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The Crippled Wolf-Stark SI: Ch.34
🕑 Added 2025-03-09 18:46:08 +0000 UTCChapter 34
It was not rare for the Lannister siblings to sit together, yet this specific pair of the Queen and her youngest brother were rarely found together.
“Why are you here?” the Queen thundered; her emotions were running rather rampant because of a child growing in her womb, making her lash out at the little dwarf, who sat himself politely in the sofa chair opposite to her.
“Because, believe it or not, I am your sibling, and you are in need of me,” he began, for as much as Tyrion Lannister loathed his sister, she was her blood, and so were his little niece and nephew in a way.
“I have no need of a traitor,” she lashed out. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and her belly had swollen now, making it difficult for her to sit and stand.
“Call me what you will, but there is no question that I know more of the Starks than either you and Jamie, so you have a need of me. Both of you,” and the mention of the Starks made her still, as her lips thinned and she looked into his eyes.
“Then what do you suggest we do?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he answered, much to her surprise.
“Have you lost your mind...”
“Let me finish,” he cut in sharply, much to the Queen’s surprise, for it was not like him to raise his voice.
“If our Lord Hand does indeed know of your actions, then why do you presume he has not brought them up with our King until now?” and that was the very question that had made her life hell.
“I don’t know, perhaps he hopes to blackmail me and our family...” Tyrin scoffed at her words.
“There is nothing that you can give Eddard Stark that he cannot have by asking it of Robert,” and as much as she hated that, it was the truth.
“No, the answer is simpler than you think,” he said as he leaned back and picked up the cup of wine from the table.
“Eddard Stark, if he knows your secret has not spoken of it to Robert for one reason, and one reason alone,” and the words caught her by surprise.
“And what is that?” she asked.
“Because he does not desire to,” and it struck her, for she could not believe it.
“Despite Robert’s hatred of you, he would need to have absolute proof of your actions to make this claim to the King, for it is not easy to accuse a Queen of treason,” yet she scoffed.
“Robert has no love for me,” he never had.
“Any claims made by the Hand without substantial proof can be easily rebuffed,” he added, making her frown.
“How?” she asked, and Tyrion was quiet for some time before he finally opened his mouth.
“Joffrey may have been the first of your children to live, but there was one before him wasn’t there,” and the words made her still, as a memory long forgotten surfaced in her mind as her fists balled up.
“I had forgotten about that,” she finished, as Tyrion nodded, not commenting on her solemn look.
“It is not ideal, but it would not be unwise to remind our dear Hand of that incident in passing,” and she frowned.
“Why?” she asked, and she could see why Jamie had called for him. He had always had a cleverness to him, and only now was she seeing it for herself.
“Because the only reason the Hand has not spoken of your treachery to Robert is because he has no desire to, we must give him more reason not to,” and it made sense that way, and yet it irked her in a way to use her own dead child like that.
But she had already lost Joffrey, and she needed to protect her other two children, Myrcella and Tommen.
“In that case, I must have one more thing,” he suddenly added, looking at her swollen belly.
“That child in your womb...” he began slowly as her gaze narrowed.
“...what color hair will it have?” and she ground her teeth as her eyes looked down at her womb.
“I cannot be certain,” and though she had an inkling, yet she could not be really certain about it.
“Then you should pray that he has brown hair or blue eyes...”
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EDDARD STARK
Robert had truly made his life even more difficult by pushing up the date of trial for Petyr Baelish, and now he was forced to sit behind the desk once more as he prepared all the necessary proofs, testimonies and other documents for the trial.
The list of his crimes was so long, ranging from reason to slavery and so much more, that he wished to be rid of the man at this instant, and yet he was the Hand, and the Crown must always act in just.
Already, the people in the city were very nervous because of the arrest of a vaunted Councilor, and simply killing the man without any explanation and trial would only add fuel to the fire, cementing Robert’s reputation as a tyrant even more.
And yet as he sat in his solar reading the reply from Lord Stannis to Robert’s missive he questioned why in the Seven Hells had he accepted Robert’s offer to become the Hand.
He had felt more hair turn grey, and his body age more in these last two moons than in perhaps half a decade back at Winterfell, even with Cregan helping him navigate the treacherous and tricky politics of the capital.
Lord Stannis’s absence from the court was becoming problematic, especially given that the man was the Master of Ships, and a valued member of the Council, but the man had been reluctant to return to the capital despite numerous attempts both by himself and Robert.
And even now, as Robert wrote to his brother himself, Stannis Baratheon chose to deny his brother, the King as he excused himself from the trial.
And while many others did not know the reason for this odd behavior from the King’s own brother, Cregan had a suspicion one which he had shared with him some months ago.
Much like him, Stannis Baratheon knew about the Queen’s alleged treason as well, and much like him, he remained quiet about it.
Though, a part of him feared that his silence was for many different reasons than his own, for Stannis Baratheon had not just left the capital by himself. No, the man had taken with him nearly three-quarters of the Crown’s entire naval might, and this told him that the man’s intentions were not as simple as one may think.
So, now the choice lay with him once more. Should he write to the man again?
And if so, would he be right in causing another war? And what if his own suspicion was wrong.
‘But it couldn’t be,’ he thought as he remembered the look of that boy and that row of names in that book of lineages.
Black of Hair and Blue of Eyes, and none of the Royal children had these eyes, none that were alive.
But what of the child in the Queen’s womb? What of its heritage? Was it all a coincidence, or was he right in his suspicions that the Queen had committed two of the most heinous crimes?
These thoughts and choices had been eating away at him for some time now, and yet he had no ans...
THUK. THUK. THUK.
Suddenly, he looked up and saw the doors to his office open as Cregan walked in. And his son had become a rather regular presence in this solar, and Eddard had begun to realize that he had been both right and wrong about his son.
He had always known Cregan to be a boy blessed with a sharp head, yet he had truly thought wrong. His son was blessed, truly blessed by the Gods, and knew more of politics and plots than he could ever hope so.
The games and the plots of the capital would have all been lost to him, without him, and yet it both pained and worried him to see what his son had become. How the capital had transformed him, and he wondered many a times if it was really the capital that had changed him or had it just shown him his true self.
His son was now growing like a week and grew an inch or two longer every week, and looking at him, he missed his other children; he missed their smiles, their laughs, and most importantly, their innocence.
For though Cregan was his son, the boy had lost his innocence to these games, and he wondered if such a loss was a blessing or a curse.
“You called for me, Father,” he asked, nodding as he motioned for the boy to sit down.
“Yes, I did,” and that had become quite the norm for him, to call for his son and to ask his opinion over matters that a boy his age should have no understanding of.
Yer Cregan understood it all, much to his dismay.
Yet as he stared at him, he saw his wet hair and haggard breath and began to wonder where he had been.
“Where were you?” he asked, and the answer surprised him much.
“I was in the yard,” Cregan replied as he plopped down in a chair, grimacing as he did as he put down his cane.
“Yard,” and he nodded, and he watched his son slip out his small flash as he took a sip of milk of poppy infront of him.
“It had been quite some time since I had sparred, and I thought it a good day to perhaps get back to sparring,” and he knew that despite his handicap, his son often trained with the blade.
He did not wear his sword on his belt, or back, it remained in his hands always, hidden away in that cane of his as they had realized during the tragedy that had resulted in Prince Joffrey’s death.
“Is he well?” he had been so busy that he had not seen much of his other son, and that was another lie that ate away at him as Cregan nodded.
“Yes, he has been training in the yard regularly, and I even saw Ser Barristan come and speak to him a few times, correcting him,” and that was very interesting and somewhat promising.
“That is good. Perhaps it is time I ask the man to make his squire,” and though it was nothing compared to what his true birth deemed him worthy of, it was what he could give to him.
Yet this was betrayal, nonetheless, of his own kin.
Yet what was he to do? What could he do?
‘Forgive me, Lyana,’ he thought, as Cregan broke him out of his trance.
“So, why did you summon me?” he asked, looking into his son's eyes and wondering how his son played these games so easily and, if so, whether he was playing a game with him as well.
“Have you given any thought about who you want to have as your steward at Harrenhall? " And there was this as well, for unlike before, he was no longer simply a second son.
No, his son had become a lord, with Robert honoring him with one of the Largest Castles in the realm, along with a massive amount of Gold to restore it to its former glory.
But since he had need of Cregan here, the boy needed to appoint a steward to oversee this massive undertaking.
“I have given it much thought and have looked into it a bit, but at this time, I think I had hoped that you could lend me Ser Rodrick Cassel,” and he was surprised that he had not taken a new name.
“But Ser Roderick is the steward of Winterfell,” and with him here, he was much in need at Winterfell, where Robb now ruled in his place.
And though he was proud of his eldest, he knew that he had need of the man.
“There are few men that I could entrust such wealth and responsibility to,” he began, and as much as he would wish to help his son, he could not rob his eldest of one of the most loyal and leal men, especially with Winter coming upon them.
“I am afraid that will not be possible,” he said, and he saw him nod, not arguing against it.
“I see. Then I will need some more time to think,” he said, and that was fine; a few days was not going to make some drastic change in the matter.
“Is that all you asked me here for?” Cregan asked, and he shook his head.
“No, this letter came from Dragonstone earlier in the morning.” The change was subtle, and he saw Cregan stiffen up at the mention of the isle as he eyed the letter as Eddard pushed it towards him.
“He has once more denied the King's order to return to Kingsland...,” but before he could finish, he heard some noise coming in from the outside as he felt his heart sink when suddenly the door to his solar was pushed open.
“My lord! My Lord!” the guardsman gasped as he looked at him, and unknown to him, Eddard was already on his feet, his heart racing as he barked at the guardsman.
“What happened?”
“It’s the traitor, my lord. He has been....” and his eyes widened in surprise at those words, and in an instant, he was moving and halfway across the room, missing how surprise had not truly come on his son’s face who sat there reading the letter without any disruption.
0000
ROBERT BARATHEON
“How could this happen!” he nearly screamed at his Hand for this great misadventure, yet a part of him knew that screaming would do little to change what had already happened.
“How could he die in his cell on the day of trial?” he asked again, for now he was robbed of his revenge.
Eddard seemed nearly as angry and frustrated as himself, though for different reasons, as he sat in his solar and rubbed his head.
“I have my men investigating, but from the looks of it there was no foul play,” he replied, and he had seen the cell himself, with its rotting cage, and damp floors. There was a reason that the Black Cells of the Red Keep were so feared, and Baelish had been kept in the smallest and the worst of these cells.
“The man died because of rats. They ate away at his flesh and made him bleed. It would not have killed a healthy man, but the months of captivity and interrogations had left Baelish weak and vulnerable. So, he simply succumbed to these injuries,” and that was what the Maesters and the acolytes had determined.
And it was fitting in a way that rats killed the treasonous rats, yet Robert’s instincts felt that it was not so simple.
“Do you really believe that?” he asked, and Eddard shook his head as well.
“No, I do not,” he answered gravely, sharing his own suspicions.
“The timing of it does not make sense,” and that was his exact thought, for this was not a simple death.
No, someone had killed Baelish before the trial to keep the man’s mouth shut.
“Someone has tried to silence him,” and that was his exact thought.
“But who would do such a thing?” he asked as he rose from his sofa, getting tired of all this sitting, and walked up to the window, gazing at the city and the bay in front of him.
“And most importantly, why were they trying to silence him?” just what more secrets did he have that he had to be killed for them?
“This is wrong,” he added as he stared at the bay.
“I can feel it. Someone is hiding something, and they are willing to go to any lengths to keep that secret hidden,” and he turned to face his Hand, whose job it was to handle such matters.
“I want them found, Ned,” he said, as his Hand nodded.
“I want that as well, but whoever this is, we know nothing of them, their identity, their name, their intentions,” he added as he joined him near the window, and that was troubling indeed.
“I have had all the guards posted around the cells separated for questioning, but I cannot fathom who did this and what their intentions are?” neither could he. Still, he knew that there was treachery in the air, and there was nothing more dangerous than rampant treachery and treason.
“Could it be the Targaryens?” he guessed as Ned frowned.
“We already found out that they were not involved in the assassination, then why would they kill Baelish?” and that was true, and in the end, Ned had managed to convince him to let the both of them be, but he could think of no one else.
“It could be a ruse, but someone is trying to hide something. I can feel it,” he said, and he did not notice how his own Hand and friend stiffened at his words.
“I will look into the matter personally. If there is something to be found, I will find it....”
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Comments
FallenMetalGod
Thank you. Cregan realized that the Red Priestess was in play at Dragonstone. Does the letter have anything to say? If Mockingbird is dead, let's see if Cregan can't sniff out the next foe. Great job, as always, and I can't wait to see what happens next.
Almaz Zakytkazy
Thanks for the chapter!
f_2004_nashef
Thank you for the chapter.
Radiant Tiefling
Thank you for the chapter.
Gummyking2
Setting up varys next? Bold moves
