Drkest
patreon
The Crippled Wolf-Stark SI: Ch.66
🕑 Added 2025-07-02 19:10:50 +0000 UTCChapter 66 DAVOS SEAWORTH Davos had thought himself a loyal man. The only Lord he had served before this had been Stannis, and he had though
Chapter 66 DAVOS SEAWORTH Davos had thought himself a loyal man. The only Lord he had served before this had been Stannis, and he had though
Chapter 66
DAVOS SEAWORTH
Davos had thought himself a loyal man. The only Lord he had served before this had been Stannis, and he had thought much of the man who had taken from him his fingers and given him a future in return.
Stannis had been brittle, but fair, and Davos saw that as a rarity. But then his Lord was corrupted by that priestess, and the Lord that he had begun to follow was no more and was slowly replaced by a puppet dancing on the strings of that wretched woman.
Davos believed Stannis’s word when he spoke of the Queen’s infidelity and incest. He believed him for he knew nothing more, and had begged the King to take that matter to his King and brother, yet Stannis had hidden himself on Dragonstone and had resorted to treachery, and death.
That was not the Stannis he had sworn his loyalty to. That was not the man Davos wanted to be King.
In the end, the priestess led him to his death, as Davos found himself kneeling before another King. A Stark King.
Dead though he may be, Davos would always remain loyal to Stannis Baratheon. Not the man he became later on, but the man that he used to be. Just. Fair. Dutiful. He would try to pass on these lessons to his kin, so that they may remember him as the dutiful lord that he had been, and not the traitor he became.
He had expected death and prison, but their new King and Queen, questionable as their heritage may be, were kinder than Stannis. They had forgiven him for his crimes, along with Lady Shireen, whom the Queen called a cousin even after the latter’s father had named her a bastard.
Yet the Queen refused to entertain that hubris, and implored unity as she forgave her cousin for her father’s crime and gave her the ancestral lands of Stormlands, and for this mercy, he would gladly offer them his head.
But the King had little use for his head. But he did have use of his men, his ships, and his experience as a smuggler as Davos found himself leading the Crown’s naval forces against the Lord Reaper of Pyke. So as the Royal and Lannister fleet surrounded the castle on all sides, Davos slid forth on a smaller ship to break into the castle, and open the gates for the armies of the Seven Kingdoms.
It was a dangerous mission, but one he would do a dozen times just to protect the legacy of the man whose justice continued to shape his life.
“Father,” his son called out as they tried to find the men manning the walls to discover their routines so they might slip past them and throw open the gates.
“The walls, they are empty,” and that shook him, until Davos took the far eye for himself and began to watch the walls. Seconds turned into minutes, and despite waiting for an hour, the walls showed no movement, as Davos’s mind began to race.
“Do you think they know?” questioned Dickon Tarly, and the boy from the Reach had volunteered himself for this mission along with a dozen other young and old lads, all hoping to gain favor with their new King.
“No,” he said, shaking his head as he tried to make sense of it.
“Then why are they empty?” added the boy with a frown, as the two dozen of them began to whisper and murmur, though none could answer for sure.
They had landed on the island from the back and had walked for days, wading through rocks and shaky bridges to reach Pyke. In all their journey, he had missed how the entire island had been empty.
“We wait for the night,” he gave his order.
“We will do it tonight,” they said, and so they all began to make camp. However, they could light no fire and had to eat only dried meat and pickles, as they hid behind the rocks and let the sea breeze hit them hard.
The Northern chill had begun to creep southward, and it was only the thick furs around them that protected them from the cold breeze as they all sat there, waiting for the Sun to set.
They watched for hours, just as they had for nights before, and still the walls remained empty as Davos’s worries began to mount. Most of them were men who had stood against their new king and had volunteered to win his favor and mercy.
And so, as the night fell, the nimbler lads all stepped forward, threw over their rope along one of the broken pieces of the wall, and began to climb up. They moved in silence, yet even as they crossed over, they saw no guard, or no man as they breached the outer walls of the castle.
“The castle. It's empty,” added one of the younger lads, and Davos felt the same way.
“Tarly,” he commanded as the boy stepped forward.
“Lead half the men towards the gates, and see if you can pry them open. I will create for you a distraction,” and the group separated as Davos led his men towards Pyke, and just like the walls, he found the castle empty, and so as he opened the doors, the smell hit him first.
The stench of death and rot overwhelmed them; a few emptied their stomachs on the spot, as Davos barely held himself back as he felt his feet still at the sight in front of him.
“Seven Hells,” he whispered, his voice quivering in fear and desperation as he saw the bodies littering the Halls of Pyke. Hundreds. No. Thousands lay dead, strewn across the hall, their bodies rotting away as he finally realised the answer to his earlier question.
“So, this is why the walls were empty,” and despite his revulsion, he began to step forward, and the smell and piles of the dead grew only larger and larger as they strode through the Halls.
“They have been dead for weeks,” added one of the men as he pointed towards a few dead bodies which had burst, and others which had swollen up.
“But who did this?” another asked.
“A monster,” he whispered as they reached the main Hall of the castle, and as he slid open those doors, the ground was littered with blood and guts once more, yet Davos found himself staring at the behemoth of a chair up ahead.
The Mighty Seastone chair, the seat of House Greyjoy, lay empty.
No. Not empty.
But decorated with two heads, which had begun to rot away.
“That’s Balon Greyjoy!” one of the men beside him shouted.
“And the one besides him, it belongs to his daughter Asha...”
0000
CREGAN STARK
Being a King was a demanding task, and Cregan knew that if he were to face the challenges that lay ahead, then he had no choice but to start laying the groundwork beginning now so that he could prepare the realm for the wars to come.
It was why he had chosen to reveal the Blackfyre plot, for there were few families loathed more by the realm than the Blackfyres. By putting their entire plot in the light, Cregan made sure that he had made all the Targaryen sympathisers nervous, as he polluted their minds with doubt about the voracity of the bald eunuch.
He may have professed himself a Targaryen sympathiser to them to gain their support, yet now they doubted whether he was indeed a Targaryen sympathiser or if he was a Blackfyre spawn seeking to plunge the entire realm into chaos.
But the wars were far, and to win those wars, he had to win the peace first. Vale had officially joined the fold a few days back, and Yohan Royce was on his way to the capital with Harry Hardyng, the new heir to the Eyrie, so that he may renew his vows.
The campaign against the Greyjoys had begun, and from the initial reports, Pyke had been nearly abandoned and was now surrounded by both the Royal and the Lannister Fleet.
He could not come to terms with Asha Greyjoy abandoning her brother, but he received no answer from the traitorous castle about a surrender, and so the attack would continue, and he believed that soon enough, Pyke would fall as well.
So with that, the six Kingdoms would fall into line, leaving behind all but one.
Dorne.
The treacherous desert Kingdom remained a quandry to him, and though they may speak the vows and offer their allegiance, Cregan was not blind to the grudge and hate they bore him and his Queen.
The death of Elia Martell was a true tragedy, and she had suffered a fate he would not wish upon anyone. Dorne’s grudge was justifiable, but he had no desire to let them hurt him or his family.
Tywin and his mad dog, though. He could not care less.
“This has taken us quite a while,” Cregan began, as the Prince Oberyn nodded, giving him a warm smile.
“Indeed,” and he had tried to meet him thrice, yet each time, fates would intervene, halting his plans and for good reason.
The Red Viper of Dorne was a tall, thin man, nimble and with dark hair and darker eyes that did little to hide the mischief and rage that lay underneath.
“Still, you must be wondering why I wanted to meet you, Lord Oberyn,” and the man nodded.
“Yes, but if this is about my niece and her actions at your wedding feast, I do hope that you let bygones be bygones,” and for all his pomp, and rage Oberyn was a man loyal to his kin, and despite his hatred for him and his family he remained respectful just so he may be protect his niece.
“She is of the Dorne, you see, and our blood runs rather hot,” and the Dornish culture was indeed quite different.
“The Princess’s offense was against the Queen, and so she must seek pardon from her,” and Cregan would rather not put himself between his wife and the hot-headed Princess of Dorne, especially when he had bigger plots to decimate.
“No. I have summoned you here for an entirely different reason,” Cregan began, and the newest addition to the White Cloaks stood behind him, a knight from the House Manderly who had distinguished himself at the tourney.
“Really?” The Red Viper’s eyes narrowed, his body shifting with the grace of a coiled serpent. He may have acted as confident as ever, but he could spot the hidden nervousness that the man tried to hide away
“Yes, you see, I am pretty aware of the history of animosity between our two Houses,” and that seemed to catch the man off guard.
“What happened to the Princess and her children was truly a great crime,” and the man scoffed.
“Words?” he cut in, unable to hold himself back at the mention of Elia Martell.
“Jon Arryn offered us words as well. So did the Usurper,” and Cregan let him speak as he looked him in the eye, and continued in a whisper.
“Dorne does not need words. Dorne desires justice. Tell me your grace, will you offer us justice?” and the man had taken the bait, as Cregan leaned back, and gave the White cloak behind him a simple look to alert him.
“Justice?” Cregan repeated as he took a deep breath.
“So Dorne seeks justice from me, their King,” and Oberyn nodded, though his reactions were muted now, for the man had sensed that he may have pushed too far.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“I would much rather offer you revenge, but I find it rather strange, Lord Oberyn,” and Cregan slowly reached for the cane beside his chair, as the smile vanished from his face.
“You call me King and seek justice from me, while also promising your support to the pretender hidden away in Essos,” and the air in the room stilled as the Red Viper’s face turned pale with surprise.
The man was stunned, and for the first time since he had arrived in this capital, he found himself at a loss for words.
“This is a lie, a ploy from the Lannist...” and Cregan stopped him from lying.
“I know the truth,” he warned as he recounted his journey.
“I am certain that you met with the pretender or, more specifically, his guardian, the exiled Lord of Griffin Roost through the Spider’s web,” and that was a name he was not expecting to hear, and he realised the futility of lying as he continued.
“I also know that you also signed a betrothal for your niece to wed her to Viserys Targaryen,” and the surprises kept coming, and Oberyn Martell found himself on an island with no lies, bluffs, or japes to save him.
“How?” he gasped after seconds of silence as his shoulders sagged in defeat, as Cregan sowed a seed of doubt.
“The Blackfyres have always made for treacherous allies…,” Cregan added as he leaned back and let the shock settle.
He saw the Viper eye his Whitecloaks, perhaps contemplating if he could take them on, but he could not. Cregan had made sure that the man had no weapon on him before he had entered his solar, and so the Viper lay caught in the trap, trying to think of a way out.
Seconds turned into minutes, and he could see the man’s mind spinning until Oberyn finally cut through the silence once more.
“What do you want, your grace?” and Cregan took a deep sigh as he voiced out his ultimate desire.
“Peace....”
0000
In the true North, the Black Brothers gathered in a massive tent. They numbered a whole three hundred, the once impoverished order had begun to regain some of its lost luster as the new King and Queen offered them their full support.
The two wars had bolstered their numbers, and most of the men now had new furs, better weapons, and food enough to fill their bellies.
The Lord Commander had never wanted to meet a man more than this new King, and see for himself the Stark who sat the Iron Throne. But that day was not today. It might come in the future, perhaps.
Hopefully, a warmer future.
“They are here,” Benjen began as he entered the tent, and Jeor pushed himself up from the stone, and gave a nod to his men as he followed his First Ranger out of the tent and into the cold winter.
Snow blanketed the land, the raging storm obscuring every landmark. Though he spotted the men ahead, they appeared like black dots in the distance.
“That is them,” Benjen added, and despite the months-long preparation for this parlay, he still felt nervous about what they were about to do.
It was unnatural and ungodly, but if they were to survive the coming Winter, they had to face this monster. And so two hundred Free-men came to the parlay, led by none other than the King Beyond the Wall, Mance Rayder.
“So you are the man who commands the crows,” and he did not mind the insult, as he nodded and met the man’s steely gaze, as he remembered that this man in front of him had met him—their King.
“And you are the one they call the King Beyond the Wall,” and the man scoffed.
“I am no King,” he may say that, but he was a King nonetheless—King of savages, of giants, of skinchangers, flesheaters, and many others. And they sure looked the sort, with skulls hanging around their necks and scars and ink coating their skins.
“Have you brought it?” and the lands beyond the wall irked him, so Jeor wasted no time in getting started, and his eyes grew dim as he nodded.
“Aye. Lost myself three men just to satiate your King’s curiosity,” and with that, a few men stepped forward carrying a wooden cage and put it on the ground.
And just as Jeor was about to step forward, the King Beyond the Wall stopped him.
“I wouldn’t open it here if I were you, Crow.....”
0000
Comments
Jordan Belmont
Yes, I've always been of the mind that drone and the north should be allies and trade partners especially since they've both been on the receiving end of Targaryen and lannister cruelty
Radiant Tiefling
Thank you for the chapter.
