Chapter 58 – " Snakes and Wolves"
Snowflakes had begun to lighten, but the cold still clung to the bones of Frosthall as if winter itself refused to leave. The gates stood tall, vigilant, when the riders from Dorne arrived — sun-born warriors entering a land of snow.
Their horses were lean and swift, their eyes sharper still. Obara led with her spear strapped high. Nymeria followed, calculating and unreadable. Tyene hummed softly, smiling sweetly as she looked upon the imposing walls of Frosthall.
The Frostguard eyed them with caution. But Cregan Stark stood calm at the gate, arms folded, Jon Snow at his side.
"You came," Cregan said, voice low and clear.
"Of course," Obara said. "We are daughters of Oberyn Martell. We keep our word."
Nymeria's gaze scanned Frosthall's towers. "Cold," she said. "But beautiful."
"I like it," Tyene added, smiling up at Cregan. "So serious. Like you."
Cregan blinked. "You haven't seen me laugh yet."
Obara's brow arched. "We'll test that. Among other things."
Cregan smirked. "Your father warned me."
Jon muttered, "And yet you accepted."
Nymeria dismounted. "We're not here to play courtly games, Lord Stark. You agreed to Oberyn's proposal. But don't expect us to be docile."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Obara crossed her arms. "So what now? Are we to be stashed away like Southern ladies?"
"This is Frosthall," Cregan said. "There are no idle hands here. Train. Spar. Ride. Bleed, if you must. That's how things are earned in the North."
Obara's eyes gleamed. "Good."
---
A Wolf's Counsel
Later that night, in the solar above the great hall, Cregan, Robb, and Jon sat at a table littered with maps, coin-counts, and letters from their trading ports.
Jon pointed to the sea lanes stretching from White Harbor to Myr. "We've been careless with the trade routes. Cogs carry more than food and silver — they carry our future. If the Lannisters cut even one route... it would bleed us."
Robb frowned. "You're right. We've armed the land. But we've left our sea-lanes vulnerable."
"We reinforce the cogs," Jon said. "Blacksteel plating. Armed decks. Rotate in Company of the Rose veterans as guards."
Cregan nodded. "I'll contact Myra Volant. Tell her I want ten captains. War-seasoned. And I want a shipwright from Tyrosh or Lys to oversee refits."
Robb raised a cup. "Then we'll build a fleet not just for gold — but for survival."
---
After settling in their chambers and enduring an impromptu frostbath courtesy of the Northern winds, the Sand Snakes wandered the vast grounds of Frosthall. For all their bravado, none of them had ever seen a place quite like this.
They had expected cold stone and colder faces.
Instead, they found a living fortress — beasts, steel, snow, and discipline all woven into one.
Horses roamed untethered across the training fields, not wild, but not leashed either. Enormous northern hounds lazed by smithy fires, unmuzzled and unchained, rising only when a new face approached. Guards treated them more like soldiers than animals.
And then came the wolves.
Obara stopped mid-stride when Boulder — easily twice the size of any dog in Dorne — bounded past them, covered in snow and snarling playfully as he chased after a soldier with a training spear.
"What in the seven hells was that?" she demanded.
"A direwolf," said a Frostguard casually, as if commenting on the weather.
Tyene leaned closer to Nymeria. "That one was larger than any horse I've ever ridden."
"I also saw one," Nymeria murmured, "white-furred and silent. Just... watching me. Like it was judging me."
Obara scoffed but didn't hide the tension in her shoulders. "Even the beasts here are warriors."
---
The Forge and the Quill
While Frosthall's lords planned above, the clang of steel echoed below.
Samwell Tarly wiped sweat from his brow as he struggled to lift a hammer for the fifth time that day. Gendry, shirtless and steam-covered, shook his head.
"You swing like you're petting a cat," Gendry said, laughing.
"I'm not used to this much... weight," Sam gasped.
"Neither is the forge," Gendry quipped, handing him a smaller hammer. "Try this."
Cregan appeared suddenly, arms crossed. "How's he doing?"
"Soft," Gendry said honestly, "but determined."
Cregan walked up to Sam. "You're not meant to become a blacksmith. But you'll forge strength all the same."
Sam nodded, panting. "I want to. I have to."
"Good," Cregan said. "Because once the forge tempers your body, I'll train you in the battleaxe."
Sam froze. "You... will?"
"You'll learn how to kill. So that you won't need to." Cregan paused. "And I'll teach you myself. But only once you can lift that hammer properly."
Samwell blinked fast, stunned. "Thank you, my lord."
"Don't thank me yet," Gendry muttered. "Wait till your arms fall off tomorrow."
Samwell grinned in spite of himself.
---
That evening, as the first stars pierced the snow-clouds, the direwolves gathered at the edge of the Frosthall woods.
Echo padded out first, silver-grey and silent. Nymeria followed, flanked by Moonlance, calm as ever. Boulder charged out last, tackling Kael into the snow.
Kael yelped and twisted free. You pups still think I'm slow?
Moonlance chuffed once. They learn. Eventually.
Cregan stood at the treeline, cloak dusted in white. The wolves encircled him, their bodies pressing close, their breath misting together in the cold. He knelt beside Kael, fingers curling into the old direwolf's thick fur.
Samwell and Gendry watched from a distance — silent.
"He's not like I expected," Sam murmured.
"What? Scarier?" Gendry asked.
"No... more like... he's more Wilder."
Gendry nodded. "Yeah. Like he was born with the wolves, not just raised with them."
---
The three Dornish sisters ventured deeper toward the tree line, following the sound of growls and rustling snow. And then they saw him.
Cregan Stark.
Lying in the snow at the center of a circle of direwolves.
Kael rested against his side like an old sentry, his grey coat nearly blending with the furs Cregan wore. Echo sat upright at his feet, yellow eyes sharp and wary. Nymeria lay curled beside Shadow who was sleeping. Boulder sprawled belly-up, snoring like a thundercloud, while Moonlance lean, quiet, and elegant — watched the approaching sisters with cool curiosity.
"Is he... sleeping?" Tyene whispered, astonished.
"Sleeping," Obara echoed. "In the snow. Surrounded by beasts that could rip his throat out in a blink."
Nymeria Sand said nothing at first. Her eyes lingered on the wolves, then on the man they encircled.
"No," she said softly. "They wouldn't harm him. They don't just follow him. He's one of them."
Cregan stirred slightly and opened one eye, glancing toward the trio. A ghost of a smile played on his lips.
"You're staring," he said.
"You're lying in snow like a madman," Obara replied, arms crossed.
Kael growled lightly at her tone. Obara stepped back, hand brushing her spear.
Cregan stroked Kael's head once. The growling stopped.
"No titles, no commands," Cregan said as he sat up, flakes sliding from his cloak. "When I'm here, I'm just another wolf at rest."
Tyene looked around, awe slipping into her voice. "You trust them... this deeply?"
"They're my pack," Cregan said. "They've bled with me. Killed for me. Saved me. These aren't hounds trained to heel — they're family."
Obara looked down at Boulder's snoring, snow-covered form. "And you call us dangerous."
Cregan stood, brushing snow from his arms. "I'm not afraid of danger, Obara. I just prefer to face it with the right teeth."
Kael let out a low, rumbling bark, as if in agreement.
The sisters said nothing as he walked past them.
---
Only when they were gone did Tyene whisper, "I think I understand now why Father chose him."
Nymeria turned toward the fading tracks in the snow. "He doesn't just command power... he lives with it. Breathes it. He's unlike any man in the South."
Obara tilted her head. "So... still want to test him?"
Nymeria's smile was slow and dangerous. "More than ever."
---
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