Chapter 4
CREGAN STARK
The Red Keep had been in mourning due to the death of the Hand of the King and the whole court speculated about whom would the King choose as his next Hand. Cregan already had an idea whom the King would choose.
Cregan was not fond of the King. The man had been the reason he was away from his home. His home that was set to face an existential crisis in about a decade. Cregan was not a genius per se, yet his knowledge and insight could have helped him prepare the North for the incoming crisis. Yet, here he sat in the capital, his freedom curbed as he tried to blend into the background, trying to avoid the attention of the players of this deadly game, away from the protection and security the North would have afforded him.
But nonetheless, he had made most of his stay, and now it was time for him to make his move, for he knew that winter was coming.
Robert Baratheon had been a great warrior; he was quick to laugh, and Cregan could see the appeal the man was said to have. He was brave and was easy to friend. Yet that was where the good parts came to an end.
Robert Baratheon was a failure as a king, brother, husband, and father. He sat there at the head of the table. His face flushed, for he was already halfway down in his cups as they sat down for their last meal of the day. Despite the mourning, the chefs had prepared a feast with roasted lamb and several other meats and soups.
He sat to the side of Myrcella, conversing with the blonde girl in a soft voice as the Queen and her firstborn glared at us from above the table. Cregan would have liked nothing more to have his meal in silence, yet the Princess had a penchant for clinging to his side and pestering him anytime she could.
And though she was a child yet and probably thought of him as a simple elder brother, Cregan knew that things would change as she grew up in a couple of years. Not to mention, he was aware of the way the Robert Baratheon would look at them, with that marked glint in his eyes.
"I have made my decision," suddenly the King spoke up, his words slurred slightly, his face flushed showing that the man was drunk, though in the three years, Cregan had been in the city, there was seldom a time the man was sober.
Yet even as he was fat and bloated, one could not deny the strength of the man. Even now, the whole table had shaken from his simple slap.
Everyone turned to look at the man, though Cregan already had an idea of what the man was about to say.
"We shall ride North to Winterfell in a moon's time. I plan to name Eddard Stark as the next hand," declared the King, and he didn't miss how Renly Baratheon's fists balled up opposite to him, though it was the Queen who spoke up.
"But Robert, there are better options, my fathe…." But before she could finish, Robert slammed the table once again and spoke in a disgusted tone.
"No! My mind is made, and I will not suffer any more of your Lannister shits brimming around this keep! We shall ride to the North in a moon, and all of you shall ride with me," he said, and the Queen's lips thinned as the King insulted her whole family so openly.
"And who shall rule the capital if all of us are to leave for the North? You could simply write to the man and have him summoned to the capital," commented the King's younger brother. He was much leaner than the King, and was said to resemble a young Robert Baratheon, with both of them having taken after their father, with Stannis taking after their Estermont mother.
"No, it has been too long since I have been stuck in this rotten, foul-smelling city. We shall take the King's road through the Riverlands and feast with the Lord there. It would be good for the realm to see their King," the King nearly shouted as he looked towards his brother.
"You shall remain here in my place. You and the rest of the Council shall see to the running of the Kingdoms," the King spoke, and Renly Baratheon nodded. The man would probably enjoy that. With Stannis Baratheon away from the capital, that would mean he would be the most powerful man in the capital for some time.
However, Cregan knew this wouldn't lessen the blow of Robert passing over his own blood to make his father the Hand.
"As you say, brother," said the younger Baratheon, and Cregan cut in before the King could leave the chamber.
"Your grace, I wish to say something."
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ROBERT BARATHEON
Robert Baratheon would not shy away from his faults, for he had many. And as he stared down at the table in front of him, some of them stared back at him. His wife, Tywin's precious daughter, glared at him. His eldest, who resembled his uncle more than him, paid little attention to his duties or his family, pranced around the castle like a damn peacock. And sometimes Robert wished he had accepted the Old Lion's offer of having the kid fostered at Casterly Rock, though Cersei would have murdered him in his sleep for it.
The boy was a disgrace to him, a craven to the core. A cruel boy with cruel taste, he lacked any of that Baratheon fury. His eyes then moved to the boy who had just spoken up, Cregan Stark, the child his friend had sent to foster with him. However, it was Jon who had taken the boy under his wing.
The boy was his father coming again with eyes of steel. He was quiet enough that one would sometimes forget of his presence. It was a shame that the boy could never be a knight with his injury, yet despite that, Barristan told him the boy drilled with the other squires, drilled hard on the basics, and was ahead of his son, who was older than him.
"Speak up, boy," Robert motioned for the boy to speak up, his patience running thin with every passing second, knowing that Cersei was going to pester him about his decision of choosing Ned over her goddamn father.
"Your grace, the ride to Winterfell is long and arduous. With my leg, riding for so long will be troublesome, I hope to seek your permission to take a ship to the North. It would make the journey much easier for me," the boy requested, and since his arrival in the capital, it was the first time the boy had sought something from him.
It had been three years since the boy had arrived in the capital as a boy of nine, and Robert had hoped that the boy would bond with his son, like had with Ned in their time together in the Eyrie.
Yet, unlike him and Ned, there was none of that comradery between Joffrey and Ned's son. Joffrey often scowled as he felt frustrated by how a crippled barbarian from the North was ahead of him in their lessons.
"Is there any ship in the bay bound for Winterfell?" he questioned, knowing that the ride would indeed be uncomfortable for the boy and going by ship would be better for him.
"Yes, your grace, a small trading caravan from White Harbor is docked there. They are set to leave in a week. I could sail with them," the young boy answered eagerly.
"Let the boy take the ship. Why must you punish him and force him to ride all the way to his home?" Renly cut in from the side, and Robert nodded.
There was sense in his brother's words. Moreover, it would give the boy some time to meet with his family.
"You have my permission," he then turned towards Renly.
"Have the captain of the ship summoned to court tomorrow and make sure everything is in order," he ordered, and Renly nodded.
"It shall be done, brother," and with that, Robert decided that he had had enough of this abysmal meal and walked out of the room.
Perhaps a fine lass should elevate his mood.
The fostering of Ned's son had failed to achieve what he had wanted, yet there was still hope. There may not have been comradery between him and his son, but the boy was said to have a twin as well, a lass with his mother's coloring.
Perhaps a match with the lass could help change Joffrey.
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Earlier in the day, a rider would come and inform of a captured deserter. Eddard of House Stark would ride with a small retinue for the beheading, taking his second youngest Bran with him, yet he would return with seven little dire wolf children each for one of his children.
Even the one far away from their lands.
EDDARD STARK
Eddard Stark sat in the Godswood, beneath the heart tree, as he cleaned the blood off his House's ancestral sword. His mind was still lost in the words of the deserter he had beheaded.
There had been fear in those eyes, fear the kind which a liar would never have. And then there was that direwolf and its pups. He was not superstitious, yet there were powers at play, and he couldn't ignore them.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard footsteps approach him from the side and looked up to find his lady wife walking towards him, with a troubled face.
"All these years and I still feel as if I am an outsider coming here," she remarked, and he chuckled as he put away the blade.
"You have six Northern children, my lady. You are no outsider. Plus, it's your Gods with all the rules," he joked and saw her lips thin at his words, though her furrowed brows told him that she had come here with troubled news.
"I am sorry, my love, but this arrived from the capital earlier," she said, her voice creaking as she handed him a missive, its seal already broken showing that she had read it.
"Jon Arryn is dead," and the words hit him hard, his body stilling as he processed the words. Jon Arryn, the man who was like a father to him, was dead.
He opened the missive, wishing to see how the man had died.
"The fever took him. The Maester says that he passed peacefully in his sleep," she added as she sat down beside him. As he closed his eyes, the letter from Cregan had informed him of the man's illness, yet Eddard had not expected the man to die so suddenly.
He continued reading the missive and was surprised at the mention of Cregan's return.
"Cregan's coming back," and Catelyn nodded, a small smile appearing on her face at the return of her son.
"Yes, he will be taking the ship to White Harbor. The King plans to follow him along with his retinue," she added, and he read that part as well.
"The King's hand dies, and suddenly and then he rides to the North, you know what he will want?" she added, and he did despite wishing that he didn't,
"He wishes to make me his hand," he reasoned out as he glanced towards Catelyn, who nodded.
"I believe so as well," she answered.
"I will deny him. I cannot leave the North," he argued, having no wish to step foot in the capital again. His mood soured by his last visit as he recalled the haunting scenes from all those years ago.
Bodies of children wrapped in red. Mutilated beyond recognition, as Robert roared in rage.
"Dragonspawn!"
"You cannot deny a king. He shall not be persuaded easily," she argued, and he shook his head.
"I know Robert," he began, but she cut him off.
"You knew him as a friend. He rides to Winterfell as a King. Plus, there are chances that he may even wish to join our houses," she told him, making him frown.
And he knew that one day he would have to marry his children, yet it all seemed so rushed.
He held his hand as a dull ache began to unsettle him.
"Let me think, in the meantime, make preparations for Robert's arrival and have some guards sent to White Harbor to escort Cregan when he arrives."
Catelyn nodded and then left him in the Godswood as he pondered over this new dilemma.
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A slower chap. But the soup simmers!
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