Drkest
patreon
The Crippled Wolf-Stark SI: Ch.40
🕑 Added 2025-03-30 17:45:49 +0000 UTCChapter 40
CREGAN STARK
Being the Lord of Harrenhall was both a blessing and a curse. The castle itself was a behemoth and was entirely unmanageable, and yet one would be a fool to overlook its military importance.
The work on its reconstruction had begun at his command, as stone masons and builders repaired the walls and towers using both new and old material recycled from one of the towers he had asked to be felled.
There was so much to be done, and yet he had limited time to spend on his estate. Consequently, in his absence, it would all fall to his steward to continue his vision.
Qyburn was a smart man. Immoral but smart and hopefully loyal enough to see him through these troubling times. Both of them had spent the last few weeks as Cregan gave the man instructions about his desire for the castle.
“You wish to convert one of the towers into a granary,” asked the grey-haired man as he sat opposite to him.
“Yes, winter is here, and I fear that this might be the longest and most troubling winter of our times. Yet I have no plans of stopping the work on the castle's reconstruction, so we will need to replenish our stores of grain to ensure that none of the people in the land starve.” Those beady eyes narrowed at the mention of the winter's length.
And it was tradition to cut back on work during the winter so that one’s stores would last a bit longer. But Cregan did not have the luxury of time. He needed to secure this castle, with walls and men, and he needed it done fast.
“Longest and troubling,” the man repeated as he rubbed his chin.
“You say that, my lord, yet those at the citadel disagree. The Maesters there believe that this will be a gentle and quick winter,” and indeed, that was what the Maester’s thought.
“They are wrong. Of all the knowledge and prowess possessed by the learned men of Old Town, predicting the length of the seasons is not one of them,” not when they were as erratic as they were in these lands, controlled and contorted by some twisted magical powers.
“Yet you speak with certainty about its length,” and there was silence as Cregan looked him in the eye.
“How?” he asked, and Cregan raised a brow as he answered.
“The same way I knew about you, your crimes, and your dreams. This will be a long and arduous winter, one that will break records so maintain the castle stores as per my command and warn the small folk as well to ration their stores cautiously,” and the man nodded after a few seconds as he began to search through the piles upon piles of paper sitting on the desk between them.
“As you say, my lord. But we will need to allocate more gold for this, and I do not think that our coffee....”
“You need not worry about that,” he cut in, and one of his earlier actions had come to aid him in this venture.
The price of grain had increased considerably since the Maesters had announced the coming of winter, and so it was a blessing that he had already purchased most of the grain needed to replenish his stores.
“Predicting the treachery of the upcoming winter, I saw it wise to use my own coin to buy up grain before the cold winds had settled. I have already bought the grain through House Manderly, who will see it sent to us as soon as our new granary is built,” and it was enough grain to feed an army.
“That was much wise of you, my lord,” he added as Cregan nodded.
“I have allocated to you the basement of one of the towers,” and the man’s eyes lit up at that.
“It is closest to the cells and is closed off from the rest of the castle. You will find it suitable for your needs,” and the man bowed his head.
“You are most gracious, my lord,” and he was. He was also rather tired, and so after some final discussion about the training of the new guards and levies, he was left alone in his creaking and leaking solar.
It was desolate and dark, and yet it was the least of his priorities. He had appointed Bronn as the captain of the guards, which were to be expanded aggressively and armed with steel from castle forges.
Even the essential training would take at least half a year, and Cregan knew on instinct that time was running out. Varys had somehow managed to escape Kingslanding, and he could scarcely imagine what the bald bastard was planning.
And then there was the matter of the Lannisters, more specifically, the Queen and the child growing in her womb. His feelings about them were conflicted, for often, he found himself thinking of them as enemies, and other times, his mind was tempted by the thought of having them as allies.
Though Stannis Baratheon had little such qualms and the man had already assembled an army. He had continuously denied the King’s missives, which made Cregan worry greatly about his intentions.
Was he planning on attacking Kingslanding? Yet, it was absurd, for it was not Joffrey who sat on the throne. No, it was his own brother, and attacking the city while King Robert was in power would be considered plain and old treason.
So, why gather an army? And if he was so sure of Cersei’s treachery, then why not approach his brother with the knowledge of the treason? It had all changed, the song and story.
It was one reason he was pushing for the rebuilding of the castle and the guards, for he could think of no other way to secure himself in these tumultuous times.
And as he sat there, raking his mind about the thousand or so problems that plagued him and this world, he was broken out of his stupor by a knock on the door.
“Yes,” he said, and the doors opened to reveal a servant.
“My lord, a rider has come for you from King's Landing. There is a man who seeks an audience with you,” he said, and he frowned.
“What is his name?” he asked, and the servant blinked nervously as he answered.
“Thoros, my lord. Thoros of Myr,” and Cregan nodded.
“Bring him to the garden. I will meet him there,” for he was getting rather tired of spending his time being holed up in this damp room.
Perhaps the Godswood would bring him some calm in these troubling times.
.
.
.
And as he entered the enclosed sanctuary littered with trees, Thoros was already there. The fat priest wore his usual clothes.
“Did you run out of wine?” he called out as the man turned to face him, though Cregan found himself stunned as he saw his face and eyes. For in all his years, he had not seen such worry and trepidation on that face.
“What happened?” he asked quickly, not letting the bald man answer.
“I rode here as fast as I could because there is something that you must know,” and there could be but a few things that would alarm him like this.
“She is here,” and Cregan frowned as he looked into those red eyes.
“Who?” and Thoros clicked his tongue.
“She. The Witch, the one you warned me about,” and he felt his body grow cold as he understood him at once.
“Melisandrei,” he whispered as Thoros nodded.
“She has come to the capital,” and that was strange and new. From what he could remember, she had no reason to be in the capital, not yet, at least. She should be with Stannis....
Yet suddenly, a dark thought brewed in his mind, for the Lord of Dragonstone had already gathered an army, yet the only thing staying in his hand was the presence of his brother.
And though, he himself may not have the heart to slay his own kin, the same could not be said of Melisandrei.
“Shit,” he cursed himself as he turned towards, Thoros.
“Did she say anything? Anything about why she was there?” he asked quickly, and the man nodded.
“Yes, she said she was there to do the Lord’s bidding.” After that, she advised me to leave Kingslanding,” and the words made his heart twist as he felt his mind race.
“I need to write to Fa....” and yet, just as he was about to turn, he suddenly felt his body being pushed to the side.
CLANK!
“Look out!” and in the next second, he felt his face get sprayed with blood as he saw Thoros bite into the neck of one of the guards, as blood spurted from it, before the man pushed him back.
The other one was already above him, sword in hand, as he aimed it at his head.
“Lady Lysa sends her regards,” and his heart sunk as the man swung his blade as Cregan rolled to the side and felt it crack the rock under him.
He grabbed his cane and jumped to his feet as the traitor guard shifted towards him.
“Sit still, you rat!” he said, as Cregan twisted his cane as the man lunged carelessly at him.
“Not so fast!” and with a small twist of his body, the man’s swords went past his arm as Cregan plunged his own blade into his chest.
“GAH!” blood came out of his mouth, as the man’s swords fell as Cregan pushed him away. And as he looked up, he saw that the other guard sat over the bleeding form of Thoros, ready to strike at him as he quickly threw his sword at him.
“NO!” and his scream seemed to startle him as the man looked up, yet in an instant, Cregan’s blade skewered him right in the face as the sound of footsteps made him look up.
“What the hell?” he heard Bronn speak as he entered the Godswood with half a dozen men, and Cregan fell to his knees.
“Take all three of them to Qyburn in the Witch’s tower! And bring me a master. I must write to Riverrun at once!”
0000
CATELYN STARK
She had hoped that her return to these Halls had been under better circumstances. After word had reached her about Lysa’s attempt to kill herself, she had wanted to ride to her at once to help her through her grief, yet at that very time, the Maester of Riverrun had written to her a day later, speaking of her father’s ailing condition.
In the end, her uncle had told her that he planned to bring Lysa to Riverrun, and so she had come here with her own children, hoping to bring what little comfort she could to both him and Lysa.
And yet she was helpless, for she could do nothing for any of them. Her father barely recognised her, his ailment had addled his mind, and the master had told her that he was not long for this world. She had sat at his bed for hours trying to bring him some calm yet in the end, Houster Tully was gone, his stubbornness beaten by age and illness as his condition continued to worsen.
In the end, he had managed to utter a few words to her as he mistook her for Lysa, and sought her forgiveness. It broke her heart seeing him like this, struggling to remain alive and yet it was as if he was being kept alive for one purpose.
One that was somehow connected to her sister.
“It is useless,” began her uncle as both of them stood at the heel of the stairs that led to her sister’s room.
“We have tried it for days now, yet she refuses to see any of us. You yourself spent an entire night at her door trying to make her open her doors,” and yet in the end, Lysa had not opened the doors, and Sansa had come and begged her to rest.
“There is no other way. I cannot see father like this anymore. He wants to see her,” and that was not true.
“He needs to see her,” so that he may seek her forgiveness and pass to the next life in ease.
“She will not budge,” he warned her as he looked to the door.
“If you insist, I could break it open and haul her into his room, like old times,” she said, and she chuckled at his words as old memories began to bubble in her head.
“Let us pray it does not come to that,” but they were no longer young maidens. They were old themselves, old and married with children of their own.
“I am afraid those days are behind us now,” he said, raising a brow.
“I could still carry both of you,” she said, and she did not doubt that, but Lysa was already much disturbed as it was. She did not wish to add to her misery and worry.
“I do not doubt so, but let us hope that it does not come to that,” and with a sigh, she began to climb up the stairs again.
“Do go and see what folly my daughters and the Princess are up to. I do not think it wise to leave the three of them without supervision,” and he nodded.
“Aye, I will go and look after those girls,” and she knew that she could trust him more than any servant, at least, as she walked up the stairs and came upon her sister's door.
And much like before, she stood there for hours, knocking, speaking, begging, and yet got no response even as the Sun set and darkness began to spread. And just as she was about to leave in hopelessness, she heard the sound of footsteps before the locks were turned and the door swung open slowly.
“Lysa,” her heart erupted as she walked into the room and found it dark and damp as her sister stood there opposite to her, with her arms behind her back.
“Look at you.” The words slipped out as her heart groaned with worry at the sight of her. Her feet carried her forward as she put her arms around her.
“I am so sorry,” and yet just as she put her head in the crook of her neck, she felt those arms tighten around her, and a sharp pain erupted in her back.
“You killed him!”
“AUGH!” she grunted as she looked up and saw Lysa looking down at her with vengeful eyes as she began to feel her body grow cold and numb.
“You killed my dear Petyr...”
“Lysa....”
0000
Miles away, on the desolate island of Dragonstone, Stannis Baratheon stood in his solar, reading a missive as his most loyal servant stood opposite him.
“Davos,” he began as he put down the missive.
“Ready the ships....”
0000
Comments
Noknok
How could Cregan in all his foresight not see that Lysa will do if Petyr dies.
AntaeusTheGiant
Melisandrei, because she deliberately infects others with her stupidity.
Radiant Tiefling
Thank you for the chapter.
FallenMetalGod
Thank you. It looks like Lysa will start the fire that will engulf everything. Let's hope that Cat can survive her sister's attempt. Great job as always, and I can't wait to see how things start spiraling downwards.
Dragonslayer29
Thanks for the chapter and I can’t decide who is more stupid Cersei, Stannis or Lysa.
Almaz Zakytkazy
Thanks for the chapter!
