The Crippled Wolf: Stark SI (GOT)

Chapter 13

EDDARD STARK

Eddard watched Cregan walk into his solar. His second son was now dressed in formal garbs for the feast later, though the boy was nervous. He could tell from how his gaze continued to linger on him as he walked towards the desk and the chairs, leaning down on his cane.

"You called for me, Father," he began briskly as Eddard nodded and motioned for him to sit down.

"Yes, I did," and the truth was that he still could not come to terms with what his son had divulged to him; the secrets, the lies, and most importantly, the implications of it all gave him many sleepless nights.

"The King just asked me to be his Hand, and I agreed," he began and saw his son's lips thin.

"Even after everything I told you!" he asked exasperatedly, and Eddard answered resolutely.

"It was because of all that you told me," and if he was to be certain of these allegations, certain enough that he could bring them up to Robert and condemn the realm to another deadly war, then he had to go to the capital.

He had to go there and see the truth for himself. The very truth that may have gotten Jon Arryn killed.

"I told you of Jon Arryn's suspicions!" the boy retorted in worry. He could understand his concerns, but he was still a boy. And Eddard doubted that the boy truly understood the implications of the thing he spoke of.

"About his untimely death and of the plots that brew in the shadows, and yet you still insist on going to the capital," Cregan asked, his tone worried and hurried, making the boy's frustrations were obvious as Eddard sighed.

"You do not understand the implication..."

"I do!" Cregan cut in, and he was taken aback by the heat in those words. It was unlike the boy to get so emotional.

"I understand more than you think, but this is dangerous. The capital is littered with Lannister men, and the games that are played there are dangerous, far more dangerous than you realize," and he knew that. He did. It was why he loathed the damned place.

And had it not been for Jon's death and the plot against Robert himself, he would have denied Robert's request, but in these circumstances, he could not abandon his friend and King. He had to help him.

"The games do not matter, Cregan," he spoke softly, and he could understand his son's turmoil and apprehension. He had survived in a foreign land with no one to rely on, his sharp mind allowing him to see far more than anyone else.

"What matters is the truth and what we do with it?" he spoke and saw him bite his lip, his conflicted thoughts visible to him, as he leaned forward and began to talk of the other thing Robert had asked him.

"That was not the only thing the King spoke of," he began and saw Cregan's eyes widen.

"He also asked me about a match," and Cregan shook his head.

"No!" and Cregan was out of the chair, facing him with fury in his eyes as he nearly shouted.

"I told you Joffrey is a monst..." he did not chastise the boy for his behavior, knowing that he was only concerned for his sister, but he cut in regardless.

"Between you and the Princess Myrcella," he cut him off and saw his eyes widen as he seemed taken aback by his words.

"Me?" the boy gasped in surprise as Eddard nodded.

"Yes, between you and the Princess," he repeated as Cregan seemed to calm down a bit in surprise.

"Jon Arryn sang praises of you to Robert and thought that you had the makings of a Good Hand of the King," he continued as he explained to him Robert's plans.

"The King hopes that in a decade or half, you could inherit the position from me and rule and advise him and perhaps his heir," Eddard added as Cregan shook his head again.

"But the Royal children are bas..."

"Do not speak of that!" he warned him sharply as Cregan stopped at once.

"True, they may be, but those words are treason, and one must take caution uttering them out. Even within our own Halls," for there was nothing more dangerous than treason.

'Though they were both guilty of it now.'

"We will go to the capital, you and I and perhaps another one of your siblings, to probe out the truth for ourselves," he ordered as his Lord and father as his tone hardened.

"I plan to agree to Robert's proposal, as denying it would raise suspicions. The Lannisters would raise questions if I deny it, so you are to go along with it as well," he ordered and rubbed his head, getting tired of it all already.

"And if it is really as Jon and you suspect, then the King will learn of it, but only when I am certain of the truth myself. And not a day before that, do you understand it, Cregan," he asked, and his son seemed to hesitate before he sighed in defeat and frustration.

"I understand, but I think it is you who does not understand the dangers of the capital," Cregan voiced out tiredly as the boy sighed and leaned back in the chair.

"Perhaps I do," and politics was never his strong suit. Eddard was not blind to his faults, and yet he smiled as he looked his son in the eye.

"That is why I am trusting you," he said softly, seeing Cregan raise a brow.

"You have spent years there in the capital, and so while we are there, I will need to depend on you to navigate the dangers that linger there," he asked, and Cregan's lips thinned as his son shook his head and replied in barely a whisper.

"Then I pray to the Gods that I am equal to the task," and with that, he rose up from his chair.

"Can I go now?" and Eddard nodded.

"You can, but remember that you are to accompany the Princess to the feast later. I have not given Robert an answer about the match just yet, but he is a King, and Kings are not prone to patience. He might choose to announce it at the feast if he gets too deep into his cups," Cregan nodded.

"I will do my duty," that was all he could ask.

It was a great burden that he was putting on Cregan, some of it his own. But the boy could take it. Thank the Gods, he had shoulders broad enough.

And just before he was about to leave his solar, Eddard remembered something.

"That book you spoke of..." he began as Cregan turned to face him once more.

"...the one Jon took out. I asked Luwin for it, but we do not have a copy of it here. There is not a copy of it in the entire North," he finished, for he had asked Luwin to write to the rest of his lords, hoping that one of them would have it and could send it here.

"I must see it for myself, Cregan. See exactly what Jon saw before his death, and find out for myself if there was any foul play involved in his death..." he whispered.

"...because without that, I cannot condemn thousands and thousands of people to die..." and the rest was a whisper that only his heart sang.

"...not again."

00000

CREGAN STARK

Cregan left his father's solar in resigned frustration. He had expected this, but a part of him had feared such a thing that, despite his hope and efforts, his father would refuse to see the reality glaring at them in the eye and cling to his own notions of honor and chivalry.

It was just the kind of man one raised a soldier. It made him a good lord and good man, but the world cared little for goodness. And that very goodness could spell the end for them and their House.

And in his frustrations, Cregan found himself in the yard as he paced, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg as he thought of what to do.

But what more could he do? He had warned him, given him all the proof he could and yet none of it had been enough. None of it.

He could not just abandon the man, for despite it all, Eddard Stark was his father.

And then there was the matter of Myrcella and Tommen, the two literal children he had condemned to death with all this. How could he stand beside them and treat them as if he had not just condemned them to death?

For no matter what happens, Robert Baratheon would not spare them.

And as he paced there in frustration, he missed as a stranger approached the stables and began watching him, and he only became aware of their presence when they mouthed some ominous words.

"It is not so easy to change the song," Cregan stilled at those words. His head snapped towards the source of those words as he found himself staring at a brown-haired boy, small and with green eyes. Yet this was a much deeper and darker green than the Queen's, and the rest of the Lannisters.

He recognized the boy rather quickly, for he had been there to greet him alongside their father.

"Jojen Reed," he gasped out the boy's name nervously, for, unlike the rest, he knew of the boy's prowess—Knew of the whispers that surrounded him. Most importantly, he knew them to be true.

It was rumoured that Lord Reed's eldest son, born thin, frail and prone to wearing green clothing, was blessed with visions, much like today. The boy was a Greenseer, a weak one but still a real one.

Most of the Northern lords put little stock in these rumors, believing them to be hubris and fairytales, but Cregan knew the truth. Knew it to the truth.

"Your efforts, while commendable, are futile," the boy began softly as he walked towards Cregan. He was much shorter than Cregan and looked much younger despite being the same age.

Except his eyes.

They were much like his own. Older. Much older.

"For it is not easy to change the direction of a river," he began, and Cregan knew precisely what he was talking of.

"I have to try," he answered as he looked the boy in the eye.

"And I have changed something," he added, for unlike in his dreams, it was not Sansa who was set to marry into the Royal family but him. And soon enough, he would change more, this time with the death of a certain bastard.

"Have you now?" the boy questioned, as Cregan frowned.

"You underestimate his power in this game, a young wolf," he began as Cregan raised a brow.

"Whose power?" he questioned, though he already had a suspicion about whom the boy talked about. The boy's tone, much like his own, was unchildlike as he looked him in the eye and confirmed his suspicion.

"The Ravens, the one who sees it all," he added as Cregan's breath hitched.

Ever since his fall, he had always had a suspicion. One that had only been strengthened by his dreams and the nightmares and the prevalence of that damned crow inside them, singing warnings to him.

"He offers you salvation," Jojen Reed continued.

"Leave, flee these lands, and you will be rid of your burden. You shall be free and safe," he added, and it was tempting for but a moment.

"I will not abandon my family," and somehow Aurora had joined him by now; the little light grey would now hug his leg as it bared its fangs at the little boy.

"Then you will toil and suffer in futility," the boy finished solemnly as he turned away from him, repeating his ominous words.

"After all, it is not easy to change the song...."

0000

Back in the capital, the Council gathered as the Master of Whisperers brought them the concerning news of the recent nuptials of the Daenerys Targaryen and a Dothraki warlord, Khal Drogo.

"Have a rider send the news to my brother. He is the one who makes the final call here," the Master of Laes spoke easily as he made to rise up.

"Now, if that is all, I will be leaving, and with that, the man left behind but three Councilors.

"It is interesting that you were able to bring forth news from such a far corner of the world, lord Varys," the short and thin Master of Coin began as he turned towards the bald eunuch.

"Yet you remain helpless in helping the Crown locate the person who has stolen from its coffers," he asked sharply, and the mockingbird held both a grudge and suspicion about the bald man.

"I do not choose what my birds hear," the bald man replied skirtly as the old master turned towards the thin man.

"Have you found the culprit yet, my lord," the mockingbird shook his head.

"I am afraid not. If only the King had allowed me to maintain the curfew, perhaps I would have been successful," the mockingbird continued as he gave the eunuch a glare.

"Alas! You made the mistake of incurring the King's wrath when you accused his paige of stealing from the Crown and had his belongings searched like a comer thief. It still baffles me why you would do such a thing," the eunuch questioned with a hidden smile as Petyr Baelishs's fists balled up as he remembered the King's rage.

"It was a mistake, one that I think you took great pleasure in narrating to our King," and the eunuch shook his head.

"I did only as I was asked to by the young Master Stark. The boy thought his honor was put into question by the allegations of those guards, and you know very well how touchy the Starks are when it comes to their honor," and Petyr Baelish nodded as the scar from years ago pained. And now, years later, he found himself insulted because of the Starks once more.

But he was not the same bot from years ago.

"Indeed, I do," with that, he rose up as he smiled at the eunuch.

"I am afraid I must be on my way. I have much to do..." and with that, he left the room, the smile vanishing from his face as soon as the doors closed behind him.

"Starks...."

Years ago, another Stark made the mistake of trampling on his honor. He had been too weak then. Too weak and powerless to get his revenge, and had only managed to keep his life because of the pleas of the love of his life.

The fates had gotten his revenge though, with Brandon Stark burnt alive by the Mad King.

But times had changed. He was no longer that weak little boy. This time, he would not wait for fates.

No. He would claim his revenge with his own hands.

Or more specifically.

With his own gold.

0000

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