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The Crippled Wolf-Stark SI: Ch.70
🕑 Added 2025-07-16 19:28:36 +0000 UTCChapter 70
TYWIN LANNISTER
Few things could have prepared Tywin for the stupidity of his children. And as he tried to build up a legacy that would last for generations, it was as if his own children were his biggest enemy in this great endeavor—Each of them, trying their best to ruin all that he had built.
And he cursed himself that the only one of his children with a sane head on his shoulder had turned into his enemy, and Tywin would not hesitate to admit that he had been surprised by Tyrion’s talents for politicking and governing, and that their new King had identified and utilised these talents better than himself.
But that did not change the fact that the little monster had turned his back on his kin, taking the side of the King over his own blood, whose stupidity continued to make him suffer.
“You’re seriously handing over Clegane and Lorch?” his own brother whispered as they rode towards the capital, and years ago, he would have laughed off such a proposal, for why would he ever give up his own dogs?
But his hands were tied, and though the King was wed to his granddaughter, he was no friend to him.
“Jamie’s left us no choice,” and it was only through a combination of luck and fortune that his rebellious son still lived, for he had dared to raise his blade not against one but two Kings.
And while Aerys may have been caught by surprise, the Stark boy was not Aerys. To this day, Tywin wondered if Jamie’s actions were truly unexpected, or was it all a ploy from that boy—or worse yet, his own son.
Tywin ground his teeth at the memory. “The idiot tried to kill the King.”
And he felt himself flush with rage as memories of that wretched day resurfaced in his mind and he remembered the letter he had received from Kingslanding, mentioning Jamie’s idiotic actions.
Despite the intimate relationship between the Crown and the Lannister family, the King had extracted a heavy toll from him for saving his son’s life and honor.
“The life of Clegane and Lorch is too insignificant a price to pay for saving my son’s life,” even though that was not all it had cost him, but the Gold and the rest of the terms were rather mundane to him.
But Clegane and Lorch, these two, were loyal and helpful dogs. Monsters that were used to project power and fear, but he had no choice but to relinquish them. Clegane’s brother, Sandor, would have been a good choice to replace him, but the King had named the man to his Kingsguard, and to this day, he served him loyally as a Whitecloak.
“Still, why would the King want Clegane and Lorch?” and the answer was obvious enough that he was surprised Kevan could not see it.
“He plans to offer them to Dorne,” and truthfully, it was not a bad move from the King if not a bit too accommodative. Still, given that the Kingdom was on the precipice of war with the Blackfyres, it showed the King’s sanity that he was trying to bring together the Seven Kingdoms before it, even if it was happening at the expense of his dogs.
“Will this satisfy Dorne’s hunger for revenge?” Kevan whispered, as they reached the top of the Hill, and saw the capital spiralling in the distance. The tall tower of the Red Keep was now visible far away, and unlike before, the smell that had plagued the city and its surroundings for more than two centuries was now gone, as Tywin realised that there was much substance to the rumors that their new King had brought some much-needed change to the city.
“It will have to,” for he had no intention of giving up his own life just to please those traitorous Dornish. Elia Martell’s fate was a tragedy indeed, but the harlot had defied him and his house as she took Cersei’s rightful place by the Prince’s side.
In the end, what had become of her was a consequence of war and Aerys’s actions.
Unlike his own brother, Tywin was not so concerned about the Dornish. No, he was worried about the thought that their new King was worried about something—or it would be better to say that he had been worried for some years now.
Cregan Stark had taken a bold step as he had openly acknowledged and confronted the presence of Blackfyres in Essos, and how they were preparing to attack the Seven Kingdoms.
And whether this enemy truly was a Blackfyre, or was simply a Targaryen in disguise, as many claimed, it did not matter, for who would dare question a King? There was no family more reviled by all of the Seven Kingdoms than the accursed pretenders—Blackfyre.
In the end, with that declaration, the Seven Kingdoms had no choice but to fall in line, for anyone denying the King's word could simply be declared a traitor, and so that had allowed him much freedom to prepare them for war—and he had prepared them well.
An army of twenty thousand men, armed with the best castle forged weapons and led by a fearsome and talented commander in the form of Randyll Tarly. And along with it, he now had the entire Royal Fleet at his back, which had been repaired and expanded over the years to its full might.
Yet even despite it all, the King continued to work, and had now summoned him and the rest of the Lord Paramounts or their representatives to Kingsladning.
“Do you think he will offer you the position of the Hand?” and he shook his head, for he had no doubts that the boy would give it to his son.
No, he was here for something else.
“No,” and Kevan frowned.
“Then why did he call for you?” and as a sort of protest and anger, Tywin had refused to come to the capital for the last five years, but this time the King himself had written to him, summoning him to the Red Keep for a matter of ‘absolute importance’.
“I don’t know yet,” and the Seven Kingdoms were rather well prepared to face an invasion by the Golden Company, which was still busy fighting in Essos, which had made him wonder about the purpose of this summons as well.
“But I believe it is time for us to learn just how many wars our King has been preparing for....”
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DAENERYS TARGARYEN
Lies. Deceit. Treachery.
That was what surrounded Daenerys, and though before she may have been too young and naive to see through these plots, now, five years later, she felt that her eyes could finally see some slivers of them.
Daenerys Stormborn, the Targaryen Princess, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and many other names they called her to her face, yet behind her back they laughed and japed at her naivety, at how great of a fool she was to let them play with her life.
And they had played with it for years, whispering nothing but lies in her ears about her heritage, about her family, about her father.
They had spoken these very lies to her brother, and Viserys in his own youth and desperation had believed them just as she had for years, but now she was beginning to see the truth.
She was beginning to realise that her father, King as he was, was no saint. That he was not so loved and respected as Varys, and Illyrio would have her believe. He was a King feared and reviled, taunted by the moniker of the Mad King.
She had learned the truth that the people of the Seven Kingdoms did not pray or cheer for her arrival. They feared her and the armies she would bring with her. That the people cared little about who sat on the Iron Throne, as she remembered Jorah’s words.
And amidst all those who surrounded her, he was perhaps the one who lied the least.
He called himself her knight, her servant, yet her eyes spoke of a different kind of devotion. She did not like that gaze, but bore it all for it was better than those lifeless and calculating gazes from Illyrio and the rest.
It was one reason she missed Drogo. Drogo’s gaze had been primal, but honest. Varys’s eyes were veiled silks—always shifting, never sincere, while Jorah’s eyes hid barely hid his the desire of his heart.
Her late husband and Khal had died in a duel, but not to one warrior. In the end, it had taken four young warriors to bring down the mighty Khal, and after the tragedy, the Khalsaar split apart.
Some chose to follow the four young Khals, while many more decried them for treachery, and decided to follow her as Varys struck a deal with the Masters of Qarth, and brought her back to Pentosh, as the Magisters paid her a substantial ransom—a ransom which would help her wield an army to take back her crown.
No. Not her Crown. His Crown.
Five years was a long time for word to travel, and naive as Daenerys, the declaration of the new King of the Seven Kingdoms reached her ears as well. A declaration about the true heritage of Varys, and this so-called hidden Prince.
The bald man had denied it, calling it a petty lie from a Usurper, but she felt doubt gnaw at her heart as she stared into those amethyst eyes so similar to her own. And as much as she may suspect it to be a lie, Daenerys could not call him out for it, at least not yet, for her life was in his hands.
“Do you remember my brother?” she questioned, and Ser Jorah answered.
“I saw him ride in a tourney once, and then I heard him sing afterwards,” Ser Jorah, and the disgraced knight was the closest thing to an ally that she had, one who did not hide the truth from her.
“He had a sorrowful voice, and I saw grown men and women tear up as he sang a song for the Commoners,” she said, trying to imagine a voice so sweet and melancholic, trying to think of a brother singing with it. A harp in one hand, hair long and straight just like Viserys 's, as he sat under a tree, as people listened with apt attention.
And unlike her father, few spoke badly about her elder brother, though few could answer her about just why he had taken away the betrothed of his Baratheon cousin.
“He would have loved you,” Jorah added.
But not as you love me, she thought.
“Do you think Varys is telling the truth?” she questioned in a whisper, though she wondered what good that would do her, for the bald man had an almost magical ability to know all that was said and done around the world.
She had been brought back to Illyrio’s manse in Pentosh as Varys gathered an army for her and her nephew, though doubt continued to eat away at her as she remembered the whispers from Westeros.
“The Spider is a creature of lies. He uses words to spin a web of lies,” and she felt a brittle laugh escape out of her mouth.
“He says the same thing about you,” Daenerys didn’t glance back, wondering whether it was pain or betrayal swimming in those blue eyes, as the man slowly denied her accusations.
“I did not lie to you, Khaleesi,” and unlike Varys and Illyrio, he still chose to use that name for her.
“You never told me that you were Usurper’s man,” she whispered as she stared out at the city, and the bustling markets, and the massive manses.
“I was Usurper’s man for as long as I had not laid my eyes on you,” he whispered, and her heart shook at those words, and she did not stare back as he continued.
“I was his man,” Jorah whispered. “Until you gave me a reason to be someone else's.”
“Who is to say you still aren’t?” she questioned, her heart skipping a beat at those words.
“Look into my eyes, Khaleesi, and you shall know for yourself,” but she did not want to.
She did not want to do anything. Daenerys was tired of it all by now. Tired of running. Of fighting. Tired of lying.
She did not wish to be the Queen or a Princess. No, what she desired was a peaceful life, just the life she had at that house with the Red Gate.
“Tell me about Lord Jon Connington?” and he was the man who was the guarantor of this nephew of hers, the one who had written to her assuring her that the new King of Seven Kingdoms had spoken nothing but lies, that the boy under his care was none other than her own cousin.
“He was a companion to your brother,” and that much she knew, and Jorah stopped before he added.
“Though there were rumors that he always wanted to be something more,” and she had long come to terms with the unruly desires of men, but what mattered most was if the man had let his desire cloud his judgment.
Had he let this desire blind him to the real.
“He was a loyal man, my Khaleesi. But even loyal men can be blinded by lies,” and Varys was a master of lies, and as she looked down at the market, she saw a woman selling bread. She sat on the ground with a cloak spread out in front of her, with a dozen or so loaves in front of her.
And she envied her in that moment. Envied her freedom, for she may live in a manse, but these walls and these servants were nothing but a gilded cage for her, keeping her in place so that she may be used in plans and plots of those around her.
“I want to go home,” The words slipped out before she could stop them—quiet, brittle, longing.
“The army is nearly ready. If the boy coming to meet you is indeed your nephew, then it won’t be long until you are back in Westeros,” and whoever said that Westeros was her home.
She did not even know what it looked like, what it smelled like.
That was not her home.
She had known but one home in her life, and it was that little house with that red gate, and she so desired to go back there once more, away from all of this, so that she might live her life in peace.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
But the Gods were cruel.
“Who is it?” she asked, and the door opened behind her as a servant walked in.
“My lady, they are here....”
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Comments
Skulldragon7
Paramounts or their representatives to Kingsladning -> Paramounts or their representatives to Kingslanding
FallenMetalGod
Thank you, and it seems like everyone is coming together. I do like how Tywin realized that Tyrion has quite a mind and a cunning mix in his son's personality. Let's see who comes to visit Daenerys. Great job, as always, and I look forward to seeing what happens next.
