Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 3: Revelations 

…

Alicent POV

A week has passed since Richard and I found ourselves lodged at the Lion's Den, a shabby inn tucked away in the shadow of Lannisport's grander streets. 

Its name hardly fit, considering the dull, tired lion carved into the sign out front—faded and weatherworn, its once-golden mane now bleached to a lifeless gray. 

Still, it was a roof, and better yet, it was the only roof we could afford that wasn't suspicious of two children clutching a handful of coins.

Arron, the innkeeper, was a round-bellied man with thinning hair and fingers stained from years of serving ale and scrubbing tankards. 

His face was flushed more often than not, his cheeks rosy with the heat of the kitchen or the drink he nursed well after nightfall. 

But he was kind enough, or at least didn't ask questions. For five coppers, he let us stay in a cramped room on the second floor, just above the kitchen where the smell of stew and roasted meat drifted through the cracks in the wooden floor. 

It wasn't much, but it was warm, and the meals came with the price of our stay—bread and stewed beans, with a bit of salted pork if we were lucky.

Arron's daughter, Tya, was different. She was thirteen, three years older than me, and though her clothes were plain and her hands rough from working the inn, there was something about her that made me feel like I should look up to her.

She had a quiet, steady way of speaking, her voice soft like the rustling of autumn leaves. 

She taught me to sew, her fingers moving swiftly and deftly through the needlework, and helped me with reading, which she'd learned from one of the traveling septas who passed through Lannisport. 

There were times when I caught myself thinking of her as an older sister—until I saw the way she looked at Richard.

That was when the warmth I felt toward her momentarily turned to ice. I've witnessed Tya's eyes gazing at Richard, whenever they lingered on him, were of those infatuated and of those who were in love. 

Those gaze made my stomach twist in a way I didn't like. Richard never seemed to notice, though. He barely looked at her, always brushing her off with that cold, distant stare that had become more and more a part of him since we arrived in the Inn. 

I like that he didn't give her any attention. I felt bad and sorry toward Tya though. Is it selfish for me to want Richard's attention to only be on me?

I noticed that ever since that eventful day, Richard had changed. His eyes weren't the same—not the way they used to be back when we still played and laughed in the streets. There was no spark of mischief left, no teasing grin. 

His face had hardened, and his gaze was always far away, as if he were seeing things that weren't in front of him, or remembering something he couldn't forget. 

I'd tried to ask him what was wrong, but he would only shrug me off, telling me it was nothing, telling me not to worry.

But how could I not?

During this week, Richard has been less present in my life more than ever.

Lannisport was a bustling city, its streets filled with merchants and sailors from the Sunset Sea, the smell of fish and salt clinging to the air. 

The wealthier parts of the city gleamed with polished stone and gold-threaded banners, but we didn't belong there. 

We lived on the edges, where the shadows were longer, where the streets twisted and turned in ways that made it easy to disappear. And lately, Richard had been disappearing too. 

Every night, I'd wake to the sound of the window creaking open, and I'd see his silhouette slipping out into the darkness.

I didn't ask the first time. Or the second. But now, after nights of watching him vanish into the streets, I couldn't help but feel the worry gnawing at me like a rat. 

What was he doing? Where was he going? And why, when he returned, did he always seem more distant than before?

Tonight, I'll confront him. I'll ask him what's been haunting him. 

I have to—because whatever he's doing, whatever is making him colder and colder with each passing day, it's taking him further away from me. And that scares me more than the shadows of Lannisport ever could.

…

Third POV

The night air in Lannisport was cool, carrying the salt of the sea and the tang of fish markets that never quite seemed to close, even under the pale moonlight. 

Richard stood in a narrow, dimly lit alley, barely a crack between two towering stone buildings. 

He had just finished wiping the last traces of blood from his hands, replacing his hooded garb with the clothes and boots he had stolen a week prior—a simple tunic, trousers, and boots far more suited to a boy his age than the black cloak of a killer.

Before him sat the chest, a grim relic from Rodric's demise. The chest was simple but sturdy, its iron-bound wood speaking of humble wealth. It had been the last thing Rodric offered in a desperate bid for his life, but now, it was Richard's prize.

With a deep breath, Richard knelt and opened the chest's lid, the soft creak of the hinges echoing faintly in the quiet alley. Inside, the dull glow of leather pouches greeted him. 

He pulled one free and loosened the strings with deft fingers. The unmistakable glint of gold caught his eye—ten golden dragons, enough to feed a big family for many years. 

His lips twisted into a half-smile, though there was no joy in it, only the cold satisfaction of the hunt completed. 

He began counting the rest. In all, there were 110 golden dragons and 264 silver stags, enough to purchase a modest home in the finer parts of Lannisport.

The coins were a fortune to someone like him, but it wasn't the gold that held his attention. As he sifted through the chest, his fingers brushed parchment, and his brows furrowed. A knight's verification? 

Richard's eyes narrowed as he unfolded the document, the smooth parchment crinkling softly. The words, written in a neat, official hand, outlined Rodric's recent acquisition of knighthood—bought with bribes rather than earned on a battlefield or through honorable deeds.

"Well, I'll be damned," Richard muttered under his breath, reading the lines with a bitter taste in his mouth. "The bastard bought his way to knighthood."

Knighthood was supposed to mean something, but in places like Lannisport, it was just another tool for the rich and powerful to wield. Rodric had been no knight—just a thug with a title, using it to intimidate and extort. 

Richard's jaw tightened, remembering the stories he'd overheard, the cruel things Rodric had done with the impunity his stolen title afforded him. But now he was gone, and the city was one villain lighter for it.

Satisfied, Richard closed the chest and hefted it with one hand, its weight nothing to him, though its awkward size made it difficult to scale the side of the building. 

With a grunt of effort, he found his balance and climbed the crumbling stone wall until he reached the roof. From there, it was easier. 

The rooftops of Lannisport, with their terracotta tiles and chimneys, formed a maze he had already mapped in his head. 

He leapt from roof to roof, the city stretching out below him. The harbor was alive with ships even at this late hour, lanterns bobbing on the water like distant stars. 

The streets, too, were bustling—merchants conducting late-night deals, taverns filled with sailors and dockhands, brothels glowing with red lanterns, their windows open to the cool sea breeze. 

The air smelled of salt and smoke, fish and ale, and somewhere nearby, a lute was being plucked, a jaunty tune carried on the wind.

From his vantage point, Richard could see the full sprawl of Lannisport. The city was divided between the wealth of the merchants and the grime of the lower districts. 

In the distance, he could just make out the towering walls of the Lannister keep, where the golden lions of House Lannister held sway. 

That was a world far removed from his—a world of silk and feasts, of whispered power plays and courtly intrigue. 

The rooftops of Lannisport stretched out like a winding road beneath the moonlit sky. Richard moved with silent grace, his senses keen, the city below bustling even in the dark hours. 

His Adamantium claws were an extension of him now, slicing into the worn stone as he descended toward the familiar window of the Lion's Den. 

The inn had become home for him and Alicent—though the word "home" felt strange on his tongue these days. 

As his boots touched the sill, he sheathed the claws with a practiced motion, the metal retracting soundlessly back into his flesh. 

He slipped into the room with barely a whisper of movement, expecting the quiet comfort of the darkened space, and the rhythmic sound of Alicent's breathing as she slept.

But she wasn't asleep.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, her small form cloaked in shadows, Alicent was awake. Her eyes glimmered in the dim light like a hawk's, sharp and unwavering, fixed on him the moment he entered. 

She had the look of someone who had been waiting—not for a moment, but for hours—watching, anticipating his return with a mixture of worry and something else that Richard couldn't quite place.

Her gaze pierced through him, and Richard, who had faced down men twice his size without blinking, felt a flicker of unease under her scrutiny. 

She didn't speak, but the silence between them weighed heavy, thicker than the night air.

Richard tried to break it with a half-hearted grin. "Haha, hello, Alicent," he said, his voice light, though it felt forced. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

His attempt at humor hung in the air like a dull blade. He could hear the weariness in his own words, feel the tension in his limbs. 

He was used to feeling on edge after his nights out, but this was different. This was Alicent, and somehow, facing her was harder than any battle in the streets.

Alicent didn't flinch. Her eyes, usually filled with warmth and curiosity, were steady and serious now. She didn't look away, didn't scold him, but the intensity of her gaze spoke louder than any words could. 

Alicent's brow furrowed, her heart racing as the implications of Richard's words sank in. The flickering candlelight cast a soft glow on her face, accentuating the worry etched in her features. 

"Why were you so late out at night? I was worried sick for you. What have you been doing?" she pressed, her voice trembling with concern, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. 

Those puppy eyes were Richard's weakness, and she knew it all too well.

Richard set down the chest with a gentle thud and closed the distance between them. He lifted her chin, his fingers brushing against her skin, grounding them both in that moment.

"All those worries you have for me, wash them away. The people who wish to harm us are gone. I have dealt with them," he said, a reassuring smile gracing his lips as he looked deep into Alicent's sapphire eyes.

Alicent's expression morphed from worry to shock, her breath catching in her throat as the weight of his words settled over her. "You killed them?" The question slipped from her lips, a mixture of disbelief and horror lacing her tone.

Richard nodded, his gaze steady, but he saw the confusion clouding her features. "But how?" she asked, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what he was saying.

He released her chin and took a few steps back, his heart pounding in the silence that enveloped them. 

With a clench of his fist, Adamantium claws sliced through the air, gleaming menacingly under the dim light.

"This is how," Richard replied, watching closely for her reaction.

Alicent gasped, her eyes wide, then tensed in a mix of fear and concern. Rising quickly, she approached him, her gaze fixed on the bloodied knuckles. "Doesn't it hurt?" she asked, worry etching deeper lines across her face.

Instead of feeling frightened or disgusted, Alicent's instinct was to care for him, and Richard found this reaction profoundly heartwarming. 

He chuckled softly, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. "Pfffhahaha," he laughed, the tension in the air dissipating slightly as he embraced her concern.

"Why, why, why are you laughing?" Alicent began to playfully hit him, her worry underscored by a hint of indignation. Richard laughter mingled with her concern for the blood trickling from his knuckle, a strange mix of emotions swirling between them.

Richard sheathed his claws, and to Alicent's astonishment, the wound began to heal before her eyes, flesh knitting back together seamlessly. She blinked in surprise, a mix of awe and confusion washing over her.

"Sit with me," he said, motioning to the bed with a gentle pat beside him. "You have questions, I know. But to explain everything, we must start from the day I died."

Alicent hesitated for a moment, her heart racing at the thought of what he would reveal. What did he mean by died, if he died then how is he alive. 

She wanted to figure out his side of the story. With a deep breath, she settled beside him, eager yet anxious to uncover the mysteries of the origin of Richard power. 

…

Richard's POV

After I recounted my death and subsequent revival to Alicent, she embraced me tightly, her small frame trembling against mine.

I could feel the warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her heart as she clung to me, fear etched into her features. 

She was terrified that my soul might be claimed by the godly being I had spoken of, and the thought weighed heavily on us both.

I explained how I had gained my powers—how another soul, destined to take over my body, had been gifted a unique template by that godly being: the Wolverine template. 

It was a strange and complex tale, one that felt both surreal and profoundly real as I spoke the words aloud.

Then I shared how I had sought revenge against Rodric and his goons, but I carefully omitted the details—the gore, the blood, the carnage that had accompanied my actions. I didn't want to burden her with the darker aspects of my newfound existence. 

Once I finished, an unexpected sense of relief washed over me. Despite the gravity of what I had shared, I was grateful that Alicent didn't see me any differently than before. 

Her unwavering support and acceptance gave me hope amidst the chaos that surrounded my life now.

As our conversation meandered into lighter territory, discussing trivial matters—like what we might do with the chest full of coins and the documented papers—it was a soothing distraction. 

Slowly, the exhaustion from the day's events settled over us, and we found ourselves drifting off to sleep, still wrapped in each other's warmth, our words fading into comfortable silence. 

In that moment, with her by my side, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't known in a while.

…

Third POV

In the cramped room of the Lion's Den Inn, two figures lay peacefully entwined on a single bed—Alicent and Richard. 

The faint morning light filtered through the small window, casting soft shadows on the rough wooden walls.

Alicent stirred first, blinking herself awake. A warm smile crept across her face as her eyes fell on Richard beside her, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. 

His messy hair was scattered across his forehead, and the sight of it made her heart flutter. 

There was something undeniably endearing about his peaceful expression, so different from the intense and guarded boy she had grown used to.

She stretched, letting out a soft yawn, careful not to disturb him. As she turned her gaze back to Richard, still sound asleep, a wave of warmth washed over her. 

Knowing that he had opened up to her about the truth of his transformation, she felt closer to him than ever. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself a moment of quiet happiness.

With the knowledge that Richard was essentially invincible, her worries began to fade; she no longer needed to fear for his safety as intensely as before.

Suddenly, a loud growl erupted from her stomach, reminding her of their empty stomach and the hours since their last meal. Determined to remedy this, she shook Richard urgently. 

"Richard! Wake up! Wake up!" Alicent cried, her voice a mix of excitement and impatience.

After a moment, Richard stirred, blinking groggily as he tried to process Alicent frantic movements. His messy hair was even more tousled than before, making him look adorably disheveled. 

Alicent couldn't help but giggle as she reached out to smooth down his hair, trying to tame the wild strands. "There, that's better," she said with a playful smile.

Richard chuckled softly, the remnants of sleep still clinging to him. "Thanks, I guess I needed that," he replied, mirroring her gesture as he reached out to fix her hair in return. 

Their fingers brushed together, and the simple intimacy of the moment warmed her heart as they prepared to face the day ahead.

In the dining hall of the Lion's Den Inn, Richard and Alicent sat together, enjoying a peaceful meal amidst the soft murmur of other guests. 

Richard was tearing into a loaf of bread, accompanied by three roasted chicken legs, while Alicent spooned pottage into her mouth, savoring the warmth of the vegetables with a half-loaf of bread on the side.

The two ate slowly, the casual rhythm of their conversation flowing between bites.

"After breakfast, let's go to the market, Alicent," Richard said, glancing at her with a playful smirk. He had a mind to spoil her a bit now that he had some coin to spare, the weight of the chest in their room still fresh in his thoughts.

"There's no need, Richard," Alicent replied softly, shaking her head. "I'm happy with what I have." Her voice was earnest as she looked at him, explaining how having him, clothes on her back, and a roof over their heads was all she truly needed.

Richard chuckled, his gaze locking with hers, a familiar determination shining in his eyes. "You know I'm not taking no for an answer, right?" he said, leaning in slightly, his tone resolute.

Alicent sighed, but a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She knew that look—it was the same look he always wore when he set his mind on something. With a gentle nod, she relented. 

"Alright, alright. I suppose I can't stop you when you get like this," she said, her voice laced with affection.

Her thoughts wandered briefly to the past, back when they were living on the streets. Even then, Richard had found ways to spoil her, returning from his "business" with stolen desserts like lemon cakes or apple honey pies. 

He'd always looked so proud, wanting to make her smile, even in the harshest of times.

As they reminisced and continued their lighthearted conversation, a girl about a year older than Richard approached their table. She had shoulder-length brown hair and striking amber eyes, her face slightly flushed from the morning's work. 

It was Tya, the innkeeper's daughter, her features pleasant though worn from the daily demands of running an inn.

"Morning," Tya greeted them with a warm smile, though her gaze lingered on Richard just a little longer than usual. "How are you two finding your stay?"

Richard looked up from his plate, offering a nod of acknowledgment. "Morning, Tya. It's been good, thanks. The food's great as always."

"How's your meal going, guys? Are you enjoying it?" Tya asked brightly as she placed two cups of water in front of Richard and Alicent.

"Yep, thanks for the meal, Tya," Alicent replied with a warm smile. Over the past week, Tya had almost become like an older sister to her, helping her adjust to life at the inn.

Richard, on the other hand, gave a simple grunt and a nod, his focus still on his food.

Tya, undeterred, glanced between them. "I overheard you're heading to the market. Mind if I tag along?" she asked, her tone bubbling with excitement.

Alicent's smile faltered for just a moment. The market was supposed to be some rare alone time with Richard. 

If Tya came along, it would spoil the mood, turning what she had imagined as a special moment into something far less intimate. But just as she was about to say yes out of politeness, Richard spoke up.

"Sorry, but it's just the two of us going," he said, his voice calm, meeting Tya's gaze with unwavering green eyes.

For a moment, Tya hesitated, caught off guard by his directness. His sharp gaze cut through her, and although she felt a flicker of fear, it was quickly replaced by excitement. 

It was rare for Richard to give her such focused attention. Even though he was younger, his fierce look had a certain magnetism to it.

"Alrighty then," Tya said with a small, composed smile. She turned to Alicent. "Next time, maybe?"

"Yep, we'd love to have you," Alicent said, forcing a polite nod, even though she was relieved that Richard had handled the situation. 

Satisfied with their answer, Tya gave a brief wave before moving off to tend to other customers, leaving Richard and Alicent to their conversation.

Once she was out of earshot, Richard turned to Alicent. "Hey, if you didn't want her to come with us, you should've said something. You don't have to be nice about everything," he said, his eyes softening as he watched her.

Alicent sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I know. It's just… she's been so helpful. Over the past week, she's taught me how to sew and even helped me read some of the books in the inn. I didn't want to sound ungrateful."

Richard's expression shifted, his sharp edges softening as he realized how much Tya had done for Alicent in his absence. 

Over the past week, he had been consumed with his own missions, slipping out during the day and night for revenge, leaving Alicent behind. 

He had been so focused on his own task that he hadn't paid attention to how she was spending her time or who she was connecting with.

"She's been helping you all this time?" Richard said with a smile. He hadn't known, but now that he did, he felt a quiet sense of relief. Alicent had found support here in the inn while he was gone. He was glad she wasn't alone.

Looking across the room at Tya as she served other patrons, Richard regarded her in a new light. Her kindness toward Alicent had not gone unnoticed, and he made a mental note to repay her for it in the future, in his own way.

Richard and Alicent continued their meal quietly, the soft clatter of cutlery and murmurs of other patrons filling the air around them. 

While Alicent sipped her pottage contentedly, Richard's focus wandered, his enhanced hearing catching fragments of conversation from nearby tables. 

"Did you hear about what happened last night?" a man muttered at the table behind them, his voice low but clear to Richard's sharp ears. "Twenty men, all gone in a single night."

Richard kept his gaze steady, his expression betraying nothing, though he was well aware of what they were talking about. He continued to eat, but his grip tightened slightly on the crust of his bread.

"I heard it was brutal," another voice joined in. "No one knows who's responsible, but it must've been something fierce. The whole city's on edge."

Richard's chest tightened, but outwardly he stayed calm. He had been there. He'd dealt with Rodric's men swiftly and efficiently. 

They were a threat, and he had made sure they wouldn't bother him or Alicent again. But he hadn't expected news of the event to spread so quickly—or for the whispers of fear to echo so loudly.

Alicent glanced at Richard, sensing a shift in his mood. "Everything okay?" she asked gently, tilting her head as she watched him.

Richard forced a small smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about the market later."

She smiled back, though there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes. She knew him well enough to sense when something was on his mind, but she didn't push further.

Around them, the conversation continued, with more rumors flying. Some spoke of wild beasts; others speculated rival gangs. 

But no one suspected the truth. No one would imagine the quiet twelve namedays boy sitting at the table with a ten names day old was the one responsible for last night's events.