Chapter 43
WYMAN MANDERLY
More than a year ago, a young Stark boy had walked into his castle and spoken of war and troubling times. He had sought his aide in helping the North prepare for this troubling time, and though his age did discredit him, the boy was a Stark.
And House Manderly prided itself in being loyal to the Starks. Doubtful as he was of the young Stark's words, he had offered him his aide, for in the end, helping him cost him next to nothing, for winter had come, and no amount of grain was enough.
In the end, more than a year had passed. It was a tumultuous year, filled with death, plots, and treason, yet the Seven Kingdoms had been spared the tragedy of war. Yet even with all his efforts, Cregan Stark could not undo the fates, and now the boys' fears had come true.
War had come to the Seven Kingdoms—a great war that was set to engulf the entire realm.
For his loyalty and aid, Wyman was awarded with a position on the late King Robert's council as Cregan Stark helped uncover the treason of the previous Master of Coin. It was a repayment obviously, by the boy for the favor he had done him.
A great honor, even though he would have much preferred it if the Starks would join their House as he had hoped. However, even he would admit that his House could never truly match the prestige of a Royal House.
A prestige and position that had only become more important and powerful after the demise of King Robert and his son. Even now, as the Sun had set, Wyman could hear the sounds of men rioting and screaming as they all remained huddled in the Red Keep, fighting a battle within their ranks as their enemy surrounded them on all sides.
The Burning, as it was being called, was the most tragic affair that had taken place in the city since its sacking during the rebellion, though the number of people that had died in this attack easily dwarfed the number that was killed during the sack.
Tens of thousands of people had burned as a direct result of the pyre, and until then, thousands more had died because of the riots and looting, as all efforts on behalf of the Crown to maintain order turned fruitless.
The people, they called them heathens, insulting him and the Hand on the basis of their religion while calling the Queen and her children products on incest, tattling the very claims made by Stannis Baratheon.
These were troubling times, and it was all compounded by the shadow war between the Lannister and the Stark forces, as the Queen tried to wrestle away the control and power from the Starks, sparking a civil war within their ranks when they needed unity the most.
His liege lord was much troubled as well, broken by the news of the demise of his lady wife. And it had happened so suddenly, and with such haste, and the realm had been at peace just a few days ago, and now war had broken out in all parts of the realm.
"Renly Baratheon has declared himself the King," he informed Lord Eddard Stark, whose face had aged by decades in a few days, and the man's shoulders sagged as he sat there in his solar surrounded by books, tomes, missives, and wine.
"What?" and he was just as surprised as Wyman, as he passed on the message he had been given by the acolytes while they sat in his solar under the light of the lamps.
Sleep had become a luxury since the war had broken out, and neither of them had slept for more than a few hours as they remained busy trying to put out one fire after another, both in reality and figuratively.
"Yes, most of the Stormlands and the Reach have rallied behind him, and he has declared himself a King." And now, this was the third claimant for the throne.
"He has named his elder brother Stannis a kinslayer and has also called the Starks as traitors to the Crown for supporting the claim of Myrcella Baratheon." The Warden of the North's expression stiffened as he began to skim over the missive.
And the youngest Baratheon brother now gathered a host of his own, numbering around eighty thousand strong men, armed with Tyrell gold and fed by Tyrell grain.
"To think that both Lord Stannis and Lord Renly would try to usurp their own niece like this, power truly does blind a man." The Starks were now in the middle of this conflict because of the marriage pact between Myrcella Baratheon and Cregan Stark, the future Queen and King consort.
And it had been centuries since that title had been used, and Wyman could only recall one person who had donned this title before—Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince during the Dance had donned this very title, and perhaps it was fate that even at that time the realm had erupted in a civil war, just like it had now.
Lord Stark rubbed his eyes as he put down the missive.
"What about the riots?" he asked, and Wyman was ashamed as he admitted his shortcomings.
"We are unable to get back control over the entire city. I had the men open the gates today, and they have secured much of the city. However, Fleabottom and the peripheral areas are still drowned in chaos," and that was mostly because they were being forced to fight this battle with only half of their force, as the Queen refused to let them order the Gold Cloaks.
"If we are to have a chance of defending and holding the city, we must end this divide in the Red Keep. The Queen may believe that her father's armies make it so that she has no need of us, but the truth is that Lord Tywin's armies will be too late," for Lord Stannis had given them but a week to make their decision.
The man had offered them a chance to surrender or fight. And until now, they had raised but a few thousand men as levies, which was not enough. Not enough at all.
"Winterfell and Riverrun must declare for Myrcella Baratheon and Cregan. They should be wed at once so that this divide may be buried," he suggested the most appropriate solution he could think.
For if this divide were to end, and the Gold Cloaks were to rejoin the fold, they could quickly gain control of the city and raise at least five thousand good men. With a seasoned commander at the helm, holding Kingslanding until aid arrived was not impossible.
But that was only possible if this divide ended. And through this marriage, they would be able to control three of the Seven Kingdoms directly while holding onto the Crownlands.
"Has there been any response from Pyke?" his liege lord asked, ignoring his suggestion for some reason. And he had written to Balon Greyjoy, asking the Lord of the Pyke to do his duty and come to their aid, yet the man ignored the letters of the Hand, seemingly not even caring about his son who lay hostage beside them.
"No, there has been no answer," and it could be a coincidence, but Balon's hatred for the Starks and the Baratheons was no secret.
"I should have expected nothing less of Balon Greyjoy," and the man ground his teeth, for this meant that the blockade could not be lifted and that Stannis was free to attack them.
"Keep an eye on Theon Greyjoy and write to Robb to shore up the defences along the shore line. Warn the Flints, the Dustins, and the Mormonts to keep an eye on any raiders," and he nodded, for it seemed wise.
"I must also ask House Manderly to send some men to the Moat," and he agreed quickly.
"We are your loyal servants my lord, House Manderly will do as you command," and the Warden of the North nodded.
"The castle is in a decrepit state, but it should act as a good defense in case the Raiders try to enter the North. A thousand men will be enough to hold it against a considerable force," and the man sighed as he leaned back and rubbed his eyes.
"Perhaps I should have listened to Cregan all those years ago and should have gotten some of it repaired," he lamented, as Wyman's eyes narrowed at those words.
"Lord Cregan wished to see the Moath rebuilt," he asked, and Lord Stark nodded.
"Yes, he wrote to me quite a few times about it. In the end, I kept pushing it forward, hoping that when he grew older, I could name him the Lord of the Moat, and then he could do the repairs himself," but it was too late now, and Cregan Stark was a lord now.
But of a different castle. A very large castle.
"Lord Cregan wrote to me as well. He is gathering a host at Harrenhall as we speak and has promised to ride to our aide, as soon as he can," but Lord Stark shook his head.
"No. Tell him to take the host to Riverrun," he said, making his eyes widen.
"Why?" he asked.
"We must protect the Princess Myrcella. If Renly's intentions are as clear as he says, he will not sit idle. The armies of the Reach can quickly head towards Riverrun, so we must defend it at all costs," and that was wise of him.
"Regardless of the Queen's actions and intentions, she is the heir to the throne right now. I would see her safe," though Wyman would much rather see her safe and wedded, but still, he would do as he was asked.
"I will see that the message is conveyed, but if his host leaves for Riverrun, then we will be without any aid for quite some time. We must then hold the castle against Lord Stannis's forces for an even longer period of time." Lord Stark's lips thinned as he understood his intentions.
"I know," he agreed in a tired voice before he looked into his eyes and continued.
"I shall meet with the Queen and try and make her see sense..."
0000
CREGAN STARK
Cegan felt himself falling through the skies, and yet even as he fell, the ground continued to move farther away as his body continued to fall.
And he had felt something similar sometime ago, when he had visited the North. This was the same thing as back then, when he had first been warned by the Three-Eyed Raven.
CAW. CAW.
The crow's caws made him look around as the wind hit his face, and he looked around and saw a crow flying beside him. A pitch-black raven with three white eyes.
And immediately, he began to shore up his defences, trying to use his own prowess to push away this invader, until he heard a whisper in his ear.
"Wait!" and the voice was similar, old and raspy and filled with grunts.
"Wait," he said, and he stopped. As he blinked his eyes, he found himself on the ground. He was alone in a distant land, surrounded by nothing but snow. Snow and a small cave with roots and branches protruding from it.
"Come in," came the voice, yet he did not move, his heart racing. He had an inkling about what this place was, about what lay inside the cave.
And so, he did not move. Knowing that the man inside was no ally of his, though a second later he saw a shadow walking out of the cave, a small shadow and his eyes widened as this person walked out of the cave.
"It has been quite some time, Cregan Stark." It was a small, young face, one he had seen a year ago in Winterfell.
"Jojen," he called out, and the small boy, clad in green clothes, nodded.
"Where am I?" he asked, and the boy raised a brow.
"You are in Harrenhall," and indeed he was in Harrenhall, readying a host to depart for Kingslanding.
"The better question would be, what is this place?" the boy continued in a sing-song voice, as Cregan remained quiet.
"But you already know the answer to that as well." With that, the green-eyed boy turned around and began to walk back inside the cave.
"Come. Follow me. We do not have much time," and reluctant and afraid as he was, Cregan's feet began to move as he slowly walked towards the entrance of the cave. His breath was cold, his pain and limp forgotten, as he walked inside the cave and saw a tree spreading all over. Its wood had turned thin and brittle, but it gave a thousand branches that covered every corner of the cave.
And in the centre was the trunk, with branches coiled around it, and all that remained of the infamous Blood-raven was a thin face that looked as if it was becoming one with the tree itself.
"Brynden Rivers," he whispered, and those lifeless eyes narrowed as that familiar voice drawled on.
"It has been years since someone has called me by that name," and Cregan felt a chill run down his spine as that gaze narrowed at him.
"Yet I should have expected nothing less of you, Stark. You lot always were a troublesome, but you are the worst of them all," he cursed in rage before his voice failed him as he began to cough.
GUGH! GUGH!
"Just say what you have to, we do not have much time," Jojen added from the side, and now the green-eyed boy sat at the heel of the tree, underneath its branches, as he leaned back on it, and Cregan did not miss how the branches and the roots seem to be moving on their own and coiling around him.
"You boy have done the most stupid thing possible. I gave you the chance to leave and live your life in peace, yet you foolishly chose to defy me and decided to change the song written three hundred years ago," the old man raged at him, his voice booming in the cave.
"I had to do something," Cregan countered as the man scoffed.
"And look where that has gotten you. War has come regardless of your actions, and yet now there is no prophecy or refuge for humanity to seek comfort in," and Cregan's lips thinned.
"Have you brought me here to chastise me?" he asked coldly, looking the man in the eye, who grunted in response.
"No. I have brought you here to warn you," and Cregan's heart chilled at those words.
"The Nig..."
"DO NOT TAKE HIS NAME!" the Bloodraven thundered as Cregan felt the air become colder as Bloodraven's eyes lit up.
"You have done enough damage. But yes, the evil beyond the Wall grows powerful by the day, and without my proper replacement, the only way I can slow it down is by turning my entire focus towards the affairs beyond the wall," and Cregan frowned at that.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked, as the man scoffed.
It means that, from today on, you will be on your own entirely. My influence and power are already much weak in the South, but after today, I shall turn my eye away from the affairs beyond the wall and exert all my efforts in trying to slow down the Great evil coming for us all as much as I can." and Cregan finally understood his point.
"I hate you for what you have done, but in the end, you now carry the burden of humanity's fate on your shoulders. Know that if you fail, death will prevail, and humanity will cease to exist," and he gasped at those words as that heavy burden settled on his shoulders.
"So, forget about honor, mercy, and tradition and win. Kill, eat, devour, betray. Do what you must, but ensure that you win! For the fate of humanity is now tied to your own," and this was his doing, the result of his actions.
He had taken this path, and now he must walk on.
"I will," he assured the old, decrepit man, who met his gaze.
"And remember Cregan," and this time it was Jojen who spoke, and his body was now entirely covered by a cocoon of branches and roots as the tree began to grow around him, and Cregan felt it turn greener and healthier as some life returned to those leaves and wood.
"The fate of the world now rests in your hand," and with that, the pressure on him began to lessen as he felt himself being pushed out.
"I am leaving my greatest treasure to you boy," Bloodraven's voice came out, as he saw a few of the branches pull away to reveal a blade, one whose pattern and steel he recognised at once.
"Dark Sister," he guessed.
"Your uncle shall bring it to you. Use it wisely," he said as Cregan felt himself pushed into the skies.
"As for me, this will be the last time we talk. So, I am leaving you a gift as well," and in a few blinks Cregan felt his weight vanish, as he began to fly through the lands, and he had no control over his body as he flew through the air.
And it was the trees and forests underneath him that he saw. And a road cutting in between them, a wide paved road that was showing signs of wear and tear, and his heart stilled as he looked ahead and saw an army marching on that road, one which was some thousands strong, supporting various banners from the Reach and Stormlands.
And yet, what was more concerning was the direction of the march.
If this was the Reach, as he expected it to be, then Kingslanding was located to its East, and yet the army was not marching east. No, it was marching towards the North.
And then he felt his eyes grow heavier, with every blink as he flew over the marching men, and a whisper shook him awake.
"Good luck, Cregan Stark...."
.
.
.
"AHHHH!" he woke with a shriek, as sweat covered his entire body. His chest heaved as he looked around and found only darkness. It took him a few seconds to recognize where he was, as he glanced behind him towards the giant Heart tree of Harrenhall.
His mind was a mess, yet he was certain that what he had witnessed was not a dream. No, it was real. And so, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he pushed himself up and walked towards the corridor where four guards now stood, to protect him.
"Are you going to your chambers, my lord?" he asked, and Cregan shook his head.
"No," he said.
"I am going to my solar," and as he walked past them, he stopped.
"Go and call on Lord Tyrion, tell him that I have need of him," he said and the guards nodded, and before he made to move Cregan added quickly.
"And have one of the acolytes bring me a detailed map of the Reach. I will have need of it...."
0000
Miles and miles away, in a castle built along the island of Pyke, a young girl walked into a decrepit hall as a man sat on a giant sea stone chair.
"You summoned me, father," she spoke, as she knelt down.
"Yes, my daughter, I need you to do something for me..."
0000
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