Chapter 6

  CREGAN STARK

  Cregan had not missed the little game of Varys. He had made an effort to avoid the man deliberately over the years for to this day he knew not where his loyalties y. He had his hands in too many pots, and his web spun far and wide that was why Cregan thought it best to avoid him.

  A while he athetic to the bald Master of Whisperers, he absolutely loathed the Master of , Lord Petyr Baelish. Just one look, one look at the man's disappointed face upon seeing him, had told him all he had o know of the man, and Cregan had made an active effort to avoid the man at all costs, something he was only middlingly successful given that his education was mainly under Lord Jon Arryn who thought very highly of the man.

  Though thankfully, a few moons into his stay, the man had bee disied in him given his bition and quiet nature, and though the man may have been doh him, Cregan was not.

  It took him years to uand the Master of 's little ploys, uanding how the man stole from the and lined his own pockets. He did not keep much gold, and he ied it readily. Yet he did keep a substantial amount saved up in a rather non-spicuous building ireet of Silk, one which had a secret entrahrough the tuhat epsed the underbelly of the city.

  And san had decided to get a little revenge on the man and had simply doo him what he had doo the and had stolen from him a rather substantial amount of gold. And had he not pnned for it for years, he would have been caught.

  But while not the smartest, Cregan was meticulous and cautious, and both of these qualities had served him well. And as he rode through the wide cobbled streets of White Harbor he found himself rexing for the first time in years as the cold chill of North weled him bae.

  "Your city is beautiful," Cregan plimented, as the giant man riding beside him ughed.

  "It is generous of you, young lord. But I doubt it pares to the splendor of the Capital," and he was the heir to these nds, the son of the man who ruled over White Harbor and the Castle they rode towards, Ser Wylis Maderly.

  Lord Wyman's son was fat, a his father was said to be fatter. And though the man was jolly enough, the man had a sharp mind one he was said to have ied from his father whan hoped to engage in a cautionary venture.

  "I would say that White Harbor is better," Cregan added and saw the man raise a brow.

  "It may be smaller, but it is more ely, and most of all, it does not smell of shit," and the man ughed at that.

  "Ah, I have heard of it. They say that one smells the Capital before he sees it," and that was irue.

  "Aye, and you smell of it for days after living in it for years," and with that they rode through the gates of the castle that looked over the city and its ports from the hill, its gates and walls manned by men bearing tridents, and the Manderly sigil on their pte.

  And as the gates opened, he saw the man himself. Lord Wyman Manderly standing there alongwith a small retio wele him. Cregan jumped off the horse as the man walked forward.

  "It has been years since a Stark has graced these nds," he added with a booming ugh as a girl not much older than him stepped forward, carrying a basked of bread and salt, as Cregan tore off a pied ate it.

  "It is good to see you again, Lord Manderly," Cregaed the man before he turo the girl who had presented him with the bread and salt.

  "You as well, Lady Wynafryd," and she was the man's granddaughter, daughter of Wylis Manderly.

  "It is good to see you as well, my lord," she greeted him back, as Lord Manderly.

  "Wele to New Castle, young Lord Cregan. My granddaughter shall lead you to your quarters, I have prepared feast in your honor," and that was just the Manderly way.

  Cregan was not blind to the man's little ploys and how he wished to win over his favor and, subsequently, his hand for his granddaughter. The Manderleys were the richest House in the North and were not shy to show off their wealth.

  Given the sheer amount of power they had, one should be careful of them. But they were fiercely loyal to the Starks, and so one could hardly ask for a better ally than them.

  "There was no need for it, my lord," Cregan added softly.

  "Of course, there was my lord," Wynafryd, the brown-haired girl, added.

  "It is not every day that a Stark graces us with his presence," she added.

  "I am but a sed son," he retorted.

  "You are a Stark," she added, and Cregan nodded as he turowards the bulky man.

  "I am grateful for your hospitality, my lord," and with that, some small talk was made as Cregan was led to his chambers by Lady Wynafryd.

  "If there is anything you need, you call on me, my lord," she said. She was a ely girl of middli wearing a purple dress that plimented her hair, and Cregan nodded.

  "I will, though could I perhaps trouble my dy to carry a message to Lord Manderly," he asked knowing that he did not have much time to spend here, and would o depart to Winterfell soon.

  "Of course," she said, her brows ing together in curiosity and attention.

  "Tell him, that I wish to meet him in his sor," Cregan added, as he gulped down a his throat.

  "Alone," and she seemed a bit taken aback by those words, a nodded heless as she gave him a small bow.

  "As you wish, my lord," and with that, the doors to the room closed, and he was left alone in those chambers, half of which was filled with his luggage.

  Ohe sound of footsteps vanished, Cregan walked to the door once more and locked it from the inside before he closed off the windows, c them with the Myrish drapes. The room was now all dark except for the mps and the dle that was lit on the desk.

  Then he finally opened one of the trunks, this one filled with his own clothes and he removed them all, slowly aly as he piled them up on the bed until the trunk was all empty.

  Or was it?

  He then picked up his wooden e, pced it in one of the ers, and pushed it down with all his weight.

  THUNK!

  The bottom lifted off, and he pushed it to the side to reveal tens of small bags stacked underh. He whistled before he reached for one, looses strings, aied it into his hand.

  First came dirt, which he had pced there to stop the rattling sounds, and then came the real thing—gold s.

  "Thank you, Lord Baelish...." and with that, pced the fake bottom ba pce, and that was the case with all his trunks, and this all was but half his fortune.

  The other half was still in the capital, hidden away, in a pown only to two people, and would soon be on its way out of the city, all for one purpose—Death.

  .

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  .

  .

  .

  The feast went acc to his expectatioic dishes were prepared in his honor, and the fat Lord Manderly toasted him. He was made to sit beside him, with his lovely granddaughter to his other side. The iions of the old lord, not oblivious to him.

  Cregan had di enough feasts not to embarrass himself, a, unlike in the capital where he could hide in obscurity, he could hardly do that here, given that all of it was arranged for him. And so, he dined, drank, and ughed with the Lord Manderly, regaling him with various tales of the capital.

  And then they danced. Despite his reluce, he could hardly refuse his hosts, especially one he wished to ask a great favor of, and so he bore the pain as he twirled his granddaughter to the tunes, followed by the sed one, until he found himself settled in his seat once more besides the said lord.

  "I hope it was not an imposition," he said as Cregan shook his head.

  "Of course not. It was my honor to dah the Lady Wynafryd and the Lady Wyl. Yranddaughters are quite lovely," Cregan buttered him, and the man ughed as he spped his back.

  "That they are, that they are," and then he saw those eyes narrow, those blue eyes that were more devious than jolly, for one did not gather such wealth and power without a sharp mind.

  "I was told that you wished to see me," and Cregan nodded.

  "I do, and I would prefer it if it was away fr eyes and ears," and there was a sharp narrowing of that gaze before the man nodded.

  "As you wish, I will send for you, young lord," and Cregan nodded and the festivities sted te into the night, and as he retired, Cregan y there on the bed, putting off the temptation to drown out the pain in his leg with a gulp of the milk of poppy, to not promise himself for what was to e.

  And theo the night, whe of the whispers from the feast had been silehere was a kno the door, and he ope to find a guard outside.

  "The Lord Manderley has called for you..."

  And it was time...

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  WYMAN MADERLY

  Wyman Manderly was a fat man, with fat fingers and fat coffers, which made his walk slow, yet his mind was not so slow—not at all.

  He had made the Manderly's richer than they had ever been and had seen his House to prosperity all because of his mind and the blessings of their liege Lord who had given their House this nd and their trust.

  House Manderly was inally from the Reach, yet it was driven out of those nds a thousand years ago. In those perilous times, while being chased by ehe Starks had given them refuge, had offered them nd in their kingdom, and for that, the Starks would find none more loyal to them than their House.

  "What do you think of him?" Wyman asked his granddaughter Wynafryd, the one who had reyed to him the boy's message earlier for a private meeting.

  "I see why they call him the Quiet One, he is much quieter thaher boy's his age," and that was his own thought. However, the boy had always been as such, even years ago when he had first e to this castle while going to the capital for his f.

  Not that Wynafryd would remember much from that time. But he remembered.

  Other boys of this age would ugh and jape and boast, especially one who had fostered with the King himself. They would boast of bravery and try to take girls to their beds, yet the Stark boy's gaze hardly lingered, at least no more than it became impolite, as he talked and danced with perfect manners.

  "That he is," but Wyman suspected much more. However, he would learn soon enough, as his door was knocked.

  "Leave us," he said as his granddaughter left the room, only for the boy to ehe sor. He walked into the room and took a seat at his .

  "You seem to be in pain," Wyman offered as he saw the boy's grimace.

  "Should I call for the maester?" he asked, and the boy shook his head.

  "There is no his pain is an old panion now," the boy said, and this was why he had bee away.

  The Crippled Wolf—that was what they called him both in the capital and here in the North. The Sed Son of Lord Stark had injured his leg in a fall in his youth, f him to endure a stant pain upon running or even walking for extended periods of time.

  The boy could walk easily enough for some time, but he could not run. That meant he could not fight, though her could he, a Wyman knew a man scarce as dangerous as him in these nds.

  For some reason, he suspected that the young Stark boy was the same.

  "I was told that you wished to see me, and here I am. What I do for you, young master Stark?" he asked, and the boy replied.

  "I am thankful that you heeded my request, my lord. I have actually e here because I am in need of your service," and that made him frown.

  Him. Not House Stark, but were they so different?

  "And what would request would that be?" Wyman asked.

  "I wish for you to buy and strain for me...."

  That was a surprising request, and as they talked more and more, Wyman Manderly found himself surprised and worried. Buying grain was not an absurd request; he bought it for many lords of the North for the Winter, but if the boy had approached him, then it could be only for a few reasons.

  He had e from the capital and could have brokered a good deal through the merts there or could have even asked his own Lord father for it. But no, the boy had e to him with probably his own , and there could be only two reasons for that.

  Gold or War. And as he looked at the boy's eyes, Wyman feared that it was the tter, and he was much afraid for it.

  Though the boy may have hidden his iions well enough—presenting them as a business venture—he saw through them and saw what he was really trying to do.

  The boy reparing the North for flict.

  And as Wyman sat there, his fihrumming over the table, the boy watched him with those steely grey eyes, and he raised a brow.

  "Does your father know of your pns, my lord?" he asked again, just to ask, and the boy shook his head as he had expected. This was an indepe venture. But why? He thought, and he was tempted to even ask.

  But he did not. For some reason, he k in his blood that he should not. And Wyman had grown fat, old and rich all because of his instincts, and so he chose to trust them once more.

  "Not yet, though I doubt he would interfere much given that the Gold is mine own and I am but a sed son," one who had fostered with the King for years and was now returning home again and preparing for flict.

  "That may be, but still. This is a big uaking. I would much prefer it if your lord father knew of it," he had to try. For all his intelligence, he was still a boy. A young boy with aged eyes that narrowed at his intervention.

  "My lord father will know of it soon enough, but I am afraid we ot dey this venture any longer, for the price of grain is set to rise soon," and he frowned as the boy tinued in an ominous tohat was a lie, a ploy to misdirect him.

  But still, he wondered what would drive the boy to ask this of him. Given what he judged of the boy, he would have known of the problems this would entail, a he had still e to him, despite the risks, and he even spoke of them.

  "For Winter is ing..."

  And for the first time, he wondered what kind of wihe boy spoke of.

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