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The Crippled Wolf-Stark SI: Ch.80
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 17:22:09 +0000 UTCChapter 80
DAENERYS TARGARYEN
Daenerys sat in her manse, with Ser Jorah at her back. She sat there ready to commit treason as she negotiated with the men who had ruined her family’s legacy. She had tried to save that legacy, wanted to revive it, and had made many great sacrifices in that regard.
She had fallen so far as to sell herself, but now she was ready to give up. Ready to forget a legacy of old, and live a life of peace and quiet, if the boy King on the throne would let her.
The priest who had come with this offer of peace now sat in front of her once more, yet now he did not sit alone. He was joined by a man who had supposedly died at sea a few weeks ago, and it was just another one of Illyrio and Varys’s lies.
“I was told that you were dead,” she spoke to the Prince of Dorne, the very man who had once brokered a betrothal between his niece and her brother.
“Rumors about my death have been greatly exaggerated,” the man answered with pomp and sneers, though even now he looked nothing like the fabled and distinguished Red Viper of Dorne, who was rather famous for his black hair and comely face.
He had become fat and plump and had half a beard, which was grey and dishevelled much like his hair.
“Our friends here tried to end my life, but he already knew that,” and she knew exactly who he talked of, and by now she had some desire in her heart to meet this young King on the throne and see for herself how he inspired such loyalty amongst men twice or thrice her age.
He was younger than her by a few years, yet he had won a war and had now won over the loyalty of all the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, leaving House Targaryen with no allies to call upon.
“It was the King who knew of Varys and Illyrio’s plans?” she asked, gazing towards the priest, thinking that perhaps he was the one responsible for this, yet the man shook his head.
“The Spider and the Cheesemonger do not share their plans with me. It was the King who predicted what they would do and planned the rest on his own,” and she wondered if he had predicted what she was about to do as well.
In the end, Oberyn Martell was one of the few men who could tear down this castle of lies built by the Spider and Cheesemonger, for he was the only one who could see through their lies about the heritage of her supposed cousin.
“So, tell me, Prince Oberyn,” and he must have seen the boy by now, and the air in the room stilled at those words, as if it awaited his answer with as much curiosity as herself as she spoke the final words.
“Is that boy really the son of Elia Martell and my brother Rhaegar?” and the Prince’s eyes narrowed, and he seemed to know the weight and importance of his words, yet as he shook his head, she drew in a breath as her worst fears came true.
“No,” he answered, and this left no more doubt.
The betrayal. The lies. The deaths. The Sacrifices.
All of it had been meaningless, and she fought off the tears and the urge to scream and wail as she gulped, as Ser Jorah spoke up from behind.
“Are you certain?” the knight from the North asked, and the Prince of Dorne nodded, anguish and hate lacing his words as he answered.
“I held Aegon in my arms as a babe,” the man’s words held pain and anger, as he lashed out at Ser Jorah.
“That boy has none of Elia’s blood in him. He is not her son,” and who else would Elia Martell better than her own brother?
And the room descended into silence at those words, as Danerys let herself come to terms with the lie and tragedy that her life had been.
“Years ago, Dorne sought me and my brother and pledged their support so that you may one day avenge your sister’s death,” and the man nodded.
“Yes, and it was the Spider who brokered that agreement, but your brother is dead now, and the betrothal agreement is useless,” and that may be, but still, they had given them a pledge.
“Does Cregan Stark know of that?” she asked, and those black eyes sharpened as the Prince of Dorne leaned back.
“He does,” he answered, and that was a surprise to her, and he saw through it.
“And now you wonder why my family and I are still alive today?” for he had just admitted to treason.
“What my family and I did was treason,” he agreed, and yet they still lived? How!
“The Spider may have played us, but we did commit treason nonetheless, yet the King chose to offer us mercy,” and there was a genuine admiration in his tone as he spoke of the boy, and while it was different to the reverence with which the priest spoke of the Stark boy, but not less important in any way at all.
“He understood our pain. Our anger, and while he punished us for our treason and held my kin as hostage, he also offered us revenge and justice,” and then he leaned forward as the Priest reached for his second flagon of wine, despite the disapproving flare from Ser Jorah.
“He also understands your pain and predicament, and that is why he has sent me here to assure you that if you agree to his terms, he will abide by them,” and the terms remained the same.
“He would wed you to his brother, who is both rather comely and as honorable a lord you would find in the Seven Kingdoms, and you would rule over the entire North with him. Your children would be Starks of Winterfell, and you would be the Lady of Winterfell,” and for a second, she could imagine herself living such a life, and even Ser Jorah had assured her that the Starks were not the kind to break their word.
But Daenerys had lost any trust in the words of men, Stark or not.
“What if I wish to alter these terms?” she began, and while before she had been at the mercy of Varys and Illyrio. Now, she would be at the mercy of the boy King who sat on the Throne, and she would have to bury her aspirations and dreams, she would much rather do so on her own terms rather than let Illyrio and Varys sell herself to a man like Euron Greyjoy.
“You may,” and so the man was given some authority.
“I shall give up my claim to the Iron Throne, but your King shall give me all of my family’s treasures and the claim upon the wealth of House Targaryen,” and while the Crown’s coffers were extensive, House Targaryen had always maintained a separate coffer, according to Varys. Yet, the Usurper had acted quickly to make it so that they would never see any of it.
“And where would you live?” he asked, and she hesitated about whether she should tell him or not.
“You may be willing to give up your claim, but there are others who would try to weaponize it as the Spider and his friend have,” he explained, and so she spoke up in answer.
“Braavos,” she answered, but told him no more, but the way his lips tersed, she had an inkling that he knew exactly of the place she had in mind.
“You do not wish to return to the Seven Kingdoms?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“What am I to return to?” she asked in lament and regret.
“I have no family, and no allies there,” for she had not lived a day there, and what she knew of it all had come from her brother’s narration and the Spider’s lies, and she wondered just how much of it was the truth and how much a lie.
“The King's terms are better,” he suggested, and perhaps they were.
“He would treat you kindly,” he tried to sway her mind, but she shook her head.
“Maybe, but to this day, I have lived my life for a dream and a legacy that was not even my own. Now, I wish to lead a life on my own terms, a simple life but one devoid of any lies and plots,” and so the Prince sighed and nodded.
“Then on behalf of the King I accept your terms,” and just like that, it was done.
“Princess...” Ser Jorah gasped from behind, but she silenced him with a glance as Prince Oberyn rose from the sofa, after drowning the cup.
“Word of our meeting will soon reach The Spider’s ears, but Euron Greyjoy is set to arrive tomorrow, so that will stay his hand for some time,” and the mention of that name made her flinch.
“Make preparations, and gather your belongings. This shall be your last night in this manse....”
0000
CREGAN STARK
The funeral for Lord Tywin was a somber and simple affair and was attended by only his most intimate family and the few lords who still remained in the capital. Cregan could have tried to make a spectacle out of it, but in the end, he had decided against it.
He had made a speech, extolling his virtues and promising vengeance against his killers, and now he sat in the Godswood with his son, who had helped carry out his final rites.
“I thought that you would make a spectacle of it,” Tyrion asked, and his eyes were weary and tired as he spoke, as Cregan shrugged.
“The idea crossed my mind, but then Qyburn gave me a better suggestion,” for he had heard how Euron Greyjoy had been spotted near Pentosh and the man had only one reason to be there.
“What?” the man asked.
“Revenge,” and those eyes narrowed as the Little Lannister raised a brow.
“Why?”
“Thoros believes that Daenerys Targaryen has begun to doubt Varys and his friend. While cautious, the girl and his men have continued engagement with him,” and so with Oberyn already in Pentosh, he expected her to offer terms of her own, especially after learning about Varys and his lies.
“You believe she will agree to your terms,” and they were as generous as terms could be for someone in her situation, and even Tyrion and his father had argued for harsher terms, but Cregan pitied the girl for the life she had been forced to live.
“I believe so, especially because Qyburn believes that Varys and Illyrio are trying to wed her to Euron Greyjoy again,” and now Tyrion finally understood his plans.
“To get his ships,” and this was not the first time such a rumor had come up, but this time, The Spider and his fat friend had their backs against the wall and were in dire need of ships.
“Yes, and no sane girl would ever want to wed a man like Euron,” and of his three human adversaries, Euron was the one he feared the most, for while he could cripple Varys and Illyrio through other means, Euron was a man of only mystery and dread.
It was a rare event for all three of his adversaries to gather in a single manse, and so that was the best opportunity for him to strike back.
One swift strike. Three deaths.
That would be the end of the entire Blackfyre campaign.
“You are going to strike at them in Pentosh when Euron meets with Varys and his merchant friend,” Tyrion guessed as Cregan nodded, as he stared at the Heart Tree under whose shade they say, and the once simple bark now had a face carved into it, with blood dripping down its eyes.
“Even if I can kill but one of these three, the whole Blackfyre campaign would collapse at once,” and with that, he would win this war even without a single battle being fought, and while he would have to send his army or hire a few mercenary companies to cut down Strickland and his Golden Company, that would be nothing more than clean up.
“And you would have won this war even without fighting a single battle,” and the man raised his flask to him, in appreciation.
“Truly, a war worthy of Cregan the Crone,” if only the Night King and his whites were to drop dead as well, so that he may rest for once in his life.
“Do not congratulate me yet, it is still all a plan for now,” one that he had made years ago.
“But how?” Tyrion asked as Cregan felt his lips turn up, as he answered.
“Through Wine, and Fyre,” he answered as he sipped his cup, as Tyrion chuckled at his words.
“Sounds like my kind of plot....”
0000
Comments
FallenMetalGod
Thank you. We have the answers to a lot of questions. Let's see how Dany will be able to live her life. Great job, as always, and I can't wait to see what happens next.
Radiant Tiefling
Thank you for the chapter.
