Drkest
patreon
The Crippled Wolf-Stark SI: Ch.86
🕑 Added 2025-09-17 18:49:08 +0000 UTCChapter 86
DAENERYS TARGARYEN
Daenerys did not know what to think of Myrcella Baratheon. She had grown up hearing tales about the Lannisters and the Baratheons, which made her think of the two families as some sort of Monsters, yet the girl she had met was no monster.
She was smart, steadfast, and extremely loyal to her King and husband. But she was no monster. They met three times before Daenerys was granted an audience with the King, and each time she returned with more anger and questions.
Myrcella’s intentions were obvious, for the young Queen wished to get a measure of her, so that she may aid her King in how to treat her. Their various meetings allowed Daenerys to understand her own family’s legacy as well, as she learned of all the atrocities and crimes they had committed against the three Houses that had led the rebellion.
Hearing about her father’s burning in tales and songs was one thing, but having them described to you by men who had witnessed them firsthand was an entirely different matter.
The Mad King, they had called him, and she wondered if it was truly apt. But in the end, days passed, and the worries for her life began to fade as Daenerys felt herself settle into a routine on Dragonstone.
The island, which had once felt so foreign to her, no longer haunted her nights as she slept soundly with little to no fear for her life. She had glimpsed the King a few times yet, but he had not summoned her.
Until now, that was.
And it was just another morning when a servant came to her and informed her of the King’s summons. A part of her had hoped that such a time would never come, but in the end, the King’s summons came, and Danerys found herself standing in the Great Hall, while the King of the Seven Kingdoms sat on her family’s ancestral throne.
He was joined on the side by the Queen, who gave her a smile, and to his left was a young man who looked much like him in his facial features. But that was where their similarities ended.
She had heard much of Cregan Stark, and how his grey eyes did not look at a man but through them. Varys had once mentioned that he had never feared gazing into a pair of eyes more than Cregan’s, and now she could see why.
He was younger than her, but those eyes were as cold as ice, and even the Queen’s words had been unable to thaw that ice. His brother, with his red hair and blue eyes, seemed warmer and more accepting to her.
He was examining her as well, much like his brother and King, but the future Warden of the North was much kinder in his gaze, and she bowed her head as the King’s voice cut through the heavy silence.
“She stood tall,” as those grey eyes met hers, and the King called out strongly.
“I believe you already know the reason for my summons,” and he was as cold and cruel as she had been told, and she nodded.
“Yes,” she answered, and the King’s lips thinned.
“Our families have a bloody history, but I believe that there is a chance for us to move past that,” but at what cost?
The seat on which he sat belonged to her family. This was the very island and castle from where Aegon had planned his entire conquest, yet now a Stark sat in that seat as Daenerys stood there, looking up in some envy.
“I shall not go into the crimes of our fathers and forefathers, but shall offer you a chance to move past them,” and with that, he waved his hand, and a knight of the Kingsguard moved forward, carrying a rolled-up piece of parchment.
“That is an agreement that grants you a full pardon for your crime of associating yourself with the Blackfyre pretenders and plotting against the Crown, and shows your rescinding of your rights to the Iron Throne,” and she had opened up the scroll by now, her eyes skimming through the letters, and the weight of the Targaryen legacy had never felt heavier.
“For signing that you shall have clemency and the castle of Summer Hall and its lands for yourself and your kin to inherit,” and to her that was just a gilded prison, and it was the Queen who added.
“The rest we can discuss as per your wishes,” and so she would not be forced to wed his brother, and the document clearly gave her the freedom of movement, making it so that she would be allowed to leave the Seven Kingdoms whenever and however she desired.
A table was set, and a quill was offered, and that light feather felt so heavy in her hands as she dipped it into the bottle, yet she had made her mind. The burden of this legacy was simply too great for her to bear, so with a shaking hand, she put the quill to the paper and signed her name as the burden, and as the table and quill were carried away, he saw the King’s eyes soften slightly as he whispered.
“Now, kneel, Princess, and let us have peace....” and she lowered her head, and with that, the Targaryen legacy came to its end as the Dragon bowed its head to the wolf and the Stag.
“Rise, Princess Daenerys Targaryen, Lady of Summer Hall....”
.
.
.
The King was not done with her just yet, and as the ceremony concluded, she was summoned to his solar. As he sat there, he seemed less like the King and more like the young man that he was. Daenerys often had to remind herself that the person sitting in front of her was younger than her, even though his eyes did not agree with those words.
He did not speak at first as he continued to look at her, before his lips finally parted.
“You must think me a heartless man,” he whispered, and she raised a brow.
“And you are not?” she questioned, and he shook his head.
“I am, but only for the right reasons,” he argued, as he offered a cup of wine, which she refused.
“Have you given any thought to my offer?” and she had, for it had come up a few times in her sittings with the Queen.
The King's offer was simple, for he desired that she wed his brother, Robb Stark, the future warden of the North. The young man himself was both pretty enough, and even Ser Jorah had praise for him.
“Why are you so insistent on making me your kin?” and the King laughed.
“It would set many hearts at ease here in the Kingdom,” and she decided to attack.
“Yours as well,” she asked.
“I have forsaken my claim already,” he said with a laugh, sipping his wine. She had heard tales that the King's wine was always watered down, so he never drank himself into a stupor at feasts and balls.
“Words are wind, Princess. The parchment that you signed shall serve only the Maesters and the historians,” yet he had accepted it.
“Many of my counsellors believe that I am being naive in giving you this chance. They believe in more permanent solutions,” and she felt a cold hand reach for her throat. The implied threat was obvious.
“Will you kill me then? If I don’t accept your proposal?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“I am not the kind of man to go back on my words, but I would much appreciate it if you would give it a chance,” and she owed him at least.
“I will,” she agreed, and the King smiled.
“Good. You two should talk, and see how things are, and afterwards, if you still desire to go to Braavos, then I shall give you the ship and the means to buy a house myself,” and that was agreed.
“I shall take my leave then, your grace,” and the words still did not come easily to her as she rose from her chair and made to leave the room.
.
.
.
And so she left the room, and there was no feast to celebrate her kneeling, and the castle remained dour until she met the red-haired lord from the North waiting for her in the gardens.
“Princess,” Robb Stark greeted her as she returned softly.
“My lord,” and after some words, she offered to join him on a stroll. The first of many.
Yet she never would have agreed to them if she had known what tragedy they would bring.
0000
EDDARD STARK
In front of Eddard, Lords from all over the North gathered to greet him on his return from Kingslanding. Seeing the Halls of Winterfell filled to the brim with his lords and their retinues filled his heart with much relief.
For the greybeards in front of him did not care for politics and games. They spoke loud and brash with no honeyed words to coat their daggers. Greatjon insulted the Bolton lord for choosing a young wife with no care, and the others all laughed.
The Bolton remained quiet, though others answered for him. They did so with no care for politics and the games that were simply rampant in the Capital, and seeing it all made him feel free and hopeful again.
Even though he doubted that the laughs would remain once the lords saw the enemy that they were set to face.
Eddard rose to his feet before the wine and ale had drowned their conscience, and the Hall turned quiet as they all turned towards him.
“It warms my heart to see you all of you gathered here in my Halls, sharing my food and warmth,” Eddard began, and it was Jon Umber who scoffed, as wine spilled down his beard.
“Has the South gotten to yah, my lord?” he asked.
“You abandon us for years, and now you speak their tongue, have you forgotten the ways of us savage Northerners?” and the Hall laughed as Eddard responded with an edge to his voice.
“I can assure you I have not forgotten anything, Lord Umber,” and he looked the man in the eye, and despite being twice his size, the man lowered his head.
“Aye! That’s my lord,” he laughed, as Roose Bolton chimed in quietly.
“It is good to see you return to the North, my lord. Though young lord Robb has done a commendable job in your absence,” and at that, even Umbers agreed with the Bolton lord.
“Aye! The Young lad may have his mother’s hair, but he is a real wolf, that one. A true Stark,” and it felt good to see that his son had won over the loyalty of his lords, for they would have much need of it in the times to come.
Cregan may have prepared the entire Kingdom for war against the White Walkers and the Whites, but there was no doubt in his mind that the North would be his spear and shield in this great battle.
He had given them the tools and the weapons and the gold. But the men in front of him would need to provide him with the men to wield it all, but first, they must see the enemy for themselves.
“My son has done well in the past five years, and I can say in no uncertain terms that the North is mightier than it has ever been in three hundred years,” and the room roared as he raised his hand, stopping them all.
“But I am afraid the time has come to test that strength and valor in the fields of battle,” and that made the room silent, for simple they may be, they were not stupid.
They all understood what he spoke of.
War.
“But I thought the pretender boy was dead and his armies scattered all over Essos,” asked the Karstarks, and that was true. What they did not know was that Daenerys Targaryen was at Dragonstone and had already signed away her claim to the Iron Throne as well.
“Yes, the pretender boy is dead and his armies are scattered, but the enemy I speak of does not lie in the East. It lies to our North,” and that drew a frown from Jon Umber, who snarled.
“Wildlings,” and for once, he had hoped that the man was right.
“No, the enemy I speak of is more dangerous and ancient than the free folk,” and that frowned.
“I speak of Death. I speak of White Walkers,” and all of them must have heard whispers of them already, either naturally or through Cregan’s design.
“But they are just a rumor, aren’t they?” spoke Lord Bolton, and he shook his head.
“No, I am afraid not,” and the room gasped at his words, for he was a Stark and they would never doubt a Stark.
“For the last half a decade, the King has been preparing us all for this great war, and now the time has come for us to answer his call.” With that, the door to the Great Hall opened up as Eddard descended from the stage, and Hodor carried in that same wooden box which he had brought with him from the capital.
The screeches and the struggle of the person inside made the lords back away as Hodor put it on the ground, as Eddard held the knot in his hand.
“This is the enemy we face....” He pulled away the knot, and the wooden sides fell away. The screeches grew louder and louder as the dead but alive monster was laid bare for all the Lords of the North to see.
“Seven Hells!” he heard someone gasp.
“Gods have mercy!” others prayed as they saw it relentlessly hit its head on the steel bars keeping it in place.
“The Seven Kingdoms shall fight alongside us, but make no mistake that the North shall be the Spear and shield in this war,” and with that, he took out his blade and pushed it into the ground.
“The Starks always say that Winter is coming,” he finished as he looked across the room.
“I am this was the Winter they spoke of, and now it is finally upon us....”
.
.
.
And before his men could say anything else, Rodrik Casel came in through the doors.
“My lord, I bring grave news...”
0000
Comments
Radiant Tiefling
Thank you for the chapter.
FallenMetalGod
Thank you, and it seems like everything is going well, but now I am not so sure. I do like how Eddard's presence truly shows command of the North in ways that we rarely see. I am curious what the grave news will be, but anyway. Great job! I'm looking forward to seeing what happens next.
Skulldragon7
“I am this was the Winter they spoke of, and now it is finally upon us....” Assuming there is supposed to be the word "certain" or a similar word in this
![[18+] The AShark00 Archives from patreon](https://patrefans.com/kistorage/69905.jpg)
