The Crippled Wolf: Stark SI (GOT)

Chapter 14

ROBERT BARATHEON

"I will not stand for this," his wife screamed in his face, and he doubted half the Winterfell would have heard her shriek as she glared at him with those green eyes of his, like a lioness made to anger.

And he had expected this, yet his mind was made. And though she doubted his love for his children, Robert did love the three little gremlins, especially the younger two, who had inherited none of his eldest's questionable habits.

"And they are as much my children as they are yours," he thundered as he reminded her just who amongst them was the King, and yet she was a Lannister. The spiteful, hateful, and prideful thing that she was, she did not back away.

"Are they really? When have you ever cared for them, talked to them. You have no right to decide...."

"Watch your tongue, woman!" he thundered, pushing himself out of his chair as he sobered up, and he could feel his voice spread all over the castle as he faced her.

And while she was regretful over his relationship with his children, he was still their sire and King.

"You forget that I am King, and this is the best match for both Myrcella and the realm, and you will accept it," he ordered and saw her lips purse.

"Over my dead body!" and a dark part of him wished for that, wished for her death so that he may be rid of this misery. He had never truly been happy with this marriage, with his bride, the proud lioness thrust onto him by Jon, and that accursed Tywin as he was forced to forget his love for Lyanna.

"Just because you could not marry that Stark wench, you would saddle our daughter with that savage crippl..." and he did not know when his hand left his side and struck her.

SMACK!

The regret came instantly as silence spread over the room. He was not proud of what he had done, and yet she had chosen to insult her.

Her cheek was bruised, and the red showed against her pale skin as she glared at him in mocking as Robert ground his teeth.

"Damn you! Damn you, you cursed woman!" he cursed her as he plopped down in both regret and rage, both at her and at himself.

"Slap me as much as you want, but I will not let you marry off our daughter to that cripple savage," she thundered, refusing to back away; as she covered her face, he could see it, the pain making her eyes water. Despite the years, his strength had not left him, and people forgot that he had caved in Rhaegar's chest with a single blow.

And she was no Rhaegar.

Yet despite that she held strong and proud, as she refused to back down. But he had given Ned his word, and while he was stubborn as a lion, he was also a prideful stag.

"You make the worst come out of me, you loathsome woman," he lamented as he pulled the goblet of wine to his mouth and drank a mouthful to wash away his regret.

"I have given Ned my word, and I will not back away from it," he decalred with finality as he looked into her eyes and continued in a rather cold tone.

"And think, woman think. Would you prefer that our daughter wed a brute like me? Have you not suffered enough?" he asked her, and he saw her scoff as he continued.

"Ned's boy is an honorable lad with a good head on his shoulders. He would keep the girl content and happy and would honor her, given our histories, unlike the damnable way both of us have suffered," he added as he put down the goblet.

He had spent many years in the capital and was well aware of the games the Southerners played. He would much rather see their daughter wedded to Ned's son, who was much like his own father, rather than a Southerner with a sweet tongue.

"You cannot, Robert!" and it was rare for her to take his name and call it with such care.

"You cannot take her away from me," he asked with a quivering lip as Robert regretted his actions from earlier even more.

"Despite our own struggles, do not doubt my love for our children," he spoke a bit softly now as his shoulders sagged. Perhaps he should have tried harder. They both should have tried harder.

"The boy will keep Myrcella happy. I am sure of it, and this way our son's rule after us shall be stabilised and protected by the very alliance that won me this throne," and for while his Queen maybe Lannister, it was not Lannister Gold that had won him the rebellion.

Tywin Lannister had only shown his true allegiance when the fate of the Targaryen regime had been sealed after the battle of the Trident, where he had caved in Rhaegar's chest with a single blow. Even then, the man had not called his banners for him and had marched towards the capital under the banner of the Three-Headed dragon.

And only when the gates of the city had been opened for him had the man showed his true allegiance. Sacking the city he had helped rule for about two decades as he turned sides and struck a dagger in his old friend's back.

So the throne had not been won by Lannister Gold but by the cold and true Northern steel, for it had been the North that had ridden with him during the war, fighting, dying, and killing for him.

And if his son was to hold the throne after him, he would need that steel, and the sage advice of a leal and loyal hand.

"The boy has the good head on his shoulders and could later help our son rule as Jon did for me," he added, trying to make her see that this was not the sentimental decision she thought it to be.

It was the best choice.

"What?" she raged as he nodded.

"The boy could learn under Ned's tutelage for some years and then could inherit the position from him and help Joffrey rule when he comes into power after me," he added and saw her scoff.

"I would never let that savage sit on Joffrey's council," and he sighed helplessly as he shook her head.

"We will see about that..." With that, he accepted his defeat, pushed himself out of the chair, and walked out of the room tired and in dire need of a woman to cheer him up.

0000

CREGAN STARK

The main Hall of Winterfell was bustling with activity as lords from all over the North joined in on the massive feast, eating, talking, shouting as boar, venison, and a dozen other dishes made their way round the Hall.

Mead, ale, and wine were consumed by the barrel as the King stood at the head of the table. His dear and old friend, the Lord of the North, sat beside him, while the chair to his left sat empty, showing the absence of the Queen.

And while officially it was spoken that the Queen was feeling unwell, that the Northern weather had unsettled her, most of them on the table knew the truth for what it was.

This was an insult from the Queen, one aimed at House Stark that showed the divide within the Royal House.

Though she, alongside the Kingslayer, were the only Lannisters missing, Tyrion sat there alongside them, making his way through another goblet while each Royal child was saddled with them.

Robb and Sana catered to the prick that was Joffrey, and despite his monstrous nature, the boy was capable enough of pretending to be civil, as he did just now. And he could only hope that his words and lessons would allow Robb and his twin to see through that prick's facade.

Tommen was sitting beside Bran, both of them talking about knights and other stories rather animatedly as Arya stabbed her food disinterestedly. Her eyes trained on a boy sitting down below with the rest of the people, with a face much like his own.

And the Princess sat beside him, the King's intentions for the possible match were now known to everyone, much like the Queen's disagreement about the said match was known by all as well.

Half the castle heard their little spat, and rumors and whispers like this spread like wildfire in a castle brimming with people like Winterfell was these days.

There was no mention of the possible match by the King. Yet, the way Myrcella turned scarlet anytime she looked at his face was evident enough that it had been brought up with her. Each time he saw the little girl smiling and trying to charm him, a pang of guilt tore through his being for the cruel fate that awaited them both if his plans were to succeed.

Yet there was no other way. As much as she cared for the adorable and innocent girl, he cared far more for his family, for Sansa and Robb, Arya and Rickon, and so forth.

He had no other choice. He had to do this.

"Is the food to your liking, my lady?" he asked softly as he passed her another plate of venison, knowing her preferences rather well because of the years he had spent in the Red Keep.

"Yes, my lord," she replied bashfully as Cregan nodded and helped her to some warm water, much to her dismay.

"Here, that should help you wash it down," he said, and she nodded as she took a sip and began to ask him about the castle, though thankfully, he was able to divert her questions towards Sansa as he excused himself from the dinner, as he walked towards their so-called half-brother who was clearly in the verge of losing his sense because too much wine.

"I think that is enough wine for one single night," he whispered as he moved his giant cup to the side, making him look up.

And the scream and the rage that was about to spill out stopped the instant he saw his face, as he frowned nervously before casting a cursory glance towards the table, more specifically towards their mother.

"I am not here because of mother," Cregan clarified and saw his shoulders sag as he sighed with relief.

"I came here out of concern for you," he said as he saw another figure heading into the Hall.

"And I had a little thing that I needed to ask of you," he quickly added as he faced Jon who nodded.

"What do you need?" and his relationship with Jon was better than one would think, given that there was a shared sense of camaraderie between them on the basis that he thought of them both as being abandoned by their father.

He was the bastard, while Cregan had been sent away to the capital.

Plus, Cregan had always tried to treat him as a sibling, and right now, with the rest of the siblings busy, he knew he could only lean on him for the little gambit he was about to play.

"I was hoping you could go and talk to the bard playing the tunes and perhaps ask him his name," he began.

"Why?" he asked, with a frown as Cregan placed a hand on his shoulders.

"I will explain later, and if the man says that his name is Bael, then could you perhaps tell him that I wish to meet him in the yard later? And do tell Jory and the rest to keep an eye on the man and not to let him leave until we have had our talk," he added, and he could tell that Jon had many questions.

Yet he nodded nonetheless. As he rose up from the chair, his direwolf 'Ghost' followed after him from under the table

"I will do it," he said, torn through the crowd as Cregan walked towards the entrance from the sides, smiling at the man approaching him.

"Cregan," the man greeted warmly, dressed in Black wool and a black doublet. His face was similar to his own, for they shared blood.

"Uncle Benjen," he greeted the man as he wrapped his own arms around the man.

"You have grown up so much, my boy," he spoke warmly as they separated, and he looked him up and down. And he saw the man's eyes soften as they landed on the cane in his arm before he smiled.

"You look just like your father," and Cregan shrugged.

"I have been told that many times," and Benjen Stark was perhaps the most complicated of the Stark men. He had chosen to take the Black after the rebellion, and though it was not out of tradition for the Starks to do that, the real reason was something else entirely.

Benjen Stark had not done so for honor and duty. He had taken the Black because of guilt because he believed himself to be the cause of his family's demise, for his brother and father's death.

For in this entire Hall, he was the only person apart from him who knew of Lyanna Stark's greatest secret—one that could unravel this whole realm.

"So, when did you return?" he asked as he picked up a goblet of ale from a serving girl as Cregan answered.

"A few months ago. I rode ahead of the Royal family and came here through White Harbor," he answered as the man drowned the ale.

"I have missed such warm ale," he added with a hint of regret in his tone.

"Then you should have stayed," Cregan added seriously, and the man felt his words cut as he clicked his tongue and replied in a whisper.

"I just could not," and then he smiled once more.

"So is that the Princess," he asked with a raised brow, looking towards the table where Sansa was catering to Myrcella as Cregan sighed weakly.

"How could you know that? You just came here," and the man was still in his riding gear.

"I know much more than you think, boy," he added with a boisterous laugh as Jon joined them from behind.

"You were right, Cregan, his name was indeed 'Bael'..." and that was all he needed to hear as he felt his heart sink, while Jon's words left him as he saw the person standing beside him.

"Uncle Benjen!" he gasped out as he hugged the man, and he saw Benjen's gaze turn warm at the sight of Jon.

"Jon, how have you been, my boy," he asked as Cregan's own gaze turned towards the bard in question, who, while still playing his tunes, was eyeing him with a curious gaze, and so much was running through his own head about what to do from here.

But he had to make a move. He had to.

"Take me with you!" Jon requested desperately, and he could see the conflict in Benjen's eyes.

"I am ready," Jon pleaded as Cregan cut in.

"No, you are not," and both Jon and their seemed taken aback by his words.

"The Wall already has a Stark manning it. It has no need for another one," he added as he looked towards their uncle.

"And you are a Stark Jon, so your place is here beside us. With us," he added as he shook his eyes at Benjen.

"And let no one tell you any different," he spoke powerfully as Jon stood there looking at him with surprise before suddenly they were joined by another person.

"Benjen!" Their father joined in, and he came upon them and hugged their uncle. Jon and he got away, and Jon continuously looked at him with a gaze laced with questions as their uncle and father hugged one another.

Yet suddenly, his father turned towards him.

"I thought you were supposed to be with the Princess," he asked sharply and Cregan nodded, knowing that this was a command he could not deny.

"I was just going back," he said as their father nodded. With a final glance at his uncle, Cregan turned towards the table once more and walked back to his seat as the King fondled a serving wench, now sitting on his lap.

"Pardon me, princess, for leaving you with my sister. I had to take care of a little task," he apologized. Sansa raised a brow, and Myrcella shook her head.

"There is no need for that, my lord. Your sister has been perfectly hospitable," and she was a Princess, as Cregan smiled warmly at Sansa, who seemed far more at ease than their elder sibling.

And if the scowl on Robb's face was anything to go by, he was not having an easy time dealing with the Joffrey.

"Where did you go, brother?" Sansa asked.

"I..." Before he could think of an excuse, he felt something touch his leg. Looking down, he saw Aurora climbing up his leg. The little gremlin settled down in his lap, and Myrcella nearly backed away in fear.

"I went to get her," he added quickly as he petted his little Direwolf's head as it purred against his hand, and it barely fit in his lap now, as Mother gave him a short glare filled with disapproval.

"Is that the direwolf?" Myrcella asked in awe and fear as Cregan nodded.

"Yes, her name is Aurora," he spoke as he saw her look at it in awe.

"And she is harmless," and that was a lie. She was not exactly harmless. She was a direwolf and, even at her current size, could tear through a man's neck with ease.

"Come, pet her," he said as Aurora turned to face, and the Princess seemed to hesitate as she looked at him.

"I promise you it will be fine," he said reassuringly. In the end, she nodded and slowly put forward her hand, raising a brow at the light grey Aurora. A single tug at their connection was all it took, and the girl pushed forward her head and let Myrcella pet her.

She smiled in delight and relief as Aurora licked her hand, and a second later, she jumped out of his lap and into her own.

"Ohh," but by then, Myrcella's fear had vanished, and she began to play with Aurora as Cregan smiled and Sansa complained.

"How do you have yours so well trained?" she asked, with a hint of envy.

"That, my dear sister, is a secret..."

0000

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