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The Crippled Wolf-Stark SI: Ch.59
🕑 Added 2025-06-08 17:45:35 +0000 UTCChapter 59
THEON GREYJOY
The betrayal by the Starks had cut deep. He had never thought that Eddard Stark would imprison him, cut him out as he had, but he was wrong. He was never a son to him, despite how Theon may delude himself, but Stark blood did not flow through his veins, so why had he ever thought that he could be a Stark?
No, he was an outsider. The son of a traitor. A hostage meant to be exploited in war, and so Theon would return the favor. The Starks may never consider him one of their own, but he had grown up in these lands, he knew them better than any other Southerner, and so he would take it from them.
After all, that was his way, the way of the Ironborn.
And so, after his father had reminded him of his position, of his brothers, Theon had asked to be sent to the North, to prove to him that Salt and Iron ran through his veins, that he would extract the Iron Price from the North, and deliver the kingdom to his father.
But he had underestimated the Northerners. He had thought that with a war in the South and the main army away, taking the North would be easy, yet the defences had surprised him. His initial assault had failed, forcing him to split his armies and asking them to gather near the Moat, so they may attack it together from all sides, and cut off any chance the North may have of bringing back their armies.
And of the twelve thousand people that had come with him, five were in his group as they made camp a day’s ride away from the castle, waiting for the other groups to appear.
Though a part of him was surprised that he had been the first to arrive because they had spent some time raiding quite a few villages, to fill their bellies and minds.
“Why have we not sacked the castle yet?” questioned one of the ship captains, and he would dare not have questioned if it was Asha in his place.
“We are no Southerners. We are Ironborn. We need no rest,” and they were fools because, as desolate as it may be, the Moat was still a castle, and upon hearing about their attack, the Starks must have manned it somewhat at least.
“Because the Moat is still a castle. Even with a thousand men, the castle could stand our charge,” and the captains scoffed.
“Those Northerners are no match for us! You have been making us walk through these forests and hills as if we are scared of these men,” and the others roared at his command, and Theon ground his teeth, at his behavior.
“We will wait for others! That is my command!” he shouted, stepping forward, as the man looked him in the eye.
“And who are you to command us!” and Theon knew that he had to stand up for himself, knew that he had to earn the respect of these men.
The men around them were all looking at him and that sleazy captain brandishing his yellowish crooked teeth, as he pointed his axe at his chest and pushed.
“You are no true Ironborn! You are just a little boy playing at being a Prin...” but theon’s body moved on its own, as he took out his sword and struck the captain’s face, cutting out his eye as the man reeled back in agony, as the clearing all turned silent.
“Playing! You call this praying!” he shouted, as he pushed forward, and cut off his hand and kicked him to the ground, and continued to whack at him again and again, as he loosed all his frustrations on that man, until nothing remained of his face.
He was huffing as he stepped back and saw everyone looking at him with fear. Not respect but fear as he shouted.
“Does anyone want to know who I am to command them! DOES ANYONE ELSE HAVE THAT QUESTION!” he shouted, and the captains all backed away, keeping quiet as he scoffed.
“As I thought,” and with that, he threw his sword and walked back to his tent, and unlike the nights before, he did not summon a woman to warm his bed, as he commanded.
“Don’t let anyone come in!” and only then, once he was inside, did he look at his hands, at the blood coating them, as he realised what he had done.
‘Would Lord Stark have done the same?’ and the question made him still, as he ground his teeth and shook his head.
“No, I am Theon Greyjoy,” he whispered as if assuring himself of this truth. Yet he did not know what that meant. He had not lived with these men, with this culture.
He had lived with the Starks. As a Stark, and the Stark part of him knew that what he had done was not right. Perhaps that was why he had done so in the first place.
In the end, he curled up on his stolen bed, and tried to push himself into the realm of sleep, yet just as his mind was about to relax, screams woke him.
“AHHHH!” “HAAA!” and he rose with a jump, as he heard the screams of his men, and rushed out of the tent.
“What is going on?” he screamed, but he saw only chaos as men screamed and ran everywhere, until a few of the captains rushed towards him.
“We are under attack, my lord! We are...” but before the man could say anything more, an arrow hit him in the head, making Theon flinch, as his heart nearly gave out.
“My lord! My lord! We need to get you out of here!” and just as the men rushed him towards the place where the horses were bound, they saw it empty.
No. Not Empty.
The ground was wet with blood, and more than a dozen corpses sat there, rotting on the ground as Theon’s heart dropped.
“Form up!” he ordered.
“Gather in the middle!” he screamed, as he tried to rally the men, those who listened picked up what weapon or shield they could as they gathered around him, as they tried to search for the enemy.
Those who tried to flee, into woods, turned silent within seconds of entering the darkness as they burnt up torches, yet still saw nothing in the darkness.
“FORM UP! FORM UP!” he screamed loudly, his mind racing, for they had not sensed the enemy, even their scouts had come back with no report of an enemy.
He saw one of the captains rush into the woods to save himself, yet as soon as he had crossed a few trees, he saw a monster rush at him from the side, and Theon gasped in worry.
And around him, as he focused on others trying to do the same, each and every one of them ended up with the same fate, as the howls began to gnaw at his ears.
Howls that were very familiar to him.
“No. It’s impossible.” He gasped, for they had heard no reports of a Northern army crossing the Moat, or the Twins for that matter, yet somehow they were here.
And his fears were proven correct as the howls stopped, and what followed was the sound of footsteps, feet scrapping on the ground, as the Northern army showed itself, and they were surrounded on all sides.
And as he looked straight ahead, he saw him. He had changed since the last time he had seen him, grown a bit taller, but fuller though those blue eyes which once looked at him fondly were now filled with sheer cold and hate, as Robb stepped forward, Greywind right besides him, its mouth all bloodied, as it bared its fangs at him.
“Robb...” he whispered.
“Do not take my name with that mouth of yours, you traitor!”
0000
CREGAN STARK
Despite a royal wedding near the horizon, and the capital filled with lords and ladies from all over the realm, the threat of war looming over the Seven Kingdoms ate away at the celebrations.
But there was good news. Robb had succeeded in his campaign, and though some fragments of the Ironborn army still lingered in the land, he had killed the main force and captured Theon once more.
His brother wanted to tear apart the traitor and feed him to his Direwolf, yet thankfully, he held back as now half the men returned to their lands while the other half marched to the Riverlands once more, where his father was gathering a new host to attack the Iron Islands along the shores of Maidenpool.
Robb, though would be staying back to deal with the rising threat of the Free Folk, while Jon would now lead the armies.
“It’s not an entirely absurd idea,” he whispered as he found himself in his father’s solar once more as he brought to him Lady Olenna’s offer, and his answer seemed to surprise him.
“They are traitors,” his father retorted, and Cregan shrugged.
“And this marriage would make sure that they never become so again,” and a marriage pact like this would help consolidate his rule, and cement the Reach as an ally, and he would much rather have allies than enemies.
“The Reach is rich and bloated, and Robb has to marry someone someday. The simple truth is that Dorne will never be our friend, and with the Vale and its succession in turmoil, we are in need of allies,” and his father was silent at that.
“I thought that the Lannisters were our allies,” and of course they were, but they were also their adversaries.
“Lannisters are allies of war. But in peace they will be our adversaries, and while we are at war we must prepare for peace,” especially now that the Iron Islands had been crippled, because of the loss of their heir.
“You and all this damned politics!” and his father was rubbing his head.
“It is not as complicated as you make it out to be. You married mother to forge an alliance with the Riverlands and the Vale, and Robb might have to do the same to forge one between the North and the Reach,” and so the North would have access to two of the most fertile lands, and though Autumn had come in the South, there would be a few more harvests here.
“I never desired such a fate for my children,” and that was good of him.
“It’s not as bad a fate as you may think. Margary Tyrell is beautiful enough, and would come with a hefty dowry,” and Robb was quite smitten with her, until Cregan had told him the truth.
“And what did you wish to talk about to the Lannisters?” and indeed he had mentioned that.
“Yes, speaking of the Lannisters, I wanted to tell you that I wish to see Jamie Lannister removed from his post of the Kingsguard...”
0000
Until now, Daenerys had seen only the might of the Khalasaar, but now, as she saw the dead around her and the screams of battle, she saw their weakness. A dozen times, that was the number of times Drogo had attacked the city with his men, trying to tear apart its gates. Yet the gates held strong, and now, even with half a year behind them, Daenerys saw little to no hope of a victory.
And with every passing day her hope of returning home were dashed, and now the Khalasaar which was once united as one began to break up, and even now as Drogo sat on his throne many came to petition against her, against this campaign as those eyes filled with hunger, rage and deceit turned towards her.
“Will we ever conquer Qarth?” she asked, and this was but one city, the task that lay ahead was to be a hundred times harder.
“Perhaps, but the gates of Qarth have stood for a thousand years and will stand for a thousand more,” replied the bald man who had become the constant companion to her, and Illyrio had left a few moons ago, leaving him with her, as a gift of sorts.
“But this is one city,” she whispered, turning towards the bald man.
“How are we supposed to take the Seven kingdoms if we cannot even take one city?” she argued, and the man was silent.
“With dragons your grace,” he answered wetly, but Aegon the conqueror had conquered the Seven kingdoms with both dragons and an army, and his dragons were well grown, each of them the size of a castle.
Hers, though, were young, barely larger than a lizard, and their growth had stalled now, as meat grew scarce.
“Even Aegon the Conqueror needed an army besides his dragons to conquer the Seven Kingdoms,” and the bald eunuch was a learned man, and had brought her the gift of books on history and war as he began to teach her the history of her House and its rule.
“Yes, and you will have it, your grace,” he answered.
“A great army to go with your magnificent dragons,” but she saw no great army in front of her. She saw nothing but savages, with barely contained anger and frustration.
“I see no great army. I see only people too hungry, too angry, and too barbaric,” and to think that she had wed Drogo for this army, and the Khalasaar still feared him, but soon enough, that fear could turn into rage and rage into rebellion.
He had defeated a hundred khals until now, but what was to say that he could defeat a hundred more?
“Then you shall find a different one,” added the eunuch, Varys, making her head snap towards him.
“No Queen, especially one who has three dragons at her back, shall ever lack for men wishing to fight for her,” and there was something with the way he said that made her shiver, and before she could say anything, a servant came running towards her.
“My lady! My lady!....”
0000
Comments
FallenMetalGod
Thank you, and it looks like Robb has his prey by capturing Theon. I'm eager to see how that turns out. I'm anxious to see how things unfold with Cregan and the capital. Great job as always, and I can't wait to see what happens next.
Radiant Tiefling
Thank you for the chapter.
Skulldragon7
“Playing! You call this praying!” ->“Playing! You call this playing!”
Hamza Ikram
I understand your concerns, and MC is not endorsing teh match between Rob and Margary, he is simply commenting on an alliance between North and the the Reach, which can take various forms
Tank45
Not a huge fan of double commenting but Cregan came off really dumb here. He’s really not considering the implications of wedding Margaery into House Stark at this moment, and whether or not she’s even capable of being loyal to the North and the Starks. Yes the Reach has a lot but for them to basically get their blood ruling the north after losing a war seems very strange. The first half of the chapter was good. The second half, not so much. Cregan should at least be mentioning the consequences of such a match to give Ned the full picture. In example, another Southerner as the Lady of Winterfell after Cat, who made some questionable choices regarding faith, Margaery’s dubious loyalty, the potential backlash from Northern Lords who could feel slighted by being passed over or gain the perception the North is becoming to “Southern”.
f_2004_nashef
Thx for the chapter
Tank45
Gotta agree with Ned here. Marrying Margaery seems quite questionable.
