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(EM Vol. 2: A Wandering Melody) Chapter 42: A Bloody Wolf
🕑 Added 2025-07-27 14:00:14 +0000 UTCChapter 42: A Bloody Wolf
123 AC, Winterfell
The last couple of years of Cregan Stark’s life were disturbing to say the least. Things were much simpler when his father had been alive. Things were far simpler then, back when he was just the heir. He was not a stranger to loss. He had lost both his younger brother to an illness during the past winter and his mother in the birthing bed, when his father wished to sire another spare.
Even now, Cregan couldn’t help but resent that decision, even if he understood the consequences. After all, if the man had sired a spare, Cregan wouldn’t have been in this position, alone without any support, while his uncle, Bennard Stark, acting as his regent, was obviously consolidating as much power as he could, in the hopes of usurping his nephew.
The only reason why it could ever work was the fact that the man had three male children, a more secure succession, in a way. He had sent his two younger sons to foster in two of his strongest bannermen, the Karstarks and the Manderlys, with his eldest acting as his page during his time as regent.
In the past two years, since his father’s death, very few bannermen were invited to come to Winterfell, and the few that did were obviously instructed not to bring their heirs. Cregan could see it as clear as day: his uncle was sidelining him, slowly taking over the castle, and the Maester seemed inclined to help him for some reason.
The rightful Lord of Winterfell had no idea what Bennard’s plan truly was. The Lords of the North would not allow Cregan to be usurped so easily. Doing so would be an easy way for most houses to rebel, and it wouldn’t be nice. The only way for it to work without a rebellion would be by either killing Cregan or by making himself so indispensable that he’d keep ruling in all but name, even after Cregan’s majority.
He didn’t think his uncle would commit Kinslaying, so he was leaning towards the latter. The fact that he restricted Cregan’s movements showed this.
It didn’t matter, really, in a year, he would reach his majority, and Cregan had no plans on being anyone’s puppet or a fool. He needed to deal with this without the rest of the Northern Houses being involved to avoid escalating this further. And so, he snuck down to Winter Town, to clear his head, something that became a habit as he felt watched and stifled in Winterfell, his own ancestral home, something that sickened him to his stomach.
However, when he came to Winter Town, he became ‘Grenn’, an identity that his baseborn sister, Sara Snow, had given to him when they first snuck out the first time. After so long, the role felt natural, and he’d started to go out, to visit his sister more, especially after Bennard removed her from the castle after Father’s death.
When he woke up that morning, he expected it to be a normal day, where he’d walk around the town for a while, perhaps go on a hunt in the Wolfswood later or visit his sister. Imagine his surprise when he heard whispers of foreigners arriving in Winter Town. He had immediately seen them. A black-haired thin man, a golden-haired woman, and a young girl with Valyrian features. They were wearing clean, obviously expensive, fur cloaks, and Cregan quickly assumed that they were merchants, as a few of them often came to visit the city after journeying from White Harbour.
He spoke to them on whim, really, unable to stop himself from correcting a piece of information about his home. Yet, somehow, he’d ended up roped into breaking into his own family crypts, which somehow ended up into him fighting the skeleton of his ancestor, using one of the most famed relics in the history of his house, the original Ice, on top of wooden bridge made from the branches of a giant Heart Tree, which spat out the spirits of the Kings of Winter before him.
Oh, and of course, the man and woman that he’d mistaken for merchants, Harry and Daphne Potter, happened to be sorcerers of great power, impossible power, really, who had fought off the trap meant against the Others, which also happened to be real.
Finally, after letting go of the ancestral sword in his hand, wearing the very medallion that Bran the Builder wore, and the odd black crown made of bronze in his hands, he looked at them and confirmed the man’s suspicions, “My name is Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell. Or at least, I will be in a year if my uncle Bennard doesn’t usurp me.”
He looked at the dusty remains of his ancestors, who slowly flew away and spoke up, “What happened to him?”
“Like I said, the key was in the sword, and it has a new wielder,” Potter responded calmly.
“Will I have to stay here then, in this throne?”
The sorcerer snorted in amusement, “I don’t think you’d survive for long here, without any food or water, at the very least. No, you can leave this place like you would, but the question is whether you will take the sword.”
“I can take it with me?” Cregan asked with surprise in his voice.
“You are its wielder, but like I said, this is the key to this trap. You can leave with it, but it will deactivate the trap, or you can leave without it, but you would likely not find a better sword to wield.”
Cregan thought hard on this. The idea of removing the sword, of destroying the purpose which his house’s founder had built all of Winterfell for, was wrong. Sure, discovering the original Ice would secure his place as the Lord of Winterfell, but that felt like a dishonour to his ancestor’s sacrifice.
Instead, he looked at the sword and the throne, before muttering, “I’m going to sit on this place eventually, aren’t I?”
“Not for a long time, I believe,” the sorcerer continued, “It will call for you, near the end, for you to stand vigil, as the Builder had before you. It will not relinquish its wielder until it finds another. A very curious blade indeed, not one made with human hands.”
In the meantime, his wife waved her hands, and the bridge repaired itself. The Heart Tree returned to normal, as the branches moved to deposit them near the entrance, which had opened once more.
Cregan stayed silent, watching the sword, which he felt somewhat incomplete without, and he turned towards Harry once more, “I don’t understand. How is it not made with human hands?”
“I can’t claim to know everything about magical metals, but this one is new to me, and its properties are raw, not like the alchemically treated ones, like Orichalcum or Adamantium. It reminds me a bit of Fae forged swords that I found in a few hidden caches in Britain, but the enchantments feel alien in a raw way. It seemed to have shaped itself out of an unknown source, maybe a foreign realm, not the other way around. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something quite like it. I’m having a lot of ideas on how to apply this property. This has already been worth the effort. I haven’t been quite so surprised by a piece of magic in a long time. Take that in pride, Cregan Stark.”
“Are you saying that the sword is alive, that it created itself somehow?”
Potter shrugged, “Not exactly. It depends on what you consider to be alive. Someone poured a lot of magic, something very foreign, while forging a simple sword but with something unique as its core, and gave it to Bran the Builder. Slowly but surely, it grew with every conflict, with every battle, as the legend grew, and it became Ice. It became akin to an extension of the Builder, his partner, becoming a fearsome weapon against his enemies and the forces of the Others. Normally, if I want to enchant something, I make the spell first, design what it would become, and then forge the weapon to do what I want. This is different; this sword was empty, but over time, its magic slowly matches the Builder's own, your own. It’s why it lets you wield it.”
“And you are sure that the builder did not make this sword.”
“Of course, I am,” the sorcerer replied, “It’s not just the sword; this entire trap isn’t something that people would ever have access to. It requires knowledge that shouldn’t be well-known. As impressive as this is, the same principles used here could have done untold damage if used in combat, enough to introduce a rift of unreality that could consume everything. Someone studied this magic and understood it and somehow designed a ritual which could use it as a trap. Your ancestor might have built this place, but he did not design it. Something else did, something that wanted to destroy the Others, enough to guide men into making something like this.”
The Lord of Winterfell hummed, trying to digest this information. He had understood barely more than half of the man’s speech, which reminded him of a Maester when he spoke of his craft. But he had to admit that he was inclined to believe him. Something inside him told him that he was right about the sword. Just remembering holding it, how unusual he felt, how certain he knew how to deactivate the trap. This wasn’t the work of mortals, that was for sure.
As for the truth of the trap, there was just a knowledge and certainty in the man’s voice that made him believe him. Well, there was also the giant display of magic, the seemingly miraculous way in which he’d stopped an army of shades, and almost his wife seemingly commanding a Heart Tree somehow.
The man doubtlessly considered his words to be true and did not seem inclined to convince Cregan of it, not in any meaningful way. He wasn’t exactly a thief, not like the girl, Rhaena was, who had stolen from his family’s crypts. That little act had almost killed them all and destroyed Winterfell itself. It wasn’t exactly her fault, he knew that, as she hadn’t meant to bleed on the medallion, one that was damaged by time, according to the sorcerer.
And yet, he couldn’t help but glare at the girl, who looked down in disappointment. He silently walked forward and gave her back her dagger, her Valyrian Steel dagger, which had also saved his life, “Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome. Sorry… for taking the medallion. We usually go to abandoned places and no one cares if we take anything,” she replied, trying to justify herself, “I forgot that this belonged to the Starks and I apologise.”
She took out the medallion, still stained with her blood, and handed it to him. He looked at the girl’s face, and the rage inside him softened, “You can keep it. Harry said that it was damaged, useless, really. Perhaps this would serve you as a reminder not to do this again. Speaking of which, you never really mentioned where you got a Valyrian Steel dagger. You could sell this for a fortune.”
“Oh, I found the dagger in the body of some ancient Valyrian expedition into Dragonstone, specifically the Dragonmont. I have it and a ring from the remains of a few nobles. I also have a Dragonglass dagger that belonged to a Child of the Forest, which we found in Skagos.”
“There are Children of the Forest in Skagos?” Cregan replied, unable to stop himself.
“Not anymore,” the girl replied in a sombre tone.
Still, these people spoke of the legends of the North as if they were true, and he couldn’t help but exclaim, “Who are you people?”
The golden-haired woman spoke up with a small smile on her face, which for some reason, made him blush, “Just travellers who seek to understand the world a bit more, on a little adventure, really. So far, we’re investigating what happened during the Long Night and the Age of Heroes. We came to Winterfell as it was a very obvious destination. We learned much, I believe.”
The man spoke up, making Cregan return to normal, “Which is why we wanted to ask permission to take something from the vault, a medallion much like the one Rhaena took, only undamaged.”
The Lord of Winterfell bristled slightly at that, “And why would I give you something that belonged to my ancestors and part with a section of my family’s legacy?”
He knew that it wasn’t logical, that he couldn’t exactly fight against the man whose magic surpassed anything he had ever heard tales of, perhaps other than the Breaking of the Arm of Dorne, but even then, this was his family’s legacy. He couldn’t stop the man if he wanted to take the entire contents of the vault by force, but he would be damned to shame his ancestors to seemingly agree to part with
“Well, for one, it would help me with our research. Tracing the Others’ signature would be better with a source, and I want to study the properties of the metals a bit. But as for how it benefits you, well, I can be very generous when someone helps me.”
He waved his hand, and the same magical glowing circles appeared in his hands, and before flying towards him and being absorbed by the necklace he wore, which warmed slightly, “What did you do?”
“Nothing much, made it so it also hums at the presence of any magic, not just that of White Walkers. As well as a little extra, when you need it most. In exchange, I’m taking this little thing…”
The man snapped his finger, and one of the necklaces from the vault appeared in his hand. He motioned to protest, but stopped himself as he felt the necklace hum faintly as he neared the statues, “Why is it doing that?”
“Didn’t I tell you that the swords should have rusted a long time ago. They’re acting as anchors, both automatically relaying the enchantments against necromancy, so that they wouldn’t be raised by the Others, but also adding a sliver of them into the Heart Tree, to fight the Others at the command of whoever activates the trap. A very clever way to hide this as a tradition, isn’t it?”
Cregan gulped and stopped himself, instead remembering his father’s lessons in ruling the North, “You may have the medallion, but I want something more than a little display of magic. In a year, when I attain my majority, I will need some support to stop my uncle from usurping me. You will aid me when that time comes.”
A part of him thought that he might have asked for too much, but he stood his ground, but his father’s words still rang in his head, that they were all still Kings in everything but name, that Torrhen Stark was a smart man in the way that he handled the conquest, by asking for concessions from the Conqueror, that had left the North as a Kingdom in everything but name. By the Gods, the raids from the South had even stopped entirely, and there was very little they gave in return, other than their crowns and the title of King. Looking at the rest of Westeros, they had all changed, in some way, by the Iron Throne, but the North remained the same, just as hard, and almost forgotten by most, as they all fought to survive each Winter.
Finally, the sorcerer turned towards him with some seriousness in his eyes, “I make a point not to involve myself in the political squabbles of the Seven Kingdoms, but I suppose this is your family home. Grab your medallion and call out my name, young Stark, and I will answer only once.”
Once more, Cregan felt the medallion warm up, and he nodded, accepting that he had gotten the support of an ally, even an unusual one whom he could not trust completely, against Bennard, without involving the rest of the Northern Houses in his quest.
He simply nodded and decided to joke, “At least there wasn’t a slumbering giant dragon beneath Winterfell heating the hot springs with its breath, just giant Heart Tree and a trap that could engulf all of Winterfell with it.”
Rhaena snickered, but neither Harry nor Daphne had. After a few seconds of silence, the man murmured to himself, “Some hearts burn so brightly they leave a scar on the world.”
Cregan knew that he likely wasn’t meant to hear it, but continued, “You never did say what lay beneath the Heart Tree, the source of the crimson light.”
Harry finally looked at him. “Something that does not belong here. Do not look for it, young Stark. That way only lies madness.”
He didn’t wait for more questions. “We’ve lingered too long. It’s time for us to leave this place.”
The sorcerer snapped his finger as Cregan blinked, and suddenly, he found himself assaulted by the cold. The heart of the crypts had been far warmer, even hot near the end, and the contrast changed things. He blinked again as he found himself staring at Winter Town once more. It didn't take long for him to realise what he had just witnessed, “You could have gone to the crypts like this?”
“Of course. However, where would be the fun in that? Sneaking in is far more adventurous, don’t you think?” the sorcerer replied with an amused grin that Cregan wanted to remove with his fist.
Luckily for the man, Cregan was immediately taken as a figure leapt at him and hugged him. He recognised it immediately as his sister Sara, “Cregan!”
“Hey, Sara. I’m sorry for being late.”
“Late? Cregan, you disappeared for hours. By the gods, where had you been, and what are you wearing?”
Before he could answer, the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. Two guards in Stark livery strode toward them from the direction of the tavern, eyes locking on him with narrowed gazes. One of them stepped forward and gave a short, curt nod.
“My lord,” he said, glancing at the Potters warily before continuing, “we’ve been ordered to escort you to Lord Bennard. Immediately.”
Cregan stiffened, the warmth from his sister’s embrace fading as his mind returned to the walls of Winterfell and the web his uncle wove there. He gave the guards a nod, his voice calm, “Of course. Lead the way.”
AN: That chapter got away from me a bit. I know it wasn’t exactly eventful, but Cregan will be important for the future, and I had a lot of fun writing him. Plus, after the excitement in the previous chapter, I thought that this would stabilise things slightly. I’m still not sure about the portrayal of him. He’s a bit young, but I wanted to show a small window of the ‘Old Man in the North’, that he could become. I hope I pulled it off, but I don’t mind rewriting the chapter depending on your feedback. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
Marius Petrauskas
nice
athass_prkr
That's actually a good point. I'll try to work on it. It's kind of a bad habit of mine, and I really appreciate the feedback. Thanks :)
Damon Fitzgerald
You use the word 'really' far too much. It is fine when it is Harry speaking as it is just his way of speaking. But here both Cregan and Daphne said it when it wasn't needed and it made them sound rather like Harry. I think that is probably one of your biggest weaknesses in that you have trouble making characters sound different. Your worldbuilding and plot are really good though. I am very much enjoying your writing.
