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The Crippled Wolf-Stark SI: Ch.49
🕑 Added 2025-04-30 18:01:06 +0000 UTCChapter 49
In the Water Gardens of Sun Spear, Doran Martell sat quietly, even as the realm around him dissolved into absolute chaos. He sat still, even as his bannermen called him a weak, spineless coward.
But he waited, refusing to answer any and all calls from any side, as all of Dorne waited for his word. However, his own plans had been destroyed by the recent letter received by him, mentioning the sad demise of one Viserys Targaryen.
A shame that the alliance he had worked so hard to broker was now broken even before it could materialise, and now he had no choice but to plan his revenge once more, for
“I have news, brother,” he began, as he heard his most trusted and closest advisor stand behind him.
“What is it?” Oberyn asked, biting into an apple as he came to stand by his side.
“Viserys Targaryen is dead,” and Oberyn stopped at once, his eyes narrowing as he glanced towards the letter in his hand. Doran passed it to him and saw him skim over it. Just like him, Oberyn’s eyes widened.
“Dragons,” he gasped just as he had, as his head snapped towards him.
“Do you believe this?” and he did not answer, for he did not yet know himself.
“I do not, but what if it is true. But what I do know is that war is here, and it is time for Dorne to enter it,” and Oberyn’s eyes lit up at that.
“Finally,” his smile was infectious. Though he had not voiced it, Oberyn’s desire for battle and war was obvious, yet his brother had held back because of his desire.
But now they could wait no more.
“The Starks have surprised me. By destiny or design, the Quiet Wolf has seen all of the Usurper’s ilk to their deaths, except for one single daughter,” and though he fought for her, Doran had not missed how the Starks had yet to declare for her.
“You will have us support the Starks and the Lannisters,” Oberyn said, his tone boiling with rage.
“No,” Doran shook his head as he glanced at the still waters.
“I will have you support the winning side...”
EDDARD STARK
The battle was long and arduous, and at one point in time, nearly lost. Despite his best efforts, there was no unity within his forces, with both the Lannister and the Stark men each fighting for a different cause.
They had fought well, but Stannis’ army was able to gain the advantage, and just as the battle had seemed lost, reinforcements had come. Cregan had arrived with his several thousand men, along with levies from the Common folk, and the tides of the battle had shifted.
War had a way of changing men, changing their loyalties, and as these men had thought their lives forfeit, Cregan had arrived, turning the tide of the battle and saving them.
With him, they had all found a man to rally behind, as they had found in Robert years ago. In the end, Cregan slain Stannis and put an end to this war.
Yet it had come at a cost, and now with the battle over, Eddard returned to the Red Keep only to hear another disturbing news.
“How could this happen?” he asked the aged Maester who stood hunched outside the Queen’s chambers.
“The poison, it works with haste, my lord. It eats away at life in a blink. She asked an acolyte for it,” and the old man shook his head.
“If only I knew. I would have never....” And now the realm had lost its Queen. For no matter how she was, Cersei Lannister was the Queen, and now she was gone.
“What of the Princess?” he asked, hoping for at least some good news, but much to his dismay, the Grand Maester shook his head once more, as he felt his heart break with pain.
“I am afraid her smaller constitution made her more susceptible to the poison. She died even before she was brought to me,” and with that, Robert’s entire line was either dead or had turned traitor, except for one.
Princess Myrcella Baratheon, and the greatest tragedy was that Eddard could not even be sure that she was of Robert’s blood. But did it really matter?
“May the seven have mercy on them both,” he whispered as he began to rub his eyes, and the Maester agreed.
“Yes. Yes, may the seven have mercy on them both. We must inform the Princess of the demise of her mother and sister. What a tragedy for her, to become an orphan at such an age,” and indeed he pity the girl.
“Should I write to the Princess, and tell her...” but before the old man could finish, he shook his head.
“No,” he cut in, as he added.
“I will write to her myself. I will send the missive to you soon enough,” and with that, he walked away, for now with the Queen gone, the running of the castle fell to him as well, along with his usual duties as Hand of the King.
There was much to do, especially with regards to Stannis’s men, and Renly’s army, which was marching towards Riverrun as they spoke to lay siege to the castle.
He walked into his solar, and as per his expectation, found his second son sitting there, clad once more in his armor.
“You are still wearing your armor,” he asked, as he quickly turned to face him.
“Yes,” he said, and despite last night's battle, he seemed to be in far better condition than he had expected him to be. His eyes, once dull grey, now had a sharp, fiery glint to them as he rose up.
“Renly’s armies are a few days' march from Riverrun. I plan to ride with my men and join up with the small host gathered by Tyrion Lannister at Harrenhall to attack the man from one side.” That was a good plan.
“You have just finished fighting a battle a few hours ago. You must let yourself get some rest,” and he shook his head as he rose from his chair.
“I will rest once the realm is at peace,” and once he had thought that as well.
“And when will that be?” he asked, looking into his eyes.
“When all our enemies are either dead or defeated,” and who were the enemies? He had just fought against Robert’s kin, and now his son wished to ride forth to kill Robert’s other kin, and for what?
It was all too frustrating for him, as he walked forward and plopped down in a chair.
“The Queen and the young Princess Joanna are dead,” he told him, and saw his eyes widen in surprise, as his lips thinned.
“How?” he asked.
“Poison, she had an acolyte bring her a vial of some strong poison so she could end her life if the battle were lost. Last night she left the cellars and came to the Throne Room and sat on the Iron Throne waiting, and when Salladhor Saan and his men broke into the throne room she poured it down her daughter’s throat, before sipping the rest herself,” and he pitied her. Pitied her fate, and what she was forced to do, yet it did not wipe away her crimes.
“Myrcella will be devastated,” he whispered, his shoulders sagging in worry as he continued.
“I know, but now with Robert and all his official heirs dead, the succession has become contested,” and his words felt hollow even to himself for he had just fought a battle against one of Robert’s brothers.
“The succession was contested even before last night,” Cregan clarified quickly as Eddard sighed and rubbed his face.
“I know, but I do not think that Robert would wish to see me slay his own brothers,” for he knew Robert better than anyone else, and as much as he may badmouth them and complain about them, he loved his brothers.
“We just fought a battle against Stannis,” and his son’s voice was clearly exacerbated as Cregan continued.
“And now you are getting cold feet,” and his anger was perhaps justified, but he was young.
“I fought against Stannis, for he was the one who killed Robert. I fought against him for I knew that the realm would suffer if a kinslayer were to sit on the Iron Throne,” and Cregan began to shake his head at his words.
“But Renly is no kinslayer. He is Robert’s blood. His brother...”
“Who now rides to lay siege to Riverrun, just so he can capture and kill Myrcella, Robert Baratheon’s daughter!” Cregan cut in, lashing out, as Eddard looked him in the eye and whispered a rebuke of his own.
“But is she really Robert’s daughter?” and there was silence in his room, as Cregan became speechless at his retort.
“Can anyone claim differently?” Cregan asked, and that was his dilemma.
“We must do what is best for the realm, we must keep it united, and prepare for the real war to come,” and maybe he was right.
“But who are we to decry the rules of God and Men? I cannot do i...” he questioned, as his son looked him in the eye.
“You did it once before,” he cut in as he felt his gut twist, as his head snapped towards Cregan’s who was looking at him.
“You did it to protect your family. To protect your nephew...”
“I warned you to never utter those wo...”
“He knows,” and his heart dropped at those words, as his eyes widened in both surprise and rage.
“You promised me, Cregan. You promised...”
“I had no choice,” he clarified, his voice lowering as he continued.
“We were in the tunnels when we were attacked by Stannis’s Sorceress,” and he had wondered why she had been missing from battle. He had hoped to meet her himself, so that he could avenge Robert.
“Where is she?” he asked, his tone scathing as his fists balled up.
“Dead,” Cregan answered.
“But she tried to kill us the same way she killed King Robert and Prince Tommen,” and he did not know that.
“Wildfire,” he gasped, as Cregan nodded, as he pulled back his sleeve to show a few blisters.
“The fire was strong, but before it could swallow me, Jon pushed me back to save me. But in the end, his blood held true, and the fire simply danced around him, unable to burn him at all,” and his heart sank at those words, for there was but one lineage with that power.
“Impossible,” he gasped, and Cregan shook his head.
“No. Not impossible. The Targaryens have been known to be immune to fire. Jon has some blisters and burns because of the fire, but he is in many ways resistant to fire, a trait which was also possessed by Aegon the Conqueror himself,” and Eddard shook his head, unable to think of a solution.
“I told him the truth, told him that he is not your bastard, but is in reality a Prince of the realm, named Aeg...”
“Enough!” he lashed out, his mind a mess as Cregan rose from his chair.
“A war is coming. One that will be fought between the living and the dead, and we are the only ones who know of it. If you wish to be truly righteous, then talk with Jon and speak to him of his claim,” and his eyes widened as he looked up at Cregan, who continued with no change in expression.
“We have control of the capital. It would not be difficult to sit him on the Iron Throne. We have come long past the point of right and wrong, Father. Right now, you are the Hand of the King, you are the most powerful man in the realm. You must make a choice as you did years ago,” and he had prayed to the Gods that he would never have to make such a choice.
“You must choose between what is right to you and what is best for the realm. But know this, that Renly Baratheon is no saint, the man is a sword swallower,” and that surprised him, moreso for he had heard rumors about it, yet Cregan had never mentioned it being true.
“He is a man of words. A man unsuitable to lead us into a war against the dead,” and with that, his son made for the door, as Eddard hung his head low in shame and worry.
“Then who is?” he asked, making Cregan stop.
“Who do you think is suitable to lead us into this war you speak of?”
“You are...”
.
.
.
.
A part of him had hoped that such a day would never come. But such a thing was inevitable. Eddard owed his sister a debt, and now it was time for him to pay it back.
He had waited for a few hours after Cregan’s departure before calling for Jon. Jon had led the defence of the castle and had killed the men who had scaled the walls along the Sea to infiltrate the castle.
If only the Queen had chosen to stay back in the cellars, she would have survived. The Princess would have survived.
“So, it's true,” and it was Jon who broke the silence, as Eddard found himself unable to find words as he simply nodded. Jon’s lips quivered as he clearly tried to control his emotions.
“Why?” he asked again, his words shaking and his eyes rooted to the ground.
“Why did you keep it a secret? Why?”
“To protect you,” he answered, but Jon shook his head.
“You could have told me. Could have told Lady Catelyn,” Jon argued, and he had wanted to. But the risk. It was too great.
“Do you have any idea...”
“I made a promise, Jon,” and he lashed out.
“That is not my name!” he said, breathing hard now. His eyes were red and swollen as he glared at him.
“Aegon, she made me promise that I would protect you. And when I remembered what had become of the other Targaryen babes, I did what I thought was necessary to protect you. So, I lied. I sullied my own name. My honor, just so I could keep my promise to your brother,” and Cregan must have told him all this before, and Jon seemed frustrated by it all.
There was silence.
“Was I?” and he seemed hesitant to ask.
“Was I ever wanted?” he asked, as Eddard’s eyes widened and he quickly answered.
“I know little of Prince Rhaegar and his desires, but Lyanna loved you. Make no mistake about that, Jon. She loved you,” and the habit of calling him Jon was old and would take time to change.
“And so do I,” and at that, his nephew looked up and into his eyes.
“So do Robb, Cregan, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, and even Cat,” and he whispered the last name, as Jon frowned.
“She cared for you. She hated me for my weakness and the dishonor that I had brought upon her. Yet she cared for you, in whatever way she could,” and he did not believe his words.
“When you were young, a fever came over you, and the Maesters thought that you would not survive. She sat by your bed for seven days, praying to the Seven. She fell ill herself, yet she continued to sit by your side and nurse you, for she cared about you. Not as a mother could, but she cared. So yes, you were loved, Jon. You were and you are,” and he saw the boy begin to weep, as he looked to the side, trying to hide away his shame.
“What happens now?” he asked, and he had been thinking about this very thing for hours now.
“What am I to be now? Am I to be Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark, or am I to be Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark?” he asked in sheer desperation, and this was why he had dreaded this day, and had pushed it farther and farther.
“Years ago, when you were a babe, I named you my bastard and took that choice from you,” but now he would not do so again.
“But now the choice is yours. You can be whatever you choose, Jon,” and with that, his dilemma would also be solved.
“Do you wish to be Aegon Targaryen, or do you wish to be Jon Snow...”
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Comments
travis btmb
Tftc
BuzzGrave
For his sake, Jon better not choose to be king; having read most of Drkest stories. The usual pattern is that anyone who stands in the way of the MC becoming king or the equivalent always ends up dead or at best disgraced and banished. lol Thanks for the chapter
Tank45
Have you considered adding the in-story dates? I’m a bit lost on the time line and character’s ages. Might just be me though. Regardless, this has been good.
StoicPrince
Thx for another remarkable chapter.
FallenMetalGod
Thank you. It looks like Eddard is going to have to do something, especially since things continue to fall apart. I am curious to see if that jewel will become an issue for Cregan the more he uses it. Great job, as always, and I can't wait to see what happens next.
Radiant Tiefling
Thank you for the chapter.
MyAfroAteMyDog
Kinda hope jon starts a new housecause he’s both a stark and a Targaryen
f_2004_nashef
Thx for the chapter
