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Chapter 61 – "Letters, Lies, and Shadows"
The cold wind bit through the still air of Winterfell as Lord Eddard Stark stood by the open window in his solar, the parchment still clenched tightly in his hand. The seal of the Hand of the King — broken. The contents of the letter weighed heavier than the snow piling up beyond the walls.
A royal proposal.
Joffrey Baratheon… and Sansa Stark.
A match to "keep the peace in the realm," Jon Arryn had written, his words firm, practical, and cautious — the way the old man always was.
Ned didn't answer the letter. Not yet. Instead, he looked to the fire, and then to the maester waiting by the door.
"Send riders to Frosthall," he said after a long pause. "Summon my Sons from Frosthall. Bring my children home. All of them."
---
The Fire Beneath Frosthall
Snow fell in gentle silence over Frosthall as Cregan sat in the war room, going through military reports and updated logistics on blacksteel production. The chamber was quiet — until the door opened with force.
Two guards dragged in a young man in Frostguard leather, blood trailing from a broken lip.
Kael entered behind them, eyes cold and sharp.
"We caught him near the northern tower. Trying to lift the trapdoor into the tunnel shaft."
Cregan rose slowly, his voice level. "A spy?"
Ser Blackhand nodded. "Had a scrap of parchment in his boot — crude drawings of the layout. I scented ink and heard his breath quicken before he ran."
The room darkened slightly as Shadow — the massive black direwolf — emerged from the hallway, growling low and slow.
"Put him in the chair," Cregan said, as two others strapped the man in.
The spy trembled, caught between Shadow's gleaming eyes and Kael's predatory smile.
Cregan leaned close. "Tell me who sent you. And perhaps you'll walk out of here."
"I… I don't know his name," the man stammered. "From Gulltown. Said to report troop numbers. Shifts. No harm. Just gold!"
Cregan said nothing for a moment. Then slowly turned to Kael. "He's not lying."
The wolf nodded.
"Just scared."
Cregan stepped forward, crouched at eye level. "You came to rob a den of wolves, cat. But I am merciful. You will go back — and tell your master what we want him to know. Numbers inflated. Supplies delayed. Let them come for smoke while we keep the fire."
The man nodded quickly, wide-eyed.
"Kael," Cregan said calmly, "make sure he limps for a few days. A reminder to be obedient."
The scream was quick — and brief.
---
In the Red Keep
Queen Cersei burst into the council chamber without invitation, golden hair disheveled, her emerald eyes blazing.
Robert Baratheon groaned from his seat. "Gods, woman, must you storm in like the bloody wind?"
Cersei ignored him and turned to Jon Arryn, who sat calmly across the table. "You sent that letter. A betrothal between my son and that girl from the North?"
Jon's hands remained folded. "Yes. Sansa Stark is highborn. A perfect match for the crown prince."
"She's no more than a northern Savage!" Cersei snapped. "This was not discussed with me—"
"You are the Queen Consort," Jon said. "Not the King. And not the Hand. And Mind your language your grace. Those people won your husband the war."
Robert waved her off. "It's a good match. Ends a thousand rumors and forges peace with the North. What more do you want?"
Cersei hissed. "That Frosthall brat killed men of the Lions , Threaten Jamie and Jofferey and now you want to reward them by marrying Jofferey to the north."
Robert glared. "It brings the peace back and Jofferey will gain the biggest kingdom of westoros as it's supporters. It's decided."
Jon met her gaze evenly. "And if Sansa declines, then we'll reconsider. But she will be given the choice. That is what we owe her — and her house."
Cersei turned away, lips tight. The lioness didn't roar today, but her claws dug deeper into her mind.
---
The Summons
In Frosthall's central yard, Cregan stood as the rider dismounted.
"My lord," the man panted, "message from Lord Stark. He summons the whole family to Winterfell."
"Why?" Cregan asked.
The rider shook his head. "Didn't say. Just said to come. All of you."
Cregan frowned, jaw tight. Trouble?
He turned to the gathered siblings.
"Prepare your things. We leave by dawn."
Sansa looked confused. "Is something wrong?"
"I don't know," Cregan admitted, "but Father needs us. That's enough."
Rickon and Bran whooped — they'd missed Winterfell. Lyanna shouted at Kael that she was not riding in a boring carriage again. Torrhen demanded to ride with Cregan.
And Cregan, silent for a moment, looked up to the towers of Frosthall — then back at his siblings.
They would go together.
The wolves were returning to Winterfell.
---
Frosthall – Late Evening,
The fire crackled in the hearth of Cregan Stark's solar, casting long shadows across the blackstone walls. Snow whispered against the windows. Outside, the Frostguard was preparing the horses, the wolves howled beyond the treeline, and the Stark siblings laughed and talked in the great hall.
But inside the solar, silence ruled — until a raven beat its wings against the window.
Cregan opened the frost-slicked pane and took the scroll tied to its leg. The wax seal: a flaming rose in red and gold. His expression darkened.
He broke the seal and read quickly. Jon had not returned yet, and Kael slumbered in the corner by the fire, but the air turned heavy with what he read.
> To the Bloody Wolf of the North,
We regret to inform you that our agents in Lys and Myr have confirmed disturbing whispers: Tywin Lannister has hired the Second Sons, using shell brokers and Essosi gold masked as Myrish investment. The deal is discreet but dangerous.
They are not marching yet. But mercenary captains rarely idle long. The golden lion lays bait, and it reeks of war.
Your ships, your trade lines, and our shared reputation may suffer if these dogs are unleashed. We will remain vigilant. Await your orders.
— Captain Myra Volant, Company of the Rose
Cregan stared into the flames for a long time.
The Second Sons were brutal. No honor. No loyalty. But with the right coin, they'd raze towns and seize ships without flying a banner. And Tywin Lannister did not make such investments lightly.
His eyes narrowed.
He rose, dipped his quill in black ink, and wrote swiftly in his harsh, slanted Northern script:
---
> To Myra Volant, my blood-bound ally,
If the Second Sons have been bought, then the Lannisters no longer play games — they prepare for war, one hand hiding the dagger while the other shakes the realm's hand.
Do not engage them unless provoked. Let them think you unaware. Let them believe we sleep.
Secure the ports. Reinforce every trade route. Guard our ships as you would our coffers. If even one cog is attacked, I want the names of the captains and which harbor let them pass.
I will come to Essos myself when time permits. If peace can be bought with words, I will spend them. If not, then the wolf bares its teeth.
Ready our cells, store blacksteel, and recruit only the proven. If war comes to Essos, we must not bleed first.
— Cregan of the North, The Bloody Wolf
---
He sealed the letter, eyes sharp and hard.
Then he turned to the table behind him — covered in parchment maps of ports in Braavos, Myr, Pentos, Lys, and Tyrosh — and murmured to himself:
> "If the lions think they can burn my empire from across the sea… they're about to learn how fast a wolf can swim."
---
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