorne was famous for its poisons and betrayals. Prince Oberyn's daughters were raised to be deadly. If Alaric took a Martell girl and accidentally hit Level 2 before her loyalty was completely guaranteed, the System would give her his powers.
Giving a Dornish assassin supernatural healing or poison immunity while she still secretly worked for her father would be a disaster.
He couldn't risk it.
Alaric dismissed the screen, his eyes narrowing in the dark. He didn't need a dangerous Dornish girl for now. He already had a safe target.
He looked through the darkness toward the canvas wall on his right. Just twenty feet away, guarded by a massive Blood Knight, was Myrcella.
Unlike the Martells, the Lannister princess wasn't playing the game of thrones. She had no hidden daggers or grand schemes. She was just a terrified girl who had begged him to spare her family. She was broken, compliant, and desperate to please him.
Alaric leaned back, the chair creaking softly in the quiet tent.
He stared up at the dark canvas ceiling. Stannis Baratheon was a straightforward problem. A massive army marching to his front door was something he could physically fight and crush. But the real problem was the people he couldn't see.
King's Landing was a mess. Even with the Lannister forces broken and the city under his control, the capital was still crawling with spies, sellswords, and opportunists. Someone was pulling the strings from the shadows, actively searching for a weak point in his armor.
It was better to be over-prepared.
He looked back at the bed where Sansa, Roslin, and Margaery were sleeping soundly. He had given them their time. Now, he had work to do.
Alaric stood up, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the dim light of the dying coals. He adjusted his heavy sword belt, his mind shifting completely to the terrified blonde girl waiting in the dark next door.
He pushed the heavy canvas flap aside and stepped out into the crisp, cool air of the sleeping camp.
The fires had burned low, casting wavering shadows across the rows of tents. He paused, his gaze drifting past the camp toward the silhouette of the ruined Red Keep.
Sitting perfectly still on the edge of the destruction were the massive stone gargoyles he had summoned. Alaric let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly at the sheer, absurd scale of the power he now wielded.
He pulled his eyes away from the hill and turned to his right. Just twenty paces away sat a smaller, quiet tent. A armored guard stood perfectly still by the entrance.
///
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