4 Chapter - 4

The birds chirped early in the morning, drowning the loudest of early morning yawns across the Winterfell. Jon bashed his shield towards Alaric, and Alaric used his right-hand sword to block him, but Jon landed a strike on Alaric's left shoulder as the sword fell from his hand; Jon bashed his head on Alaric's face as the latter fell on the ground, soiling his black clothes.

"You lose again; now you will follow us into the crypts." Rob chirped with a happy expression on his face. "I want a rematch." Alaric said because he didn't want to go into the Crypts beneath the Winterfell.

The result of the second duel did not change in favour of Alaric as both swords fell from his hands as he lay on the ground on all fours with eyes on the grey sky that covers the Winterfell.

"You lack concentration required for dual-wielding two swords at the same time; besides, you should be using two different sized blades. My shield is enough to counter your dominant hand; you should be using your left hand to block instead of your right, as ser Rodrick often says."

Jon calmly advised Alaric as he put his sword back on the stand and offered his hand to Alaric, who took it to propel himself to standup.

"Again!" Alaric shouted. " I will oblige this time." Robb interjected as he took the wooden sword from the stand.

Nothing new happened; Robb countered Alaric's dominant hand with his shield, interlocked his other hand with Alaric's sword hand and headbutted him. Both wooden longswords fell from his hands, followed by a punch to the nose as Alaric fell on the muddy ground on his back.

"We will be waiting for you outside the crypts after the sword lessons with Rodrick, and please abandon that bullshit style or, me and Jon will have to keep ringing your head until you do. You ought to understand by now," Robb said as he left the practice area; Jon laid his eyes on Alaric before following Robb.

Alaric touched his nose as blood flew from his nose and glanced at both of his elder brothers backs. "Assholes," he cursed both of them silently. What happened to those blessings from Odin? He wondered, the Gods are tricky bastards always making a fool of mortals like him.

....

For the first time in six months, Alaric had a shield in his left hand and a sword in his right hand. As he practised and with a guard and asked for advice from time to time under the shocked gaze of ser Rodrick Cassel because he had never seen him use a shield with a sword, this brat would always insist on using two longswords, all the while lacking the extreme quickness and reflexes of Arthur Dayne.

Even Dayne couldn't use two longswords properly, much less a brat half-past six.

"So the trick worked," he mumbled to himself. The very notion of dual-wielding two swords is very attractive and heroic but extremely ill-advised. Besides, didn't Arthur Dayne lose to Eddard Stark, thought the old warrior ser Rodrick, what could be gained from using two long swords except increasing the amount of weight you can carry on your body after adorning the armour.

Ser Rodrick replaced the guard and asked Alaric about the shield; in response, Alaric just gave him a long face, shrugged his shoulders and kept his mouth closed. Ser Rodrick didn't ask anything further but started a hell level of training for Alaric. for every mistake, he would be greeted by a stick to the butt. Ser Rodrick had always been harsh, when it comes to training his students, and Alaric had already wasted six months on chasing dual-wield sword style without learning or understanding anything at all. He would have beaten the shit out of him by now if not for Lord Stark tolerating the waywardness of this brat.

On the other end of the practice area, amidst the cluck and clatter of metal Jon and Robb dueled with each other; both had their knees slightly bent, one leg further forward than the other, the body turned diagonally, the abdominal muscles tightened. "I think we went a bit too far with him." said Jon as he gazed at Alaric falling again and again by Rodrick's Sword. Robb pushed him with a shoulder shove.

"careful, Snow." Jon replied to him with light, manoeuvrable blows, but Robb parried them as steel clanked against steel.

"No, you didn't. Alaric is too lazy for someone aspiring to become second Arthur Dayne, yet he practises only three days a week while we have to practise six days a week." Robb ducked and evaded a downward slash from Jon and counter-attacked with his Swords towards Jon Stomach. Jon hastily evaded the blow to his stomach by jumping back.

" Father often says there are no short-cuts, easy ways or blessings in combat as Alaric says there are; I don't understand why everyone thinks Ser Arthur Dayne fought with two swords, that man fought with a great sword whose blade was pale as milkglass." Said Robb as he moved backwards.

Jon shrugged his shoulders. " Maybe someone fooled him?"

"Race you to the Crypts, Snow."

"It's on, Stark."

....

They feet the chill coming up the stairs, a cold wind blowing from deep within the crypt. "I think we should not be here," whispered Alaric because he really did not want to be here among his dead ancestors.

"Don't be a coward." Robb bellowed while Jon just nodded in agreement.

Cold and chilly, dark and empty, devoid of living and sound, supported by pillars of granite and surrounded by the dead Kings of Winter, their light footsteps echoed in the ears of the three.

Jon and Robb walked freely, but Alaric could not be carefree like them.

For he could hear the whispers in the air, like a silent echo from afar, this world's full of myth, legends and magic, and this crypt is involved with all three Alaric remembered.

"Did you hear anything?" Alaric shivered as he asked.

Robb raised his eyebrow as he gazed at his little brother. "It's nothing. Your ears are probably working on you."

Further, they went more whispers he heard in sound like the wind blowing through leaves, rain crashing on the water in a voice like chilly winter air.

A song in ancient ethereal voice rang in Alaric's ears mixed with the whispers of Nature.

"Where is the king and his Giant."

"Here awaits his horn that once blew."

"Here is the helm and sword."

"Here is the doom of red harpstring."

"Above the spring, buried in cold winter."

"I am getting out!" Shouted Alaric as he ran the way they had came because he really didn't want to be here any longer; whatever mysteries, secrets or Stark Ghosts can do that in future, now is not the best time.

Robb and Jon sprang after him, not because they heard anything. But because they could not let their brother run in the dark alone.

As they chased After Alaric, the voice came to a still before it rang again in a melancholic tone. "Gone will be the dawn, buried beneath would be the harvest."