Here it is folks, the last chapter of Season 1! I think we all can tell by the title what this part will be about. Finally, I can start preparing to write for the juicy stuff. I mean I enjoyed fleshing Cregan's character and the story out but I think we all can admit that the first few chapters were a little boring. But fear not, the next Season will be filled with a lot of violence, and shit, and Cregan Stark badassery.

C.E.W: You've got a ton of good ideas mate and I might use some of them. I don't want to spoil too much and I've mentioned this before in previous chapters but I have a lot planned for the Second Greyjoy Rebellion. It's gonna be fun!

The Three Stoogies: The same thing that happened in canon. Cregan is a second son so Walder Frey wasn't too interested in him. Thank you for leaving a review though and I hope you stick around till the end, if I ever reach that far. Fingers crossed!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones characters in the story or from the novel, A Song of Ice and Fire. Only the OCs included are mine and any original plots.


Chapter 7 : The King in the North

Dark wings bring dark words. That phrase had never rung more true than it did today.

"Why?" Robb asked, feeling his voice grate along his throat like a grindstone on steel. "Why is... why...?"

Lord Tytos Blackwood gazed at eldest son of the Quiet Wolf with a crestfallen look on his face. The Lord of Raventree Hall had led a sortie out to support them when they had attacked the Lannister camp. The shield wall the enemy had formed fell apart when the Blackwood Lord fell on them from Riverrun itself. "I cannot say, My Lord. The raven said that Lord Eddard confessed his treason and was executed on the steps of Baelor's sept."

Robb curled his hands into fists. Everything he and Cregan had come South for was now gone, all his losses so far, they now meant nothing. The eldest son of the Quiet Wolf closed his eyes and tried his best to remain calm. "Lord Umber." He called out the name of his second greatest champion. "Take everything of value from the Lannisters and set up camp, then tell the Lords to prepare to enter Riverrun. I must...I must be alone."

"Of course, My Lord." The Greatjon replied, in the most solemn voice Robb had ever heard him use. The Umber Lord turned to face the rest of his men. "Come on then you lot! Let's strip everything we can find and move on!"

Robb moved away, alone, even the members of his personal guard seemed to know he was not to be followed. Only Grey Wind accompanied him, his faithful Direwolf shouldering his master's sorrow. He silently retreated beyond the forest near Riverrun and, once he was out of sight, he fell against a tree and slid down it, his breath coming out in sharp gasps. His Lord Father…dead…it couldn't be true. He refused to believe it was real. Yet, it was. Eddard Stark was dead, murdered, and he was Lord of Winterfell now. Grey Wind paced around until they were facing each other, his golden eyes looking into Robb's own.

The eldest son of the Quiet Wolf ran his fingers through the sleek fur of the wolf, feeling the power of the beast, the power of the Old Gods, the gods of the North. He wondered if they had abandoned his Lord Father, if they had forsaken him. He quickly shook his head, ridding himself of those thoughts. Eddard Stark's death was not the work of gods. It was the work of a King, a boyking. Grey Wind began to growl at him and he felt the heat of the wolf's breath on his face, the smell of blood on his jaws from the battle.

"I am Lord now." Robb said to himself. "I will do my duty as Lord, as father would have wished." He couldn't just leave or fall apart now. For Cregan and their mother, for Bran and Rickon, for Sansa and Arya, for his Lords and vassals, he would be strong for them. They needed him, and he would be there.

The northern host had crossed the Trident on small boats, for the gates had been opened and the moat completely encircled the castle. Grey Wind joined him, the Greatjon, Daryn Hornwood, Rickard Karstark, Lord Blackwood and his mother in the first boat.

His mother had held her stoic strength throughout it all, not shedding a tear or letting out a cry of self-pity. She had been stronger than he had, and he envied and pitied her in equal measure. His brother, however, Robb had not seen him yet. Cregan was keeping his distance from them all, which was very much unlike him. He worried for him, for what he would do.

Unlike Cregan, Robb had not been to Riverrun since his mother had brought him to Winterfell at the end of Robert's Rebellion. He had no memories of this place. He wanted to see his grandfather, the room in which he had been born, where he would have first met his own father. However, he had duties he had to see to first. Eddard had always said that he prayed after a battle to give thanks to the Old Gods for the victory and for his own survival. He said that he had prayed for the souls of those who had died for him. Robb would do the same.


Following the brief prayer at the Godswood in Riverrun, Robb left to go find Cregan. He was worried about his younger brother who had kept his distance from him and their mother since hearing about Eddard Stark's execution.

After scouring almost half the castle, Robb finally found Cregan in the cellar, his back pressed against the wall and a whole cask of ale in his grasp. His face was devoid of any emotion as he absentmindedly ran a hand through his Direwolf's fur. He didn't react when his eldest brother slowly approached him, looking as broken as he felt.

"Cregan…" Robb began, looking over the secondborn son of the Quiet Wolf with a glint of worry in his eyes. "…what is this?"

Cregan threw his head back, a drunken groan breaking through his lips. "Oh fuck off, brother. I cannot deal with you and your judgment right now."

"Is this why you didn't come to pray with the rest of us at the Godswood? Have you just been getting drunk all day?" Robb asked as he strode forwards and kicked the cask out of his hand.

"My father was just murdered." The boy of fifteen namedays hissed with venom lacing his tone. "Am I not allowed to grieve?"

Robb scowled as he towered over his younger brother's crumpled form. "You forget, little brother, that he was my father too. You know what he would say if he saw you like this. He would not want you to do this yourself."

Cregan's eyes widened in rage and he surged to his feet, drunkenly grabbing his eldest brother by the scruff of his cloak by one hand before smashing his second one into his cheek. The Lord of Winterfell felt his head jerk back with the force of the punch before his head whipped to the other side as his younger brother landed another blow to his cheekbone. A growl left Robb's lips as he fought back with his own strikes and blows. It was as if they were young children again, settling their quarrels through the world's oldest method of negotiation.

By the time they were done, Cregan had a cut on his left cheekbone from where a stream of blood flowed down past his jaw whereas Robb's handsome face was no longer quite as good looking, his lip busted and bruises already beginning to form. Both brothers were breathing heavily, Cregan hunched over with his hands on his knees and Robb holding one of the wooden shelves in the cellar to keep himself standing.

"Father is dead, Robb." Cregan finally ended the tense yet oddly comforting silence that had befallen between the two brothers with a broken tone of voice. "Killed by Joffrey fucking Baratheon! What he'd want doesn't matter because he can't want anything anymore!"

Sif silently padded up to him and pressed his wet snout against his cheek. He had surprisingly made no move to intervene or break up the fight. It was almost as if the black Direwolf had known that his master needed a kick in the arse. Robb watched as his proud and unbreakable brother fell to his knees and broke in front of him. It seemed the Lannisters had done what he thought impossible. Pushing down the pity welling up in his chest, he lifted his chin and directed a stern gaze at his younger brother.

"Aye, father is dead." The Lord of Winterfell started. "And while you are here drowning your grief in your cups, the fuckers who killed him are holding our sisters hostage and dancing on his corpse. I will not let them get away with it. I swear it, I will get revenge for all the slights the Lions of Casterly Rock have made against House Stark. Father will get the justice he deserves." Robb blinked the tears lining his vision out of his Tully blue eyes before walking over to Cregan and falling to a knee in front of him. "But I cannot do it alone. So I ask you, brother: will you help me slay our enemies and protect our family?"

For a few seconds, Cregan said nothing. Then, the secondborn son of the Quiet Wolf lifted his head and met his brother's eyes with his own, steely determination mixed with righteous anger shining bright within the two pools of wintry grey. He said nothing but the look in his eyes was more than enough answer for Robb who, despite everything that had happened thus far, grinned with satisfaction and placed a firm hand on his younger brother's shoulder.

Twenty years ago, when their Lord Father marched South, he had helped tear down a dynasty that had stood for over three hundred years. And now, Robb and Cregan would follow in Eddard Stark's footsteps and deal the same punishment to the tyrannical Lions which had once been dealt to the House of the Dragon.


Harrenhal was everything the tales said it was. Dizzyingly tall towers, thick curtains walls that not even giants could break down, rooms that could fit thousands comfortably. It was one man's massive ambitious mind brought to life. Harren the Black was many things, and history would not remember him as any sort of hero, but it could not be said that he did things by half measure. Even in the state of decay that the fortress was in, it was still one of the most, if not the most, fortified castles in all of Westeros. Casterly Rock was unassailable, and Winterfell was said to be impenetrable, but Harrenhal was definitely one of a kind.

While Tywin looked out the window over the ruins, Ser Harys Swift informed the rest of the council just what exactly had happened at Riverrun. The Knight of Cornfield looked ragged in his foolish-looking yellow and blue armor. He looked more like a rooster than the one of his sigil.

"It was a catastrophe." The old knight said with a weary tone of voice. "Ser Jaime captured at the Whispering Wood, Lord Brax drowned crossing the Tumblestone. They seemed to be everywhere."

"What happened to Ser Forley Prester?" Ser Kevan asked.

"Last I saw, he was retreating west." Ser Harys responded. "Whether he was caught or not, of that I have no clue. Once I saw the drawbridge open and the garrison sally out, I knew the battle was lost."

"You ran." Tyrion commented with amusement.

"I brought word to my liege Lord." Ser Harys retorted angrily.

Tywin resisted the urge to scoff. He would have heard of Jaime's defeat soon enough. The only safe place for the remainder of Jaime's host was here at Harrenhal or at the Golden Tooth which separated the Riverlands from the Westerlands.

"Your service is appreciated, ser." Kevan intervened, calming the tension between Tywin's son and the knight. "Go, find a bed and food."

Tywin did not see the man leave, but heard his boots and the closing of the door. Once he had gone, Kevan turned to the Lord of Casterly Rock. "This does not bode well for us, brother."

"We should go after them now." Ser Raynald Westerling urged. "They're still gathering their forces. We should attack them before they are at full strength."

"They have more men than us." Kevan answered grimly. "We all heard Ser Harys' report. Jaime had to split his army into three camps to attack the castle. We know what the boy wants, and we have it. I say we trade Jaime and the others for Lord Stark and his daughters."

A few others muttered their agreement, but most were simply waiting to see what Tywin would say. The older men in the council had been on campaign with the Lord of Casterly Rock before and knew that whatever he said, that would be done. He would allow his commanders to bicker and debate, but in the end, his word was law.

"I doubt Robb Stark would agree, uncle." Tyrion remarked grimly. "What's to stop him from coming here? After all, we are all that's left between him and his dear father. As you said, he does have more men than us and will gain more by the day as the River Lords, who hate us by the way, join his side."

"Robb Stark is as green as grass. He wouldn't dare attack us." Lord Marbrand countered. "Harrenhal is impregnable."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "That green boy just made us look like fools. We would do well to not underestimate him. He has proven that he is unafraid to take risks. He is also surrounded by many seasoned battle commanders including the likes of Greatjon Umber and Brynden Tully. He is far from helpless."

Tywin clenched his jaw tightly, his hand curling up into a fist. There were enemies present at every corner. Robb Stark in the North and the Baratheon brothers who had each named themselves kings in the South. Not to mention, his daughter and her son were continuing to show their ineptitude, turning King's Landing into a chaotic mess. Despite having been named Hand of the King, the Old Lion could not leave the battlefield until all the threats to House Lannister had been quelled.

A knock at the door interrupted pulled the Lord of Casterly Rock from his thoughts and he turned to the door with cold and unwelcoming eyes. "Enter."

A boy poked his head in, gazing anxiously into the emerald eyes of the most dangerous man in Westeros. He cleared his throat before he entered the room completely, his hands fidgeting with a little piece of paper.

"Forgive me, m'lord, but a message arrived from the Capital." He stuttered. Tyrion sighed and held out his hand, gesturing for the boy to give it to him. The messenger quickly pressed the note into the Imp's hand, bowed, and ran out as quickly as he could. The Lannister dwarf unrolled the note, his eyes skimming over the words before he tossed the parchment on the table.

"Fuck." Tyrion muttered, grabbing his cup and downing whatever wine was inside.

"Speak." Tywin ordered, his voice cold.

Tyrion passed the message along to his uncle. "Ned Stark is dead." He stated bluntly. "Joffrey took his head on the steps of the Sept of Baelor."

All the men gathered let out groans of annoyance while Tywin scowled. Cersei and her idiot son had just placed their family in a very dangerous position. Eddard Stark was the only prisoner capable of getting Jaime back. Without him, the Stark girls would not be enough to get his son back, nor any of the other prisoners Robb Stark had.

"We should retreat to King's Landing!" One man started to say before he was interrupted.

"We would be seen as weak by our enemies." Another shot back angrily. "We should rally our full strength and go after the Stark boy

"No surrender!" A third growled.

"We should return to Casterly Rock…."

The arguments continued to grow as more began offering their thoughts, talking over each other. Within moments, Tywin's war council of veteran commanders had partially collapsed into chaos as they began shouting amongst each other. The only ones who didn't take part were Kevan and Tyrion, both of whom were looking at Tywin.

"They have my son!" Tywin roared, his voice silencing the room in an instant.

Kevan sighed, looking over at his brother. "Perhaps it's time we sued for peace."

The silence wrought after the comment was shattered by the sound of glass breaking. All eyes turned to Tyrion, who had knocked his cup to the floor. He looked down at the mess calmly before turning his gaze onto his uncle. "There's your peace. My nephew saw to that when he took Ned Stark's head. You'll have an easier time drinking from that cup than you will bringing Robb Stark to the table now. He's winning – in case you hadn't noticed."

Tywin's councilors grumbled, but none would say that the Imp was wrong. Robb Stark had proven, with one victory, that he was just as deadly as the Baratheon brothers. Renly had the army, and Stannis had proven himself a fine strategist, but the Stark boy was not an enemy to be taken lightly.

"All of you out." Tywin ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. The other Lords looked at each other before heeding the command they had been given. As they filed out, Tyrion went to leave as well, but before he could, his father stopped him. "Not you."

The Imp of Casterly Rock sighed and walked over to a seat next to Tywin, jumping up into it. He reached forward to pour himself wine, but his father beat him to it, grabbing the pitcher and pouring the purplish-liquid for him. Tyrion watched him do so with a confused, slightly shocked look, but said nothing, gently grabbing the glass when his father put down the pitcher.

"You were right to say what you did." Tywin stated, his voice passive. "The Stark boy will not be placated by his sisters alone. If we had Eddard Stark, then we could have brokered peace with Winterfell and Riverrun and turned our attention to Robert's brothers. But now, madness. Madness and stupidity. l always thought you were a stunted fool. Perhaps l was wrong."

"Half wrong." Tyrion replied with a smirk and drank from his cup of wine. "So what are we going to do?"

"You will go back to King's Landing," Tywin said firmly.

The Lannister dwarf scoffed. "And do what?"

"Rule," The Old Lion replied stoically. ""You will serve as Hand of the King in my stead. You will bring that boyking to heel, and his mother too, if needs be. And if you get so much as a whiff of treason from any of the rest – Baelish, Varys, Pycelle…"

"Heads, spikes, walls." Tyrion interrupted. "Why not my uncle? Why not anyone? Why me?"

"Because you are my son, and you are a Lannister," Tywin said simply.


There was a feast being held for all the Lords of the North and Riverlands that had travelled to Riverrun. Cregan found himself seat on his mother's right while Robb was up front with his most important Lords. The food had been cleared and now a debate on what to happen next had begun. At the Twins, they had only three options available to them. March against Tywin, march against Jaime, or both. But now, they had more choices to choose from, as the South was tearing itself apart.

News had reached Riverrun that Renly Baratheon had been crowned at Highgarden. The youngest Baratheon brother had taken Margaery Tyrell, the only daughter of Mace Tyrell, the Warden of the South, as his wife and queen which meant that he now had the allegiance of the Reach and the Stormlands. Furthermore, on the island of Dragonstone, Stannis Baratheon had crowned himself King as well, declaring that he was King Robert's one true heir and that all his presumed children by Cersei Lannister were actually bastards born of incest. Whether or not, his words were true, Cregan did not know but now there were three kings vying for the Iron Throne, two of them meaning to take it and one meaning to hold it.

"The current course is clear." Lord Jonos Bracken declared, taking to the floor. "Renly Baratheon has been crowned at Highgarden. We should march south and join our forces with his."

"Renly is not the King." Robb's voice rang loud and clear for the first time since the council began.

Lord Rickard Karstark spoke up, thunderstruck. "You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, My Lord! He ordered your father to death."

"And the bastard will answer for that, Lord Karstark, I assure you. But that doesn't make Renly a King." Cregan said with no small amount of ferocity in his voice. "He is Robert's youngest brother. If I can't be Lord of Winterfell before Robb, then Renly cannot be King before Stannis. Such is law and tradition."

"But what does Stannis have?" Lord Vance argued with the boy of fifteen namedays. "Renly has all the power of Storm's End and Highgarden to call on whereas Stannis has a few ships and some men from the Narrow sea, and he will attempt to fight his brother and the Lannisters in one war."

"He has the right. Especially if his claim about King Robert's children are true." Maege Mormont, the Lady of Bear Island said. The hall broke down into bickering as to who the North should back: Renly or Stannis. It was then that Stevron Frey put forth his suggestion.

"Perhaps, my lords, we could make peace with the Lannisters and allow Joffrey and Renly to fight each other. Then, when only one is left, we can bring our full strength to bear in supporting or opposing whoever is left standing. Lord Tywin would welcome a truce and the return of his son and relatives, and we would have time to gather our strength."

Almost immediately, he was shouted down by the others, mostly by the Northern Lords who considered the Kingslayer the most valuable bargaining tool they had. At that moment, Cregan watched as his mother stood up and walked to the center of the hall and all voices died. Such was the effect of her presence. "My lords, Ser Stevron is right. Enough blood has been shed on both sides, but we can end it before the tide of blood becomes a great wave that will drown us all. All we have to do is try."

"You would have me make peace with the men who killed our father and your husband?! I can't do that. I won't do that." Robb emphasized his words by placing his sword on the table in front of him to show the resolve behind them. Cregan nodded along with his brother's words as a scowl twisted his features. How could his mother even think of making such a suggestion? The Lannisters had cut wounds that were far too deep and would not be so easily remedied by mere words, either spoken or written.

"Even if we were to make peace now, what's to stop the Lannisters from returning? We bloodied Tywin and took his son and kinsmen as prisoners. He won't forget that, and he certainly won't forgive it. What would keep them from starting another war to finish the job?" Ser Brynden declared. His words were as blunt as a hammer and true. If they made peace it would only be a temporary one, given the mentality of both Joffrey and Tywin. Any man who thought otherwise would be a fool.

"And peace with who? Lord Tytos Blackwood questioned. "If we make peace with the Lannisters are we not traitors to King Renly?"

"You may all decide on that for yourselves!" Marq Piper called out. "But I would sooner have both my legs cut off than go on my knees before a Lannister and call him my king."

"My Lords!" The Greatjon called over the clamor. The Umber Lord had been strangely quiet up until now. The other's quietened to listen to the Lord of Last Hearth. "Here's what I say to these two Kings." He spat a huge gob of spit onto the stone floor and several northerners laughed, Cregan among them. Even Robb let a smile creep across his face. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me and neither is Stannis. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in Highgarden or King's Landing? What do they know of the Wall, the Wolfswood or the Barrows of the First Men? Even their gods are wrong! And as for the Lannisters, they think they have the right to rule us after murdering our Lord Eddard? Piss on that...the Others take them and their boyking. Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the Dragons we bowed to, and Robert Baratheon earned our fealty. But the Dragons are gone, and Robert Baratheon is dead." Cregan's grey eyes widened in shock as he watched the Greatjon turn to his eldest brother with his sword drawn and pointed at him. "There sits the only king I mean to bend the knee to! The King in the North!"

Cregan found himself grinning at the Greatjon's words as the Umber Lord took a knee in front of Robb who had now risen to his feet. No Stark had been a King in three hundred years. Not since Torrhen the Last bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. Since then, they had been ruled from the Iron Throne. But the Iron Throne had now executed their Lord Father. The Lord of the Last Heart was right. Why should the southerners rule over them? What had they done to earn it? No, he didn't even have to debate the matter. As he met his eldest brother's shocked blue eyes, he knew that Robb was the only person he would ever swear fealty to.

"I'll have peace on those terms!" Lord Karstark declared, rising as well. "They can keep their red castle, and their iron chair too." He lay his sword with the Greatjon's. "The King in the North!"

Lady Maege Mormont stood, her spiked mace in her hand. "The King of Winter!" She declared, joining her steel and knees to those of her fellow warriors.

Theon stood up at that moment. "Am l your brother, now and always?"

"Now and always." Robb replied, still slightly stunned but his Tully blue eyes slowly began to gain a confidence they did not have before. Grey Wind stood as well, standing beside him as the heart of winter, the strength and history of House Stark supporting him.

The Greyjoy ward grinned and took out his sword as well and bowed before Robb. "My sword is yours in victory and defeat, from this day until my last day!"

Cregan rose to his feet as well drawing eyes onto him. Reaching his hand down to his waist, he grabbed the hilt of High Justice and slid the sword out of its sheath. His wolfish grin grew wider than it ever had before. "You and I were raised together, ate together, trained together, bled together. You are my kin, my blood, my brother, and the only person I will ever bend the knee to. As of today until the end of my days, you have my sword, my life, and my undying loyalty! Let's fuck those Lannister cunts bloody!"

His words were met with roars and clangs of approval by the Lords gathered and soon, they were all rising. The northmen got off their seats and placed their steel before him. But they weren't alone. The River Lords were standing as well. Mallister, Bracken, Blackwood, Darry, Piper, Vance and more, men and Lords who had never known the rule of Winterfell were pledging themselves to Robb Stark, placing themselves under his protection, and shouting words that hadn't been heard since the time of Aegon the Conqueror.

"The King in the North!"

"The King in the North!"

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"