The dust from the final bout had barely settled before the whispers began. The roar of the crowd still echoed through the Red Keep as courtiers filtered out of the stands, flushed with excitent, confusion, and speculation. But behind every murmured complint and forced smile lay sothing else entirely:
The North had arrived.
And it had won.
---
Robb Stark, tall and composed in his deep blue doublet stitched with direwolf silver, was not the sort to grin foolishly. But at the mont, his expression leaned very close to smug.
He approached Lord Petyr Baelish beneath one of the arcades, where the Master of Coin leaned lazily against a pillar, fingering his trimd beard.
"I believe you owe , Lord Baelish," Robb said, crossing his arms.
Littlefinger turned, all too smooth. "Do I? I thought I rely offered friendly odds."
"A full pouch of dragons," Robb reminded him, voice flat.
Petyr sighed theatrically and handed over the leather pouch, the gold inside clinking with weight. "I underestimated your brother."
"Most do," Robb replied. "Once."
Baelish chuckled, but his eyes were calculating. "He's no knight, your Cregan. But he's made quite the impression."
"That was never the goal," Robb said, turning away. "He just fights as he lives."
---
In the Queen's solar, silence lingered like a fog.
Cersei Lannister sat by the window, one leg crossed over the other, her golden hair gleaming under the light. Jai stood nearby, his armor removed, a bruise forming near his collar.
"You lost," she said without turning.
Jai poured himself a cup of wine. "He fought like a madman. Or a wolf."
"You're supposed to be the best." Her voice was flat. Cold.
"I still am," Jai said, unbothered. "But he's sothing else. And he had the beast watching. That black wolf... I'd bet it would've joined if I struck low."
Cersei turned now. Her green eyes flashed. "That Stark boy is dangerous."
"Which one?" Jai asked, amused.
She didn't answer. Instead, she stared into her wine, brooding. "Robert likes him. That's the real danger."
---
anwhile, the Great Hall of the Red Keep buzzed.
The tourney had ended, but the feast was just beginning. Tables were laid, goblets filled, and yet all talk was of Cregan Stark and his niece, Lyanna.
"She crowned him herself!" exclaid a lady from the Westerlands.
"And did you see that direwolf? Gods save us. It yawned at Lord Hetherspoon's son."
"Aye, and he fainted!"
"And she told Lady Redwyne her perfu slled like boiled cabbage!"
In a shadowed alcove, Varys sipped wine with studied calm.
"The girl is charming," he said. "In the way a hurricane is charming, if one enjoys chaos."
"She's a Stark," Littlefinger added, having joined him with practiced ease. "But not of the usual sort."
Varys tilted his head. "Are any of them usual, these days?"
---
Cregan Stark entered the hall with Shadow padding beside him. Lyanna walked ahead, her dark curls bouncing, wearing a crown of flowers she'd picked herself.
The music halted. Conversation froze. All eyes turned.
Lyanna marched up to King Robert, who sat halfway into his second roast.
"I was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty!" she declared.
Robert blinked, then burst into laughter. "Did you now? Then I suppose it's settled. Gods, soone bring more wine. This girl deserves a kingdom!"
Cregan bowed slightly. "We'll settle for stew."
Laughter followed, and the mont passed, but the court would rember it.
A girl from the North had declared her own Queen.
And no one dared say no.
---
At the Stark table, Robb leaned back, sipping wine. "You've made quite a storm."
Cregan grunted. "Didn't an to."
Lyanna clambered onto the bench beside him. "Yes you did. You made the whole South blink. Even that fat knight dropped his spoon."
"Ser Hobber Redwyne," Robb clarified with a smirk. "And yes, he did."
"He looked like a startled goat," Lyanna added proudly.
Cregan gave her a soft nudge. "You're too observant."
"You're too obvious."
Across the hall, Jon Arryn spoke with Ned Stark in hushed tones.
"Your son's victory has... stirred the lords."
"It was a tournant," Ned replied.
"It was a display. Intentional or not."
"He's bold. That won't change."
Jon Arryn nodded. "Robert wants to offer him a place. On the council, or the court."
Ned frowned. "He won't take it."
"No?"
"Cregan doesn't belong in these halls. He belongs in the woods. Among wolves."
Jon Arryn glanced toward the black-furred beast lounging by the dais. "Yes. Perhaps that's the wiser path."
---
Later that evening, Jai found Cregan by the outer courtyard, where the moon cast silver shadows.
"You fight well," Jai said.
"I train often."
"And you take pride in being blunt?"
Cregan looked at him. "Is that a Lannister insult? Or a complint?"
Jai laughed. "Both."
They stood in silence for a ti.
"The South is watching," Jai said. "They'll never say it aloud, but you've frightened them."
"Good."
"Why?"
"Because it ans they'll tread more carefully when they next co North."
---
Inside, Lyanna was regaling a group of noble girls with tales of Frosthall.
"And then Uncle Jon tried to ride this huge elk, but it kicked him into a river!"
Gasps and giggles followed.
"And Shadow once chased off two poachers by just growling! And he didn't even move!"
"You sound like a wildling princess," a noble girl teased.
"Better that than a lace-covered bird," Lyanna snapped.
The laughter died awkwardly. But then, so of the girls nodded.
"Tell us another!"
---
By the end of the night, the court was ablaze with stories. Not of dragons, nor lions, but of wolves.
Of a man who fought like a beast, and a child who defied queens.
Of blacksteel blades and blacker wolves.
And though many raised eyebrows, others raised goblets.
The pack had howled.
And King's Landing had listened.
---
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