The Crippled Wolf: Stark SI (GOT)

Chapter 2

GRANDMAESTER PYCELLE

Pycelle had served four kings in his time as a Maester, starting with the reign of King Maekar and three as a Grandmaester. He had taught Kings and Princes, watched one dynasty fall and another dynasty rise after the rebellion of Robert Baratheon saw the rule of the House of the Dragon come to an end.

The alliance of the direwolf and stag, nurtured in the cloud-kissing Halls of the Eyrie under the ever-watching and honorable gaze of Lord Jon Arryn, had brought an end to two hundred and eighty-two years of Targaryen rule. Yet neither the Stag nor the Direwolf had emerged victorious from the war.

No, the true victor of the rebellion had been House Lannister, as Tywin Lannister ended the reign of Aerys Targaryen and his line and achieved his goal of seating his own blood on the Iron Throne and getting his revenge on the Mad King for the various insults the man had dolled on his proverbial friend and servant.

As he watched the young Prince scowl as he struggled to learn his sums and letters, he wondered just how long this reign would last. King Aerys Targaryen had been brilliant in his youth and had the makings of a good King, but over the years, that brilliance would fade, only to be replaced by jealousy and paranoia that would devoid him of his better senses and make him a prisoner to his own madness.

And yet, It was not all lost at once, though what remained of his better sense vanished only after his return from the heinous cells of Duskendale, as the King's paranoia won and turned him into the man who would go on to earn the moniker of the 'Mad King'.

And as he gazed into the green orbs of the Young Prince Baratheon, he wondered whether it was the same madness he had once seen in those amethyst eyes. The Prince scowled as he put down his quill forcefully, breaking it in rage as he stood up from his seat and scowled.

"I grow tired of this," he spoke imperiously as if he was the King as if they were all so beneath him. H

"I have no time for these childish lessons; I must attend to my other duties as Prince," the heir to the Iron Throne spoke haughtily, and Pycelle stood up and tried to persuade the young Prince to sit for some more time.

And yet he was not King yet, and Pycelle answered to powers that went beyond the young lad, and perhaps even beyond the King.

"But, my prince, the Queen…" but before he could finish, the Prince was out of the room, for both of them knew that the Queen's threat was meaningless. Queen Cersei doted heavily on her son and indulged all his whims, and though if he were to complain she would rebuke him for his belligerence, but would forgive and forget it all soon enough.

But the Prince would not, and so Pycelle would keep his mouth shut, for he had learned enough over the years not to offend the lords and Princes, especially those who would one day become Kings. For most, kings were petty and had long memories.

The Prince sauntered out of the room, leaving him alone with his other charges. In an effort to strengthen the alliance that had brought an end to the Targaryen rule, the King had asked the Lord of Winterfell to send one of his sons to foster in the capital.

And though reluctant, the Warden of the North was never one to deny his King and so as a dutiful bannermen of the Crown Lord Eddard Stark had sent his second son, Cregan Stark to the capital, a year after the end of the Greyjoy rebellion, in hopes of securing a better future for the boy.

They had hoped to cultivate a bond similar to their own between their two sons, and yet such a thing would not come to be.

For as the Prince and heir to the throne left the room, he left without casting a single glance towards the second son of Lord Eddard, who sat behind him, and yet he was not alone.

Pycelle could see that the King's hopes of fostering a bond similar to one between him and the Lord of Winterfell were shattered, but not all hope was lost much to the dismay of the Queen.

The King had been excited at first at the arrival of the young Stark, who had fallen from a tree during the Greyjoy rebellion, injuring his leg. The injury would partially cripple the young boy, taking from him his ability to run.

The boy could walk as any boy his age could for some time before pain would erupt in the appendage forcing the boy to rest. Many had thought that the handicap would destroy the dreams of wielding a sword or spear, yet the boy showed defiance and used milk of poppy to drown the pain as he trained with the sword.

And while he would never reach the fame of the Dragon Knight or the Bold, the young wolf was still decent with the blade for a boy his age.

And though King Robert's effort at fostering kinship between his son and the Cregan Stark had failed, a different bond had erupted between the King's daughter and the Stark boy. And Pycelle watched as the boy silently tutored the Princess in her sums and letters, the younger Prince, Prince Tommen would also join them but was absent today because of illness, much to the joy of the young Princess.

The Princess Myrcella, with blonde hair and green eyes was a spitting image of her mother at that age, and though she treated the Stark boy as a brother, Pycelle knew that it would take years, if not months for all that to change.

And he was not the only one. Both the King and the Queen saw that as well, and though the King rejoiced at this, the Queen was rather wroth with the whole idea of marrying her dear daughter to crippled barbarian, in contrast to the King who had even brought it up before only for the Queen to put it down.

But he doubted it would matter, for a Queen's power came from the love and respect of her King, and the whole court knew that there was little love between the King and the Queen.

The Queen had even spoken against the fostering from day one and had even convinced her father to offer to foster the boy as a replacement for him fostering at the capital just to keep him away from his dear daughter. Though the King had refused to listen to her, and unlike his other bastards, the Queen could not move against the Stark boy lest she incur the wrath of her lord husband and King, who for all his indulgences and proclivities saw and knew more than people realized.

"Are you done with the lesson, Princess," Pycelle questioned and saw both the Princess and the Stark boy look up, their gazes entirely different. Those innocent green eyes widened in surprise as if realizing only now that she was here to learn about her sons, while the grey piercing gaze of the Stark boy showed no emotion.

"Ahhh, yes, Grandmaster, I am," the Princess answered hurriedly as he looked towards the boy in question, whose hair now reached just above his shoulder, as he nodded.

"Yes, she has read Maester Morros's work. I believe she can now start learning about the Houses of the Riverlands and the Capital," the boy said, and Pycelle nodded, as the boy handed him back the Valyrian text.

"Good. Good," he paused as he walked towards the shelf with a hunched back and careful steps.

"Then that will be all, Princess. We shall start with the Houses of the Riverlands from tomorrow. I believe, young master Cregan would be able to help you with them, given that his mother hails from those lands," he added and didn't miss how the Princess's eyes glinted as she looked towards the boy to her side, as the boy nodded.

"Of course, Princess," the boy replied, and Pycelle watched as the Princess smiled sheepishly before she rushed out of the room as servants of the Queen came calling for her, leaving him alone with the Stark boy.

And Pycelle found the boy rather intriguing, through the course of their studies the boy had shown himself to be nothing special. Competent in his sums and letters, often showing proficiency similar to that shown by the Prince, despite being a year younger than him.

Yet Pycelle couldn't help but feel uncertain about the boy. His steely grey gaze felt odd. It was not the stare of a young boy. No, those eyes spoke of a heavy burden and age more approiate for men twice if not thrice his age. But perhaps it was just a young boy's yearning for home that had matured him a bit early.

After all, which child wouldn't miss his parents or siblings?

"One of the acolytes told me that you borrowed another text from the library?" Pycelle questioned as the boy placed the books back into the racks cobbled into the red-stoned walls of the Red Keep.

This was the other thing intriguing about the boy. His bookish nature had seen him devour much of the Royal Library, though the boy's choice of tomes often matched with that of another Lannister.

"Yes, it was Maester Martin's texts about the fall of the Valyrian empire," the boy answered after a pause, and Pycelle nodded. It was a rather interesting book detailing the rise and fall of the Valyrian freehold.

The boy's fascination with dragons and the Valyrian freehold nearly matched one shared by Tyrion Lannister, and Pycelle also knew that the Lord Lannister would often come to the library to share tales with the young Stark.

"I will return the text in five to six days," the boy offered, and Pycelle waved away as he pretended to cough into his hands.

"No, no. It is fine. There is no need for haste," he spoke as he sat down, though the boy didn't leave his crookery as he asked him a question.

"Is it true that Lord Arryn has fallen ill?" the boy questioned, and Pycelle missed the slight tremor in the boy's voice as he nodded sagely.

"Yes, he has."

0000

EDDARD STARK

The Halls of Winterfell were filled with the noise of bickering as Eddard Stark, the Lord of the castle, watched his two daughters bicker as the whole Stark household found themselves sitting down for their last meal of the day. No, not the whole household for there was one Stark missing from these Halls.

Night had fallen, and the lamps and fires had been lit up as the castle prepared for the chilling night, yet if one were to look at the energy with which Sansa and Arya fought with each other, one would scarcely imagine that night was about to fall.

He looked towards Catelyn, who was busy with their youngest, Rickon, and knew that it was up to him to reign in the two girls.

"Sansa, Arya, I heard letters arrived from Kingslanding today," he questioned, knowing the change in subject would end their bickering. It did, as the two girls turned to face him and nodded with a smile.

"Yes, Maester Luwin gave them to us in the morning. They were from Cregan," replied Arya with a smile, and of course, he knew of them as well. After all, he had received one himself, a letter much smaller than the one received by his children.

This had been the norm with all his letters, a sort of protest by his second son. While the rest of his children would receive letters, some of them over several pages long, he would receive one much shorter, one containing nothing but a simple assurance of health.

As the two girls began to speak of what his second son had written to them, he found his mind venturing to the rather troubling news he had received from Cregan.

"Lord Jon Arryn fell ill in the morning, coming down with a fever that has left him bedridden."

The words had been brief as always, yet Eddard had been struck by the news. Jon Arryn, the Lord of the Eyrie, had raised Eddard and Robert in his Halls, sharing with them his bread and salt, and had protected them from the mad king at great personal risk.

The man was like a father to him, and Eddard was aware that the man was no longer young, having lived through three wars and four Kings. The man was one of the oldest lords alive to this day. And so he prayed to the Gods to bless the man, for the man was the rock holding the Kingdoms together.

"Lord husband. Lord Stark," suddenly someone called his name, and he looked to the side and found Catelyn sitting there, though the seats beside her had emptied much like the rest of the Hall. He looked down and saw that his porridge had gone cold as well, as the servants moved to clear away the dirty bowls and spoons from the meal.

"You seem rather pensive today. What troubles you husband?" Catelyn added from the side as she asked for a maid to bring him a new serving of warm porridge, and the servant tethered away with a small bow as she rushed to comply with her Lady's command.

Eddard smiled, Catelyn hadn't missed his pensive mood though Eddard hadn't made much effort to hide it. And so, he nodded as he told her of the worries that plagued his mind.

"Cregan wrote to me that Jon Arryn fell ill several days back, he says a fever has left the man bedridden," and he saw Catelyn gasp at his words, after all the man was his good brother as well. Married to Lysa Tully at the end of the rebellion to mend the realm.

"Gods! And if Cregan thought to mention it…" and he nodded as he finished her words.

"Then it must be severe. He wouldn't have mentioned it if it was a fleeting illness," Eddard remarked as the servant brought a bowl of fresh porridge and placed it in front of him.

"Was his letter to you just as short as before?" she questioned him with a raised brow, and he nodded with a small chuckle as he ate the oat porridge.

"Yes, it is as if the boy counts up his words as he writes to me," he replied, and Catelyn shook his head, though he didn't miss the worry in her eyes. Not that it mattered, he got all that he needed to know from Catelyn and his other children, though it was strange to see a boy of his age hold a grudge so long.

"That means he is still angry with you. That boy sure can hold a grudge. I had hoped the years would have soothed his anger," and Eddard shrugged. Cregan had woken up from the unfortunate fall with a light head, forgetting some of his memories. Yet that hadn't been the biggest loss. The fall had cost the boy his ability to run, and thus the ability to wield a blade, and the dream of being a knight.

Thankfully though the boy had always been blessed with a sharp mind, and rather than wallowing in his pain he had grown only sharper, far exceeding both Jon and Rob in his lessons, in the little time he had spent in the North before going to the capital.

"He takes after his grandfather in that sense. Father often said that his father Edwyle Stark's anger was like the chill of the night, and in his rage, his gaze could enough to make a man freeze to death," he remarked, his mind drifting to simpler times from his youth, when once it had been him bickering with Brandon and Lyanna in these very Halls.

"Though I shouldn't have let Robert and Jon talk me into this whole mess in the first place. Cregan should have been here, with us, his family," he added, knowing that a part of his wife did not feel the same way.

"Perhaps, but fostering with a King is an honor. One cannot turn down a King's favor without consequences," she added, and Eddard shook his head.

"Robert wouldn't have cared," he added, and the old Robert wouldn't have.

"I know you worry for the boy. I worry, too. But he is not alone in the capital. Lysa and Jon Arryn are there as well. Fostering with the King will elevate his status and allow him to make a name for himself," she added, and he held her hands as he nodded. This had been his reasoning as well, yet as he felt the boy's anger through his letters, he found himself questioning whether it was all worth it.

"I could have given him a holdfast here. The boy would also have had plenty to his name even here in the North. I should not have sent him thousands of miles away," he added, and Catelyn nodded as she replied.

"Cregan does not hate you. He was always mature as a child, and you hear yourself what he asks of you when he writes to me. You did what you thought was best for him, and he sees that even if he does not like it," she added softly, and indeed, there was sense in those words.

"Moreover, there is nothing we can do about it now. What is done is done. We cannot change it," she cryptically added with a smile.

"I believe it wasn't all fruitless," Eddard frowned as he looked to the side and found him glancing at him with a cryptic smile, one which Sansa or Arya would make after one of their mischiefs.

"What do you mean by that?" he questioned, and she explained.

"Sansa told me that Cregan is close with the Princess and has been teaching Princess Myrcella his sums and letters," and Eddard couldn't imagine his second son having the patience to sit down and teach someone else. The boy had quickly passed both Jon and Robb in their lessons after his injury. It was as if the fall had sharpened his mind.

The boy had a Measter's mind, and Luwin had often said that the boy had the makings of an archmaester, though much to the old man's dismay Cregan had little interest in the order of the learned men.

"It cannot be, but the Princess is too young," he said with a frown as he understood his wife's implication

Yet her eyes narrowed as she pulled back and shook his head.

"For now, but she will grow. And the difference between this is not so much. Robert calls you a brother, and I feel it in my heart that this was his intention when he asked for you to foster Cregan with him in the first place," Catelyn added. He would have to defer to her in this matter, given marriages and prospective matches were a Lady's domain.

"We will have to see," he said as he finished the porridge and pushed the bowl away before the doors to the Hall opened, and the crackle of a Maester's chain reverberated across the room as Maester Luwin entered the Hall.

"What brings you here, at this hour, Maester Luwin?" he questioned as the elderly man walked towards him, his chain clanking with each step as he came up to the table and gave him and his Lady wife a small bow.

"A letter came for you from the Wall, my Lord. It's from the Lord Commander," said the maester as he handed him a missive.

Eddard frowned as he took the missive and broke the seal of the Lord Commander as he skimmed over the message.

"What is it, my Lord?" questioned Catelyn as she saw him skim over the missive.

"Nothing much. The Lord commander simply writes of some deserters who have run away from the Watch," he said as he passed the missive back to the Maester.

"Tell Duncan to increase the patrols and tell the men from the watch to be on the lookout for deserters," he told the master and the aged man nodded.

"As you say, my lord…"

0000

On the other side of the continent, an old man, perhaps the second most powerful man in the whole empire. The man who had nurtured the alliance that had brought an end to the reign of the House of the Dragon, Jon Arryn, the hand of the King, lay there on a bed as sweat soaked his clothes.

Beside him stood a boy, of middling years. His brown hair just reached his shoulders as his piercing grey eyes met the blue of the haggard Lord.

"Tel…im….seed…..s….str….ng….tell….Ned….tell….him," muttered the dying old man as he gripped the hand of the young man as the young boy stood there simply before his body began to convulse violently, forcing the acolytes hanging at the back to intervene as they moved to help the old Lord of the Eyrie.

The young brown-haired Stark would leave the room with a frown and would begin making his way towards his own quarters located two corridors away from the chamber of the Hand.

"What did Lord Arryn say to you?" suddenly, a man clad in white armor, guarding the room of the Hand of the King, questioned him from behind. His white armor glistened brightly even in the moonlight, and the young grey-eyed Stark boy looked back and found himself staring at the Lannister green of the man who had slayed the Mad King himself.

"I couldn't make out what he was saying. I think the fever has addled his mind," the boy replied, making the Kingsguard halt. He questioned in a rather curious tone and pulled back his hand, reaching for the hilt of his blade.

"Why do you say that?" questioned the man, as the young Stark replied with a shrug.

"I think he thought me to be my father. After all, the only word I could make out of his mumblings was my father's name, 'Ned,'" replied the boy with a shrug.

"Well, I doubt it was anything important. Otherwise, he would have called the King or any of the other councilmen," added the boy with a shrug as he began to move towards his room once again.

"Yes, indeed," added the Kingslayer, with a smile as he watched the Stark boy vanish into a corridor.

0000

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