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Chapter 63 – "A Blade in the Shadows"
The flickering candles in the Tower of the Hand cast long shadows across the stone walls, dancing like whispers of secrets too dangerous to speak aloud. Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin — and master of quiet daggers — lounged near the hearth, swirling a goblet of Arbor gold as if he hadn't a care in the world.
But his mind was sharper than Valyrian steel.
Across from him, Lysa Tully — wife to Jon Arryn and forever ensnared in his web — paced like a nervous bird. Her hands clutched one another, her eyes darting to the door every few moments.
"He's been asking questions again," she whispered, voice cracking. "About the children. About Robert. And about that damn book."
Petyr smirked, setting the goblet down. "The old fool has always had a taste for truth. Unfortunately, truth tends to get people killed."
"Pycelle told him," Lysa said, wringing her fingers. "He asked about the book of lineages. The one… that lists the royal . He's close, Petyr. Too close."
"Which is why it's time," Littlefinger said calmly, stepping forward and placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "The moment has come, my love. You must give him the final tea. The tears of Lys."
Lysa's eyes welled up. "He was my husband…"
"And he will be your and our boy doom if you don't act," Petyr whispered, stroking her hair as if calming a child. "You want our boy safe, don't you? And you want to go home. To the Eyrie. Far from this pit of vipers."
Lysa nodded slowly.
"He's old," Petyr said with a soft smile. "He'll die in his sleep. Quietly. No blade. No blood. Just… peace."
There was a long silence.
"Do it tonight," he said at last. "Before the queen begins suspecting something is amiss. She's restless enough as it is."
---
Later that night…
Petyr Baelish walked alone through the darkened halls of the Red Keep, his mind turning not just on Jon Arryn's death — but on a far greater irritation: House Stark.
He hated brandon Stark for stealing his beloved. He hated the Starks. Their righteousness. Their self-importance. Their ability to command loyalty without deception.
And now, there was Cregan Stark.
"The Bloody Wolf," he muttered with distaste.
Unlike Ned — who was simple, predictable — Cregan was unpredictable, sharp, and impossible to intimidate. And worse, Petyr had heard the rumors from the capital's spies and his whisperers in the North.
Cregan had humiliated several of Petyr's agents. Sent gold flowing out of Lannister coffers. Built a loyal army of ex-City Watch and free lancers. Secured alliances with Essosi companies and controlled key trade routes. And now the whispers called him a northern warlord with the wealth of a Tyrell and the cunning of a snake.
He scowled.
"Too dangerous," he whispered to himself. "Too beloved. And too capable."
But everyone has a weakness. Even wolves.
He would find it.
He would bury Cregan Stark — or better, turn the realm against him.
Let the lions and wolves tear each other apart. And when they did, Petyr Baelish would be the one left standing in the ashes.
"Let them all play at honor and war," he said with a smirk, "while I play the game."
---
In Winterfell – Parting Words and Storms Ahead
Cregan stood in his father's solar, his arms folded, a storm of thoughts behind his calm eyes. Across from him stood Lord Eddard Stark, flanked by Robb, who leaned casually against the wall, his expression half-concerned, half-amused.
"The Lannisters are stirring trouble in Essos," Cregan said plainly. "I have to deal with it before it spreads too far."
Robb frowned. "Do you really have to go yourself? Surely someone else can handle it. You know how Lyanna will react."
Cregan grimaced. "No, I can't risk sending someone else. It's too dangerous to entrust to others. And… Lyanna…"
He trailed off. There was no excuse. Just the inevitable wrath of a little girl who ruled over his heart like a warlord in pigtails.
Cregan shuddered.
"She's going to kill me."
Ned, seated behind his desk, eyed his younger son quietly. "When do you plan to leave?"
"When Jon arrives. I've already sent word to Frosthall. I'll leave with the Sand Snakes."
Robb raised a brow. "You trust them?"
"I trust that they'll fight when needed and won't stab me in my sleep — more than I can say for most Essosi mercenaries."
Robb sighed. "What's really happening over there?"
Cregan hesitated for a breath, then answered honestly. "Tywin hired the Second Sons. He's targeting our supply routes, trade partners, and ports. Trying to strangle our influence in Essos."
Both Ned and Robb were taken aback.
"The Second Sons?" Ned asked, grim-faced. "They're no common sellswords. Dangerous men. Skilled. Ruthless."
Cregan scoffed. "I've met them two or three times. They weren't a problem then. They won't be now."
Robb let out a quiet chuckle at his brother's confidence. Ned, however, remained serious.
"We worry for you, son. Anything can happen in the field — especially in foreign lands. I don't want to lose another Stark before I've drawn my last breath."
Cregan's expression softened at that. He felt a pang of guilt — for the burdens he often brought, for the dangers he walked into willingly, ever since he left at fourteen to chase gold and freedom across the sea.
But he had done it for the North, for Robb's future, to build peace through strength.
He nodded, slowly but resolutely. "It must be done."
Ned sighed and leaned back. "Then go speak to Lyanna. You owe her that much."
Cregan's eyes widened in horror. "Father…"
Robb laughed. "Don't look at us. You spoiled her rotten, you deal with it."
Both men ignored his silent plea for help as he reluctantly left the solar to face the real storm.
---
A Farewell Between Wolves
Cregan found Lyanna in the godswood, sitting beneath the weirwood tree, her legs swinging from a low branch. Boulder, her direwolf pup, lay curled near the roots, ears twitching as his master's mood soured.
She didn't turn when she heard Cregan's footsteps.
"You're leaving again."
Cregan stopped a few paces away. "I have to. It's important."
"You always say that," Lyanna muttered, still not looking at him. "But you never stay. You said you'd be here longer this time."
"I meant it. But something's happened. Something serious. I wouldn't go if it weren't necessary."
Silence.
"I'll bring you something from Essos," he offered gently. "Something rare. A real gift."
"I don't want gifts," she said, finally turning to him. Her eyes shimmered with emotion she was too proud to show. "I want you to stay."
Cregan felt the weight in his chest. He'd fought knights, beasts, and bastards across the sea — but this little girl, this niece who claimed him more like a father or brother, made him feel more helpless than any battlefield.
"I will come back," he said softly, stepping closer and placing a hand on her shoulder. "I promise, Lyanna. I'll always come back."
"You better," she mumbled, wiping at her eyes before they could betray her further. "Or I'll tell Boulder to bite you."
Cregan laughed, though his throat felt tight. "I'm more scared of you than the wolf."
Lyanna cracked a small smile.
As he pulled her into a gentle hug, the weirwood leaves whispered in the wind — old gods bearing witness to the bond between the wolf who wandered and the little she-wolf who always waited.
---
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