The Crippled Wolf: Stark SI (GOT)

Chapter 15

BENJEN STARK

The castle had not changed much in the years he had been away. The children had grown up so much since the last time he had seen them. The Royal family sat on the stage as well, all of them except the Queen, who was conspicuously absent.

"So, the rumors are true?" he asked his brother, whose hair now had hints of white.

"Which ones?" his brother asked as Benjen pointed toward his brother's second son, who now sat beside the young blonde Princess.

Ned realized what he was alluding to and nodded with a sigh.

"I am afraid so," his brother replied, and it was truly a marvel: his brother becoming the Hand of the King and his nephew marrying the Princess. Truly, winter was coming, and in ways more than one.

For while, the rest of the realm played their little games here, down in the South, cold winds brewed North of the Wall, winds that made grown men shiver in their cloaks.

Winds tinged with the smell of death itself.

"Tell me of the boy?" Ned asked as he looked him in the eye. His brother's face was burdened with worry, and Benjen could see his shoulders were tense.

There was no need to mention which boy he spoke of.

"He was a brave young man. A true ranger, I knew him myself," Benjen added, and a part of him was tempted to share his fears with him, share with him the dread of what he thought lingered in the true North.

Yet he could not. Not until he had proof. Not until he was sure.

His mistake had already cost his family many years ago, and Benjen would not repeat it again.

"And yet, he spoke of madness on the log," Ned whispered as he looked into the pyre, and the songs grew louder behind them.

"How his friends had all been killed by Whitewalkers," his brother scoffed, and Benjen did not doubt the boy. Yet his brother did, and so held his tongue.

"Perhaps he really was mad," he whispered as he sipped his own ale and let the warmth spread through his belly.

"A wildling raid, probably and nothing more," Ned concluded, and he did not correct him.

"Jon just asked me to take him to the Wall when I leave," and he saw his brother perk up at the mention of that boy—of her boy.

And it loathed him that her son was reduced to living as a bastard in these Halls, but hate it all he may. He knew full well that it was perhaps the only reason the boy was still alive.

"He is...."

"Your other son put it down rather forcefully," he answered with a smile, and it warmed his heart seeing it. That despite knowing him to be a bastard, Cregan had stood up for his brother like that.

"Cregan, did?" Eddard asked, looking towards the boy who was helping the Princess pet a small direwolf, something that made him still.

"Yes, he is a good lad, that boy," he added, and Ned nodded.

"That he is," and then his brother turned towards him once more.

"And yet you are going to wed him into the South," Benjen complained, and Eddard's lips thinned.

"My hands are tied" was the same as years ago. His brother could never really deny Robert, not even for his family—for his blood.

"You must have come here for new recruits," Benjen nodded.

"Yes, and I was hoping to talk to the King, hoping that he would listen to the plights of the Watch and lend us some aid," for they were in desperate need of it.

"Well, you can try, I don't know how much help the Crown can give to the Watch," his brother lamented.

"What do you mean by that?" Benjen questioned sharply, taken aback by those words.

"It's nothing. I have just come to learn that the Crown's coffers are not as healthy as one would think," and that was a surprise, especially given just who Robert's last hand was, for Benjen did not particularly like the old Lord of the Vale, but he knew him to be competent lord.

"Regardless, I don't think he is in any state to listen to your request right now," and indeed, any sign of sobriety had vanished from the King, who was openly groping a serving girl while pushing down goblet after goblet of wine.

"I have some recruits for you down in the dungeon, though you might also be joined by the Queen's brother on the journey back," and his eyes landed on the only Lannister present on the table.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because the man wishes to see one of the great Wonders of the world," and Benjen scoffed at the Southern lord's desire.

"Let's see if I cannot dissuade the man from this idiocy," and with that, he gave Eddard a nod.

"I need to rest."

"A room has been prepared for you," and it would be good to sleep in the warmth of these walls again. Just as he was about to leave, his brother called him out.

"And Cregan brought back a gift for you as well. He hasn't shown it to me. I will ask the boy to bring it to you," and he nodded.

"There was no need for that,"

"He knows that. But he brought something for everyone," Ned answered.

"Even Jon?" he asked, and Ned nodded.

"Even Jon...."

0000

CREGAN STARK

The feast ended hours ago, and now the castle was all ready to fall asleep, yet unlike everyone else, Cregan's heart raced as he walked towards the yard with Jon, who was eyeing him rather worriedly.

"Why did you ask to meet the bard?" Jon questioned, and he wondered it himself. But he had a gamble to play. Now that he had decided to change things, that he had decided to challenge the man in the tree, he had to use all the pieces he could.

And one of them was this man, and the bard was nothing special. His face and tunes were mediocre as he stood there nervously under the watchful eyes of the castle guards Jon had procured.

"I just wanted to talk to him," he answered as he motioned for Jon to stop.

"Do you have your blade with you?" he asked and Jon nodded, but a bit taken aback by that question.

"Let us hope you need not use it," and with that, he stopped Jon as he walked forward as the bard's eyes finally landed on him, and he bowed immediately.

"Young master, if I have done anything to offend you, I seek your forgiveness..."

"You have not," Cregan cut in, as he turned towards Jory.

"Leave us. I wish to talk to him alone," and while he was young, he was still the son of their liege lord. And so, they did as they were ordered and left him alone with the harmless-looking bard as Cregan felt his hands grow clammy with sweat.

He could still stop. Call it a misunderstanding and turn away. Yet he did not, as he stared the man in the eye.

"Bael," he whispered as the bard's eyes narrowed as he clutched his coat nervously.

"How interesting that you would choose that name?" he commented as he saw those pupils dilate and those ears perk up as he continued.

"To think that years later, another bard would enter Winterfell with that same name. To think that that blood of that bard runs through my veins and the rest of the Starks. It is rather fascinating, don't you think," and now any hints of nervousness vanished from those eyes as the bard, of middling height, looked him in the eye and questioned.

"How do you know of that tale?" he questioned, and indeed how did he know? He knew of it before because he had searched and found it again, written in the old tongue in a decrepit lord's diary.

The tale of 'Bael the Bard', a King beyond the Wall who had come to Winterfell dressed as a bard and had run away with the daughter of the Starks, and later on, through war and other circumstances, the Starks would see their line nearing its end, until the long-lost daughter of the Starks would return to the castle, carrying with her the boy who would then become the next Lord of the House.

"Does it really matter how I know? Or rather what I know?" Cregan challenged calmly, even as his heart hammered in his chest, yet his face remained emotionless as he pinned down the man opposite to him with his grey, ominous eyes.

"So, you are one of those," he whispered, and Cregan did not correct him as he reached into his pocket.

"I know who you really are, Bael," Cregan whispered.

"I hardly doubt that. But do they all know who you really are, boy?" the man questioned, and Cregan shrugged.

"I am Cregan Stark, the son of Eddard Stark," he answered, and the man raised a brow.

"Is that so?"

"Why have you called for me?" he asked, and Cregan picked up a little piece of obsidian he had brought from the South, having found it in Dragonstone when he visited the island once at the King's request.

"To tell you that war would be the end of us all," and he could not have the wildlings looking to war with the Watch, not when they faced so many threats from the South.

The man caught the little piece of obsidian he had thrown and frowned at his words.

"That if we are all to survive this winter, then you shall need to make peace. You will need allies, and that. A lot of that," he added, making the man frown.

"Obsidian," he realized as Cregan nodded.

"The North has bits of it in the mountains, but I refuse to believe that it is all there is of it. Search for it out there, in the cold for it while some call it obsidian, it has another name just like you have a name other than 'Bael,'" he continued.

"Fire frozen," he replied, seeing the man's eyes widen.

"Why tell me this?" he asked, and indeed that was the major question.

"Because winter is coming," and the man smirked as Cregan gave him a nod and turned away from him, his heart still hammering in his chest.

"I will think on it," the man voiced back, as Cregan just nodded.

"I wish you well, Bael the Bard," Cregan answered before he lowered his tone and whispered the real name of the man.

"Or should I call you Mance Rayder, your grace," and the man perked up at that as his eyes narrowed.

"Go back now. You have until tonight to leave the castle. If you are still here by the morning, then I won't be responsible for what becomes of you," he warned. The man nodded and bowed to him. Cregan turned his back to him and walked towards Jory and his friend.

"What did you want to talk to the man about?" Jory asked, and Cregan smiled.

"I just wished to ask him about his songs and his tunes. I found them rather unique," and Jory frowned.

"Then why did you call us?" he complained, and Cregan chuckled as he pointed towards his cane.

"Because I didn't trust the man. I got robbed once by a singer in the capital, and have been cautious of them ever since," he chuckled as Jory nodded.

"Are you done?" and Cregan nodded.

"I am. The man wishes to leave, so let him go. And if he is still here by the morning do tell me," and with that he dismissed Jory as Jon joined him on the journey back to his room, his cousin was eyeing him rather suspiciously during the whole journey,

"Were you really robbed by a bard in the capital?" he asked as they neared his chamber, and Cregan raised a brow.

"Maybe," he answered as Jon looked him in the eye, their eyes and hair so similar that they looked more like brothers than he and Robb ever did.

"What did you really say to the bard?" he questioned, and he was sharp. Being a bastard, his circumstances growing up had allowed him to be more observant than Robb and the rest, and so his lie with Jory had not worked with him.

"Nothing important," he replied, and Jon had enough tact to back off when he realsied that he did not wish to share it with him, and as he opened the door and was about to walk in, he called out to him once more.

"Back there, in the Dining Hall," Jon began as Cregan turned to face Jon, who was looking at him intensely with balled-up fists.

"Did you really mean it?" he asked, and it took him a second to recall what he was alluding to.

"Yes, I did," he answered.

"You are my blood, mine, Robb's, Sansa's, Arya's, Bran's, and Rickon's as well. You belong with us, no matter what others may say or whisper, including mother. " Cregan knew the main motivation behind Jon's desire to go to the Wall.

And it was a risk keeping him here, and yet it was necessary. When Cregan had no intention of letting things go as they had, then it was better to have Jon beside them. With them.

"The Wall is going nowhere. It has stood for a thousand years and might stand for a thousand more," he really did hope that.

"You can go there when you are old, tired, and spent and have at least a dozen children," and Jon's lips turned up at his jape.

"But if you talk about doing it before then, I will hit you on the head with my cane. And I am sure Robb will do the same, but with a different weapon," and there were tears in his eyes, which he wiped away as he questioned.

"But what future do I have here, with you all?"

"A bright one," Cregan cut in.

"You are young. We all are. You will figure something out," Cregan whispered as he slapped him in the shoulder.

"And if we fail, I will always need a man to protect poor old me," he added with a shrug. He gave his cousin a wink while tapping his leg with his cane.

"After all, to the world, I am not so different than a bastard because of my leg..."

0000

Read ahead and support me on Patre 0n. Help me write this and other such stories by becoming a Patr 0n. It would be pretty awesome of you and would mean a lot to me.

www.Patre 0n.com/Drkest

Have a nice day!

PS: To those who do not know. Mance Rayder attended the feast at Winterfell dressed as a bard inspired by the tale of "Bael the Bard" from a thousand years ago, who did the same and stole the daughter of then Lord Stark.

Later all of the Stark children died, and so that daughter returned to Winterfell and her children continued the main Stark line, so in a way all Stark children have Free Fold blood in them because of her, and bael the Bard (Who was a King Beyond the Wall as well)