In the Reach: A Father's Decision
The golden fields of the Reach basked in sumr's warmth, but in Horn Hill, the halls were colder than ever.
Randyll Tarly, Lord of House Tarly and bannerman to House Tyrell, sat in his solar clad in polished armor, staring at reports of the recent events in King's Landing. The Bloody Wolf, they called him now — Cregan Stark. A northern savage by southern standards, but one with discipline, strength, and cunning. And more importantly, honor.
"He fights like a wildling but leads like a conqueror," Randyll muttered.
He looked across the room to his trembling son, Samwell Tarly. Sam stood with shoulders hunched, hands clasped in front of him, eyes to the floor.
"You'll go North," Randyll said finally.
Sam looked up, confused. "North, Father?"
"To Stark. You'll squire under him. Maybe he'll make a man of you yet."
"But… I…" Sam stamred, pale with fear. "He's… he's the Bloody Wolf, Father. They say he ripped a man apart like a beast!"
"And maybe that's what you need," Randyll growled. "Learn from wolves if you can't act like a man. You leave in two days."
Samwell swallowed his fear. He had no choice. "Yes, Father."
---
In King's Landing: The Old Lions Roar
The chamber at the heart of the Red Keep echoed with tension. Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, his face as hard as stone. Beside him were his children — Cersei in erald silks and disdainful sneer, Jai leaning back with crossed arms, and Kevan quietly brooding. At the far end sat Tyrion, newly arrived and already drinking.
"They defy us," Cersei snapped. "The North bleeds us dry, steals our soldiers, insults our house, and we do nothing?"
"Pull our debts. Cut their trade. Show the rest of the realm what it ans to scorn House Lannister," Jai added.
Kevan nodded. "We can raise more levies. Rally the Westerlands. If war must co, better to start it before the wolf gets fatter."
Tywin said nothing. His fingers tapped the table slowly, cold eyes watching them speak.
Tyrion sipped his wine.
"What about you?" Cersei barked. "No quips? No drunken ramblings?"
Tyrion sighed and set his goblet down. "Leave the North alone."
A stunned silence followed. Then Cersei scoffed. "Of course. The Imp defends his fellow freak."
Tyrion ignored her. "The Riverlands allies with the Starks through marriage. The Vale has already started whispering support. Dorne, after Oberyn's trip north, is not as distant as we thought. That's four kingdoms either leaning neutral or against us. You want to poke that wolf's den?"
Tywin's jaw tightened.
"And let's not forget the king," Tyrion continued. "Robert won't stand by while we march on his best friend. Ned Stark bled for Robert's throne. He calls him brother. Whatever debts we hold over Robert will not be enough to outweigh that."
Tywin stood, motioning to the rest. "Leave us. All of you."
"Except you " pointed at Tyrion
Cersei opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. Jai shrugged. Kevan nodded once and followed. Only Tyrion remained.
When the doors shut, Tywin's voice was low and fierce. "You speak treason in my hall. You sha your house."
"I speak reason," Tyrion replied evenly. "You taught yourself — a lion cares not for the opinion of sheep. The realm is watching, Father. If we strike now, they'll call us butchers."
"They already do," Tywin growled. "But they still kneel."
"Until they don't." Tyrion stood. "But if you'd rather I stay quiet and out of sight, I'll take your advice."
Tywin turned away.
Tyrion bowed mockingly. "Not show my face? Many interpretations to that. Perhaps I'll explore a few."
With that, he walked out, a smirk curling at his lips.
Tywin did not call him back.
---
In the North – Fire ets Frost
The great hall of Frosthall was not as grand as the Red Keep, but it was older, colder, and far more solemn. Carved from dark stone, built with Northern pride, and ward only by its massive hearth and heavier silences, it stood like a monunt to unyielding will.
At the high table, Lord Cregan Stark sat alone when Prince Oberyn Martell was finally led in by Jon Snow.
"Prince Oberyn," Cregan greeted, rising from his chair and offering a respectful nod.
"Lord Cregan," Oberyn said with a smirk. "Or shall I say, the Bloody Wolf?"
Cregan gave a grin, brief and sharp. "Depends who's asking. But I think from you, I'll take it as a complint."
They clasped forearms, warrior to warrior.
Oberyn's gaze was sharp but not unkind. "I owe you sothing. For slaying that beast… my thanks. You avenged more than one family that day."
Cregan nodded slowly. "It wasn't for vengeance. It was for family. But if justice echoed further… I'll accept that."
They sat across from each other, ad between them. Oberyn leaned forward, his tone shifting to sothing more diplomatic.
"I co not just with gratitude, but with a proposal," he said plainly. "Trade between the North and Dorne. Alliance, if it pleases. And… companionship."
Cregan's brow rose slightly.
"I offer you my daughters," Oberyn said without sha. "Paramours. Not wives, unless you wish it. My three eldest—Obara, Nyria, and Tyene. They are fierce, loyal, and not unfamiliar with a blade or the bed."
Cregan blinked. "That's… bold."
Oberyn grinned. "You're a bold man."
But Cregan leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable. "I'm not certain it benefits the North. Or ."
There was a pause. The words, though calm, stung more than Oberyn expected.
His eyes narrowed faintly. "Ah. So it's about their birth. Bastards. That's what this is."
Cregan's eyes snapped up at once, almost offended himself. "You think I give a damn where soone was born? Whether they ca out the left or right side of a marriage bed?"
Oberyn's expression was guarded.
Cregan leaned forward now, voice low but resolute. "My brother—Jon—is a bastard. He's the one who keeps this keep running. He's my heir."
Oberyn looked surprised, then amused. "Your heir?"
"Aye," Cregan said firmly. "I'd na him Lord of Frosthall this instant if I died."
The Dornish prince studied him anew, sothing like approval in his eyes.
Cregan continued, "I don't need papers to love or respect soone. If I fall for soone, bastard or not, I'll marry them. If I take them to bed, I'll do it for , not for legacy. If the realm objects—well, the realm can freeze."
Oberyn burst into laughter. "You might be more Dornish than Northern, Stark."
Cregan smirked again. "Maybe."
Oberyn raised his goblet and drank, considering. Then he leaned forward once more.
"Well, if that's your view, then I offer this: take them. All three. As paramours. Obara, Nyria, Tyene. You can still marry elsewhere for politics if the need arises."
Cregan narrowed his eyes, thinking. He was a wolf, but a man as well. Even he could not deny the allure of three beautiful, dangerous Dornish won. He had heard tales.
"I won't parade them," he said. "But if they co of their own will, they'll be treated with respect. And if they share my bed, it's their choice, not yours."
Oberyn chuckled. "They'd kill if I tried to force them. But they'll co. Obara's already packing her spears."
After a mont of silence, Cregan nodded. "Then it's done."
They stood, clasping arms again, this ti more warmly.
Oberyn smirked. "Does that make your father-in-law?"
"Kind of," Cregan grinned. "Want a gift?"
"You've already given more than most n ever could."
But Cregan gestured to Jon. "Jon, bring the goblet."
Jon looked hesitant. "Are you sure?"
"Now, brother."
Jon left the room and returned a mont later with a strange, dark chalice—smooth and gleaming in parts, cracked in others.
Cregan took it and held it out to Oberyn.
"It's made from the skull of the Mountain."
Oberyn's face went still. Then slowly, his lips curled into a savage smile.
"You mad, glorious Northern bastard."
Cregan just shrugged. "It's got a good weight to it. Bit rough on the lips."
Oberyn took the goblet, turned it in his hands, then raised it in the firelight.
"This is the finest cup I've ever drunk from," he said sincerely.
They drank.
And for the first ti in many years, frost and fla found common ground in blood, laughter, and vengeance served cold.
---
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