133 AC
Cregan Stark POV
We rested for the night at Rook's Rest, the victory a bitter-sweet taste. The next morning, fueled by a Lord Staunton's generous supplies, we broke camp and began our relentless march towards King's Landing. Five days later, the sprawling, squalid silhouette of the capital loomed in the distance.
As soon as we were within range, an abominable stench assaulted my nostrils: the unmistakable reek of piss and shit. It was a smell I knew well from my past life, and it hit me with a visceral disgust. Roddy, riding to my right, gagged, his face twisting. "Where the fuck is that smell from?" he muttered, disbelief plain in his voice.
"Look in front of you," I replied, my gaze fixed on the distant city walls.
Roddy followed my gaze, then shook his head. "So they're fighting for this shithole?"
"Aye," I affirmed, the single word dripping with contempt.
Suddenly, the bells of King's Landing began to ring, a cacophony of alarm. On top of the city walls, the remaining Green army, a motley collection of gold cloaks and hastily assembled levies, appeared. Bows were knocked with arrows, ready to loose if we came within range. Lannisters and Baratheons hadn't finished mobilizing their forces yet; this was all they had.
Then, a familiar, terrifying roar ripped through the sky. I looked up. Vhagar, the bronze she-dragon, was a speck growing rapidly larger, making her way towards us. "Saphira!" I commanded, my voice echoing through the bond. "Take care of the bronze she-dragon!"
I turned to my men. "First fifty members of the Wolf Pack, dismount your horses!" I barked. "The rest of you, be ready to charge when I give the signal!"
Roddy looked at me, a question in his eyes. "What signal, my Prince?"
A grim smile touched my lips. "You'll know it when you see it."
The fifty dismounted men formed a tight shield wall, their Northern steel gleaming menacingly. "March!" I commanded. We began our advance, a deliberate, inexorable crawl towards the Dragon Gate. When we were within range, a volley of arrows hissed from the walls. But our shields, forged of thick Northern steel, held firm. The arrows either shattered or bounced harmlessly off the polished surfaces, unable to penetrate.
For fifteen agonizing minutes, we marched, arrows raining down, until we were finally at the base of the Dragon Gate. "Move to one of the doors, center!" I ordered.
Then, with a raw surge of power, I transformed. My skin stretched, my muscles bulged, and jagged claws erupted from my fingertips as I became half-Lycan. The animalistic strength flooded my limbs. I reared back and launched a kick at the thick wooden door. The gate vibrated, shaking on its ancient hinges. I hit it again, and again, ten more times, the dull thuds reverberating through the stone. I heard the hinges creak, groaning under the immense force.
With one final, thunderous kick, the massive gate crashed inward, splitting and falling to the ground with a deafening roar.
Roddy, seeing the impossible happen, grinned fiercely. "That's the signal, boys!" he bellowed. "FOR GLORY!"
With a unified roar, the entire Wolf Pack charged.
The Dragon Gate lay shattered, and my Wolf Pack surged into King's Landing. I looked up, scanning the smoke-filled sky. Saphira was still entangled with Vhagar, a massive, swirling battle of ice and bronze. Vhagar was tenacious, even old, and it seemed Vhagar still had some fight left in her to deal with the ancient beast.
"Fifty to the walls!" I roared, pointing to the gaping maw of the Dragon Gate. My first fifty men, those who had formed the shield wall, moved with brutal efficiency. The Green archers on the battlements had stopped firing, likely fearing they'd accidentally hit their own men as the Wolf Pack swarmed through the gate. This was their mistake. We scrambled up the inner stairs, a relentless tide of Northern steel.
Once on the wall, it was a slaughter. The startled archers and few guards were no match for the Demon Slayer-trained Wolf Pack. We moved like phantoms, our blades silent, decisive. In minutes, the entire stretch of wall above the Dragon Gate was clear, every Green defender eliminated.
I looked back up to the sky. The aerial ballet had shifted. Saphira, a pure white blur, was now disengaging from Vhagar, leaving the bronze dragon tumbling. Then, with a chilling finality, Vhagar crashed, an earth-shattering impact heard even over the din of the city. Saphira had killed Vhagar. Aemond, the one-eyed prince, was likely dead amidst the wreckage.
With the skies secured and the city now ours for the taking, I pointed towards the towering silhouette of the Red Keep. "To the Red Keep!" I commanded.
We cut a path through the city's labyrinthine streets, the remaining Green soldiers melting away before our charge. The streets, once choked with the stench of the city, were now filled with the metallic tang of blood and the terrified screams of the few who tried to resist. When we reached the Red Keep, its gates were already shut, massive and imposing.
No matter. I transformed once more into half-Lycan, my muscles coiling, my form swelling with raw power. With a guttural roar, I began to kick the massive wooden doors. The first impact echoed like thunder. Five brutal kicks, each one a hammer blow, and the ancient timber groaned. With a final, explosive kick, the gates crashed inward, splintering into a thousand pieces.
We surged into the Red Keep, a wave of black armor and snarling wolves. The remaining Kingsguard and household guards met us, but they were few, and their morale was shattered. The fight was short, bloody, and decisive. After a half-hour of relentless fighting, the Red Keep was ours.
We rounded up all the remaining Green leaders. Otto Hightower, his face a mask of pale fury, was quickly seized. Tyland Lannister and Jasper Wylde were taken, their protests swiftly silenced. Larys Strong, true to his nature, was found attempting to hide in one of the Red Keep's secret tunnels, but the Wolf Pack's senses were too keen. Even Grand Maester Orwyle was dragged from his chambers.
As for the usurper's family, I had a specific order. Alicent Hightower and Helaena Targaryen, along with Helaena's innocent children, were swiftly located and imprisoned in a maidenvault. They would live, for now, but their freedom, and their power, were at an end. The Red Keep had fallen.
"Roddy," I commanded, my voice firm despite the lingering exhaustion from my transformation. "Send them all to the dungeons. And search every one of their chambers for any information we can get about their planning. Also, release those who are loyal to Rhaenyra from the dungeons and tell them to help keep order in the city."
Roddy nodded, already barking orders to his men. The captured Greens, their faces a mix of terror and disbelief, were swiftly escorted away. I found a relatively untouched chamber nearby and slumped into a chair, the rapid transformations into half-Lycan form having drained a significant amount of my stamina. I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment, letting my breathing even out.
My rest was short-lived. After some time, a knock came at the door. "Enter," I called out.
Roddy stepped in, a sheaf of letters and scrolls in his hand. "My Prince," he said, handing them over.
I quickly scanned the information. It confirmed my suspicions: alliances being forged, troop movements, political machinations. It was a clear picture of their usurping plans. I nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, bring all the Small Council members to the Throne Room. And send a message immediately, using one of our wargs, to Dragonstone. Tell Queen Rhaenyra that King's Landing is no longer under the control of the Greens and that she should come to King's Landing." I paused, then added, "Also, send a message to Lord Staunton of Rook's Rest. Inform him of our victory and tell him to bring Criston Cole here."
Roddy nodded once more, his eyes gleaming with understanding, and left to carry out the orders.
I made my way to the Throne Room. A few moments later, a Wolf Pack member informed me that the prisoners were assembled. As I entered, the sight was a grim tableau. Otto Hightower, Tyland Lannister, Larys Strong, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Jasper Wylde stood amidst a scattering of other lords and knights who had been imprisoned in the dungeons for their loyalty to Rhaenyra. Alicent Hightower and Helaena Targaryen were also present, their faces pale but defiant, standing with the children. Aemond was notably absent; he was dead, crushed beneath the weight of his own dragon, Vhagar. I also saw a detachment of Gold Cloaks who had remained loyal to Daemon and had joined our side in the final push against the Greens.
Roddy, ever the man of action, walked to the foot of the Iron Throne. "Will you be sitting on the throne, my Prince?" he asked.
I looked at him incredulously, then at the monstrous, uncomfortable edifice. "Who the hell would sit on such a monstrosity?" I scoffed. "Place a chair at the steps of the throne."
A Wolf Pack member quickly brought a simple, sturdy chair. I moved to it, removed my sword from my waist, and settled in, crossing one leg over the other. I let my right hand rest on the hilt of my sheathed blade, tapping it gently on the stone floor. My gaze swept over the gathered figures, from the defiant Greens to the relieved Blacks.
"Shall we begin?" I stated, the words hanging in the air, signaling the true commencement of our reign in King's Landing.