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The Crippled Wolf-Stark SI: Ch.73
🕑 Added 2025-07-27 18:41:42 +0000 UTCChapter 73
DAENERYS TARGARYEN
“Truth is I have come to meet you, Princess Daenerys...” and the words stilled her, and the shift in the man’s posture and demeanor was evident, as Seer Jorah raised her blade once more, preparing himself for battle.
Guards stood watch at her manse at all times. All she needed to do was give one order, and they would all rush to her room, and have the man in chains before he could even harm a hair on her—assuming Ser Jorah even allowed him to breathe.
“Wait!” she stopped the exile from the North, for she felt no hostility from this Thoros, who simply stood there eyeing her as she asked him about his intentions.
She studied his eyes for hostility, then asked, “And why exactly were you looking for me?”
“Because I am here on behalf of the King of the Seven Kingdoms,” and that made Ser Jorah jump into action once more, forcing her to scream out again.
“I said—WAIT!” and the man stopped, and glanced back at her.
“But, Khaleesi,” and a few years ago, she would have screamed for the guards by now, and the fat priest would be in chains.
“If he wanted to harm me, he would not have shown himself,” she reasoned, and the Priest reeked of wine and sour ale smirked as he sauntered in and settled casually into one of the chairs, while Ser Jorah continued to eye him nervously.
“She is right,” the Priest confirmed her words.
“I have no intentions of harming you, either of you,” he clarified, eyeing her and Ser Jorah as he began to look into the goblets and jugs placed on the table, and emptied the wine from them into his glass.
‘Do you mind?’ he asked. She shook her head and slowly slid down the steps, and sat down on the sofa opposite to him.
“You are here on behalf of the Usurper?” she questioned, and the man shook his head.
“No, not the usurper but the one true King of the Seven Kingdoms, Cregan Stark...” and she saw Ser Jorah’s eyes narrow at that name, for that was the House he was sworn to.
“The throne belongs to the Targaryens,” she countered, even though a part of her did not believe it herself anymore and the words which had once lit a fire in her heart now felt hollow.
“Yet, the lords all bow to him, and the commoners all pray for him to rule longer than even the Conciliator himself,” Thoros whispered, as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleamed with pride and pity as he looked at her.
“You must have heard about him as well, about Cregan the Crone,” and she had, for the young Stark King was quite loved by his people, and how admiration and resentment twisted her insides at the thought of him.
“He won that throne through war just as your ancestors did, so he is no usurper. He is the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and he offers you peace,” and that made her frown, as the man leaned and took out a missive, and put it on the table.
“What is that?” she asked without glancing at it.
“The King’s offer of peace,” and she snorted derisively.
“And why should I even entertain such an offer, when I myself have an army at my back ready to go to war for me?” The Red Priest sighed and shook his head.
“You do not have an army, Princess,” and Daenerys clenched her fists as the words bit deeper than intended, for they were true.
“It is the Blackfyres who have an army,” and those words stung deeply, but he was right. The army did indeed belong to the Blackfyres, while she was just a figurehead.
“And how can you prove those words? That the boy you speak of is indeed a Blackyre, and not my nephew?” and the man sighed.
“I can’t—and that was her dilemma, for in this entire world, no one could help her discern the truth.
“But there is one person who can, and thankfully for you, he sails to these shores as we speak,” and it took her a few seconds to realise his words.
“Oberyn Martell,” she whispered, and the name hit her like a gust of memory.
“Jon Connington was a companion of Rhaegar Targaryen indeed, but it is no secret that the man desired to be more than that. He sees only the blood of the dragon in the boy, lest it be the red or the black one,” and the Blackfyres had the blood of the Valyria just like her own House, so their features were similar to one another.
“I am old and have seen the Princess of Dorne and her brothers with my own eyes, and can swear upon the name of R’hllor that I see no Dornish blood in him,” and those words were like a knife to her heart, as the sea of doubt grew deeper and deeper as a sense of betrayal hit her.
“You could be lying to me?”Her voice was low, but the man shook his head.
“I swore upon my God, and the Red God does not like liars,” and she sighed, unable to make up her mind as she turned towards Ser Jorah.
“You know the Starks better than most,” she asked, and in the end, he was the only person she could rely on in this moment.
“Aye, I do,” Ser Jorah agreed, as he stood behind her.
“Can I trust them?” she asked, and it took a man a second before he nodded reluctantly.
“Up North, there is a saying,” the man began as he looked her in the eye.
“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath,” he whispered.
But Daenerys remembered the son they buried—and the vow they broke, and it was as if he read her mind as he continued.
“The only reason House Stark rose against your father was because he killed their son and lord, but beyond that, House Stark has never broken faith with the Crown. Enemies as we may be, but if there is a House in the Seven Kingdoms that can be trusted to keep their words, then it is the House Stark of Winterfell,” and so he wanted her to listen to this offering.
“Tell me then, what does your King offer me?” and the Priest repeated his words from earlier.
“Peace, a chance to return to your home and the hand of his brother Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell....”
0000
OLENNA TYRELL
Upstairs, the people danced and dined and feasted at the nuptials of the King’s sister, while dozen of the realm’s most powerful and influential people all gathered down below in the dungeons underneath the castle, as Olenna was reminded once more of the stench that had once haunted the city.
“Ugh! If you're planning to kill us, do it already,” she snapped, as Garlan wheeled her through the winding paths.
“I can assure you, the Crown has no such intentions,” the Hand of the King added as he walked beside her, while all of the Lord Paramounts or their representative, in the case of the Vale, followed after the King and the Queen.
“Still, why have you brought us down here?” questioned Yohan Royce, as he glanced first towards the King and then towards the Lord Hand, seeking an answer.
“You will see,” and the Warden of the North seemed rather nervous as he uttered those words, and the King finally came to a halt as they reached what seemed to be a newly constructed prison cell, being guarded by two people.
THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!
A rhythm of dread pounded from behind the wood, and she could feel someone trying to push their way out of the cell, yet the wooden doors covered the cell.
“This, here, is the reason why I gathered all of you here today,” the King began as he addressed all of them, including the gout-ridden lord of Dorne.
“But first, I must each and every one of you gathered here to swear on your Gods that you will not repeat what you witness here today to anyone else,” not until the time is right, and she scoffed.
“Do you really think a simple oath can help you keep secrets?” and the King could not be that naive—No, he was not that naive.
“You yourself worship different Gods than us, yet you think a simple oath can help you keep a secret. I can’t speak for others, but I am not a very Godly woman,” she challenged, and the King looked into her eyes, his grey orbs intense as his whisper lingered in the air.
“After what you witness here today, you just might become one,” he retorted, and a chill ran down her spine as she realised that he was being serious.
And so, the Lords followed the command and swore their oaths, and when the words were said, the King began once more.
“Many of you must have noticed that ever since my ascension, I have been preparing the Seven Kingdoms for war,” and of course, they knew that. He had declared it from the throne itself.
“But the truth is that I have not been preparing for one war. No, I have been preparing for two, and though the pretender in Essos is a threat to us all, what I fear more is the second enemy lingering in the True North,” and though the words coming out of his words were a surprise, she had suspected as much given the sheer volume of the preparations being made by the King.
“The True North?” the Fish of Riverlands finally chimed in, sauntering as he stepped forward.
“You speak of the Wildlings,” and he was as boisterous and non-serious as she had heard.
“Do those heathens really scare you so much?” and the rest of them knew enough about the King by now to know that no wildling army could ever scare him like this.
“If you are so afraid of them, take solace in the fact that the Riverlands shall...”
“Shut up, boy!” the command came from the man beside Edmure Tully, the one who ruled the Riverlands in truth, for though Houster’s son may be Lord now, but it was his brother his lords looked to for leadership, given his son’s fickle nature.
“Do you really think that those Fremen would make him gather us all like this?” and the boy looked around in embarrassment as he realised that his uncle had spoken true.
“The rumor that the Free Folk gather behind a single King is indeed true, but they are the enemy the King speaks of,” and it was the Warden of the West who stepped forward this time, as two women stepped forward from the side.
“The truth is that they fear this enemy as much as I and the King, and will be our allies in this war,” and then he pointed towards the two women, and she had seen them at court a few times, though had never really had much interest in them.
The blonde one was rather beautiful with her blue eyes and a blooming bosom, and she stood tall and proud like that Dame, Brienne of Tarth. The other one was thin and white, her nose a bit crooked, but all her imperfections were hidden by those sun-kissed locks of hers.
“This is Val, and Ygritte, and they are here on the behest of the King Beyond the Wall,” the Hand introduced, and she began to wonder about the King’s ploys and how the young boy had done so much while not letting anyone get even a whiff of it all.
“Will you show us what lies behind those damned doors now or not?” Her patience had run thin by now, and the chill that she had felt earlier had begun to creep into her bones.
“Remove the doors,” the King ordered, and the two guards moved as they slowly pulled back the wooden doors. Immediately, she pinched her eyes shut as loud screeches filled the area. The lords around her all rushed to cover their ears, as the sound of metal clanking reverberated in the dungeons.
“Seven He...” she screamed as she reopened her eyes to see what was making such noises, and as she stared at the creature behind those iron bars, Olenna Tyrell stilled as she saw but bones and skin.
This—This was not human. Little hints of flesh remained, bitten and frozen, and the loose blue skin hugged the bones. Their eyes were blue, and dead, and they only screeched and screamed as they flung themselves at the bars, trying to break free.
“Seven have mercy!” “Seven Hells!” some prayed, some cursed, while most of them found themselves tongue-tied as they witnessed those inhuman creatures try to come for them.
And it was only when the guards closed the doors once more, and the screeches, screams, and thuds turned into distant whispers, did the King finally speak.
“They are called Whitewalkers,” he announced, as his Hand and his Queen stood beside him.
“Whitewalkers, and they gather in the true North under their King and creator called the Night King,” and the chill penetrated into her heart at that name, and she wondered if it was all natural.
“They gather not in hundreds or thousands, but a hundred thousand,” and it was the Queen who spoke, as she slowly caressed her swollen belly.
“And if they win, then that would not only mean the death of all life on this continent but life all across the Narrow Sea...” and at that she looked up at the only foreigner in the room, a magister from the Iron Bank whose face had paled at the sight of this ungodly creature, just like the rest of them.
“Death comes for us all, and unless we band together and fight it as one, we will lose...”
“We will all lose...”
0000
Comments
IceAir
Why is the Warden of the West introducing Val and Ygritte?
Hamza Ikram
Hmmm.....Robb's mother is dead
Beta117
I can’t imagine Robb’s mother is too happy about the possible marriage. Not that her opinion really matter matters.
FallenMetalGod
Thank you, and it seems like Wardens all know what is coming, and the sight will stay with them for a very long time. I wished Cregan had allowed the Wrights to get a lot closer, like the show did. However, it was still wonderfully done. Great job, as always, and I look forward to seeing what happens next.
Jordan Belmont
Yes sir it's about time. I love the grand reveal to the high lords that all their petty games mean nothing when true survival is what's at stakes. And it also gives the Starks and the watch the respect they truly deserve for they're the only ones staying watchful for all of humanity
Radiant Tiefling
Thank you for the chapter.
TypistTyphon
Great chapter!
