The eyes of a wolf
Kevan POV
"Food's here."
I woke to the sound of a wooden bowl hitting the stone floor, and the guard's voice compelled me to rise from the straw bed I had been given. My bones ached as I forced my stiff body to move; the lack of movement and chill made it difficult to command my body as I wished. But hunger drove me to act despite it all.
My food was just a few steps from my bed. Yet, even then, I could not reach it. After taking the first step, I found myself forced to my knees and had to crawl on hands and knees to get there. The gruel had almost no taste apart from salt, and it was already cold. However, it did fill my stomach somewhat, just enough to keep me alive.
How long had I been in this darkness? I had no idea. It could have been months, if not years, by now. The only source of light I received was from the torches the guards carried to bring me food and check on me. They revealed my overgrown gray hair and showed that I was as fragile and thin as a twig. At any moment, I felt I would snap into pieces.
I was so tired, so weak, and so afraid, but I did not break. I would not give them that satisfaction. As long as I lived, I knew that Tywin hadn't lost. The Starks would have fed me to their wolfs the moment they realized I was worthless. But at this point, I didn't know what I wanted more: for my brother to rescue me or for the Starks to finish me off.
How long could I keep my mind sound? In a place where even the rats didn't survive, how long would my mind last? I was strong, I did my best, and nobody could ask more of me than this. So why couldn't I just give up? Surrender to the darkness and the cold? Maybe I had already lost my mind. And how would I know?
"Hahaha."
Laughter was the only thing left to me. It filled the empty dungeon. I was here alone; I would die here alone. Wasn't I Kevan Lannister, brother and closest confidant to Lord Tywin Lannister, the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms? Or was I not? I no longer had my golden hair, nor my robust body, and my mind was probably gone too. Was I even human at this point?
What did it matter in the end? I would not survive long, with or without my name. The rags I wore barely protected me from the creeping cold. Would the Starks care enough to provide me with wool for the winter? I doubted it. They probably had already forgotten me, leaving only servants and guards to ensure I somehow survived. After all, I was the object of their hatred towards the Lannisters. The only one they got.
But had my brother forgotten me, too? Did Jaime and Tyrion even know I lived? Does anyone care if I live or die? I didn't even know what happened to my family. Surely, they were safe. My children, my wife—surely, they would beg my brother to help me. Or were they already dead, like so many others? Did that demon Theon Greyjoy kill them all? If so, what was the point of my living?
I have nothing. A loss that brought the Westerlands to their knees. A dishonor so vile it couldn't even be compared to anything. I shouldn't think that way. It did no good to brood over lost battles. That was done only by old men. But wasn't I one of them too? Who was I again? My head hurts; I should sleep. Yes, I just needed to sleep and wait. But wait for what? For whom?
…
The doors to my cell opened loudly. The heavy door scraped noisily across the stone floor, forcing me to rise. The light from the torch was blinding yet so warm and welcoming that I lost all reason and reached for it. It had been so long since someone had fully opened the doors to my cell, so long since anyone had walked in. I was saved. The eyes looking down on me were my brother's; he had come for me.
Before the dream was shattered by a kick that sent me falling onto my back, it didn't hurt, but I had no energy to defend against it. I couldn't rise again; the cold stone was engulfing me. The eyes of my brother I imagined were false. They weren't green but dark as the night. And I wasn't even a speck in that darkness.
"Get him cleaned up, and then bring him to me."
After those words, I didn't know what had happened. I felt myself lifted. One moment, I was cold; the next, warm. One moment, I was starving; the next, full. One moment, I was dirty; the next, clean. My head was spinning from sensations I had almost forgotten. I was completely lost and didn't know what I was doing or where I was.
When I finally regained my senses, I was clean, fed, and groomed. My long, broken nails were neatly trimmed, my rags had been replaced with proper clothing, and a warm feeling spread through my stomach. I could still taste the meat in my mouth. It was surreal, making it hard to think, but I didn't have time to adjust before I was forced to walk into another room, where I was met with eyes that somehow reminded me of my brother.
"Sit," a simple command, and like a dog, I followed without even realizing it. Have I no will of my own anymore? "Ser Kevan Lannister. To your brother, you are worth less than a sword. Did you know that? Your life is meaningless to us. All we wanted were the remains of my father and the ancestral sword that your brother is still keeping locked up somewhere. But he has refused time and time again."
What? I couldn't understand what he said. No, I could; I just didn't want to. My brother must have had a reason. It wasn't as simple as the boy before me thought. Tywin could not accept any demands from the Starks, as it would be seen as a sign of weakness. Yes, in times as perilous as these, we cannot afford to show vulnerability.
But was that really the truth? Couldn't Tywin spin it as him demanding my release in exchange for a simple sword and the remains of Ned Stark? Wouldn't that demonstrate his strength instead?
"Why am I here?" I asked, trying not to show doubt in my brother. "You treated me like some kind of criminal, like a cutthroat from Flea Bottom, and now you've decided to recognize me as a knight of noble blood?"
"From my limited understanding, most cutthroats from Flea Bottom kill to survive," the boy said. "But you, you kill so that others wouldn't. A knight? What is that exactly? Someone who took so many oaths that he doesn't even realize when he breaks some of them? We treat you as you deserve for the blood you have. A Lannister, who is too prideful even to save his brother."
Pride. Was that the reason I was still here? Could it be that the reason Tywin doesn't agree to the Starks' demands is that he is ashamed of me? His pride could not accept a failure like me. His blood. No, it was because it was his blood that he would rather see me dead, as I have tainted it by not only losing but also getting captured.
"I'm sure you will recognize this handwriting," the boy said as he handed me a letter. "We captured one of the servants who was going to poison your food and kill you. Indeed, we were fortunate that another servant noticed her unusual behavior and decided to keep a close eye on her until she was caught with poison. Upon further investigation, we found this letter and a pouch containing one hundred fifty gold dragons. That's how much your life costs to Tywin Lannister, your brother."
"Lies," I said, but I was losing strength as I read the letter. Yet soon enough, I regained my strength and belief in Tywin. "Haha, I do recognize my brother's handwriting. And this isn't his."
"So, you still haven't lost your senses after all this time, huh? How surprising, Most men, younger and stronger than you, would have accepted everything offered to them at this point. Tell me, what gave it away? I thought I had recreated his handwriting perfectly."
"First, he wouldn't have written the letter himself to send to some servant," I relished in achieving some kind of victory after so long. "And even though the letters are similar to my brother's, the space between the words is too large. My brother doesn't waste anything, not even parchment, so he fills it to its full capacity."
"Thank you, that's all I wanted to know."
"What?"
"Thanks to you, I now have everything I need. Thank you for dying; your death shall bring everlasting peace to the North."
Now I realized why his eyes reminded me so much of Tywin's. These eyes belonged to a predator that locked onto its prey. With his dark hair, gray eyes, and long face, he might resemble the honorable Ned Stark. But that was all. He was not an honorable man; he was a wolf that would devour anyone who endangered his home and pack, just like Tywin.
"I hope you enjoyed your last meal, and please have some wine. From my limited knowledge, it is quite good," the boy said as he stood up to leave. "Let's just say it will be the last regards from Lord Bolton."
There stood a bottle of wine, which I recognized as Myrish fire wine. I liked to have it after a meal. Once I opened it, the fragrant smell engulfed me. It was poison; if I drank it, I would die. And if I don't? Does it change anything? He would only find another way to do it. At least with this, it will be my choice. At least I will die by my actions.
…
Robb POV
Tired, I could barely keep my eyes open as I flexed my hands. I spent countless hours in my solar writing and rewriting letters, requests, demands, and contracts until they met my satisfaction. Working with the Iron Bank was helpful, but it was never enough to meet our needs. Plans were made to strengthen and prepare the North, yet they were dismissed in the same breath.
There was so much to think about, worry about, and fear. At some point, I accepted that it would never get easier; no matter what my situation was, I could not let my guard down. My enemies were waiting for me to make a mistake. The moment I stumbled, they would all pounce on me relentlessly. I would not give them the opportunity, though.
With the deal from Braavos, we have a chance to survive the worst this winter will bring, even if just barely. I had already dismissed the idea of trading with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. The Riverlands will need all they have; the Vale wasn't in a much better situation than the North. And the rest? The rest were all my enemies.
Dorne, as much as I wished to reach out to them, would be of little help, and I didn't trust them one bit. They might hate the Lannisters as much as I do, but the Martells will only use me and the North and betray us the moment they see our usefulness is over. I knew there was a way to use them, but I already had too much on my plate, so I had to choose my battles carefully.
"My king," Alys walked in on me without knocking. "The lords have all gathered. They are awaiting your presence."
"What about Jon?"
"He is here too," Alys smiled happily, knowing how much I needed Jon's presence; he was a wall that shielded me and a wall that I could lean on. "And he brought his wife, too."
"He plans to rile up the other lords," I replied, knowing how devious Jon could be; he was better at this than I was. "They are probably already gnawing at him and Val like crows."
"They are," Alys laughed prettily. "Only to turn their gazes away when his wolf's eyes meet them."
In more than one way, Alys was a gift from the gods themselves. Not only did our marriage solidify our alliance with the Karstarks, but beyond my expectations, she was a true winter's lady. Not afraid of anything and backed by her wit. She had helped not only to release my frustrations but also to rule my kingdom. Without her, Jon, and my mother, I would be out of my depth and would have already ruined any chances of the North surviving this war.
"Let's not keep them waiting," I said as I took Alys's hand in mine and walked her out.
…
The crown weighed heavily on me as I stood before the doors of the Great Hall. Behind those doors awaited the might of the North. Every lord who was healthy and strong enough to travel had come at my request. And if some couldn't make it, their heirs did. Once I walked in, my every action and word would make or ruin the future of the North.
"King Robb Stark, first of his name, the Young Wolf, the Wolf King, and the Queen Alys Karstark." The announcer was more than happy to announce me; he was probably pestered to no end by the likes of the Umbers.
"Ahem," Just as Robb walked in, he heard Arya's fake cough directed at the announcer.
"And the loyal protector Grey Wind," Arya surely knew how to make people do as she wished; again, she was probably pestering him to his death to announce Grey Wind, who just lazily followed me.
"To the King," The Umbers took it as a sign to let loose and toasted a large cup of ale in my name before doing it again and again. "To the Queen! To Grey Wind!"
The whole Umber family was already three cups deep into drinking before I even took my seat. It was improper, my mother would say, and will say when she starts to complain about every little thing. But to me, it was the essence of the North, the highest form of respect directed at me. It showed that they trusted me to join their laughter, and I wasn't one to disappoint.
"To the North!" I toasted with my cup of ale once I got to my table.
"To the North!" Everyone joined in.
"Now, before we drink ourselves to death, we shall begin the first council of the North under the rule of the King in three hundred years," Alys said, giving death stares to the Umbers and daring them to disagree.
The next two hours were exhausting as talks began. Every little detail was discussed. Although it annoyed some, it was necessary. Every bit of gold had to be turned into food and other resources that the North would need. We needed to pull together everything we had and support one another. We had to agree to it now so that no future conflicts could occur.
Discussions were made to set prices on grain and other necessities so every man or woman could afford to survive the winter. My mother warned me that people would throw away any bit of honor they had to exploit others when a chance arose. After what I witnessed and experienced in the South, I believed her words.
I would not let my people starve because someone with power would rather exploit them for a bit of coin. Rules had to be made; no one had the right to hoard necessities from others. No matter how dire the situation was or how little grain was available, the price would not exceed what people could afford. And I wasn't a fool either. I knew that greedy people would always find a way, so I at least had to make my stance against it.
In the end, I could only hope that all the glass gardens built in every corner of the North would be able to keep us from starvation. I knew well how long the winters could last and how others would turn their backs on the North, trying to exploit us at our weakest point. Relying on others would not sustain us; in the end, I could trust no one. So, I invested as much as I could in glass gardens, better roads, and my fleet. I would need them all.
"Your grace," Before we could finish our meeting, the doors to the Great Hall were burst in by a guard dragging a servant girl by her hand. "I apologize for interrupting so rudely, but it is of the utmost importance. Kevan Lannister has been poisoned."
"What?" It wasn't me who was most shocked by the news; the mostly silent Jon almost jumped out of his chair. "Is he alive?"
"My apologies. Before we realized what happened, it was already too late," the guard bowed his head. "We caught the one who brought the poisoned wine to him."
"Who are you, girl?" I did not recognize her. "Who do you serve?"
"I serve Lord Bolton, your grace."
"Is that true, Lord Bolton?"
"It is," Roose Bolton answered calmly, not disturbed. "But I have no connections to her actions. She is a simple attendant, like a dozen others I bring with me."
"Why did you poison Ser Kevan Lannister?" Jon asked. "How did you even get to him? What were the guards doing?"
"My lord," The guard bowed his head to Jon in shame. "We have neglected our duties and didn't thoroughly check who brought him food. Before he was brought into one of the chambers, the guards handled his needs. The changes made some confused, and they believed her when she said the King sent her to serve the prisoner. Once we found Ser Kevan dead, we quickly checked who was the last to see him and who brought the poisoned wine to him; it was this girl.
"Unhand her, Martin," I said as the guard roughly handled the girl. "Do you deny your accusations, girl?"
"No, what he said was true," the girl sobbed as he replied. "But I do not regret my actions. The Lannisters killed my father and brother. They deserve to die. All of them."
"How did you know where Ser Kevan was, and how did you get the poison?" Jon asked, walking up to the girl, but she averted her gaze. "Answer me! Fine, do you have any family left?"
"My mother, but she does not know anything, I swear by the Old Gods."
"I believe you," Jon knelt to the girl. "But if you can't provide me with my answers, I will get them from someone else. I will start with your mother, your friends, and everyone you know. I will not leave a stone unturned until I find my answer. So, tell me, do you want your mother to be involved in your crimes, or shall you suffer alone?"
"Lord Bolton," the girl looked frightened of Jon as she answered. "He gave me the order and the poison. He knew that the Lannister was out of the dungeons and gave me instructions on how to avenge my family."
"Lies," Lord Bolton replied, not disturbed in the slightest. "I do not even know her name, how could I possibly know about her family situation? She obviously is lying about everything and trying to disturb the trust between the Northern lords."
"I told you the truth!" the girl cried out. "Please spare my poor mother, I beg you. Please!"
"It is interesting, Lord Bolton," Jon said, staring coldly at the man. "The day when Ser Kevan Lannister was finally broken and was willing to surrender all the information he had, he was killed. I am not Lord of Winterfell, so I apologize for the next words, your grace. But I think there might be quite a few rats in this castle. And I suspect Lord Bolton is the owner of at least one of them."
"You accuse me of many things," Lord Bolton replied, staring at Jon without any visible emotion. "But what proof do you have? I have no relation to that girl nor any reason to kill Ser Kevan Lannister. I still stand by my words. Our enemies are using this to plant a seed of doubt in my loyalty."
"If it were just this, then yes, I would not trust a word of a girl who could have been hired or coerced into doing our enemies' bidding," Jon replied. "But she isn't the first to claim to have worked on your orders to do the Lannisters' bidding. There, I have a letter that was written by Lord Bolton and was entrusted to be delivered to the Lannisters. I have the captive, ready to confirm it too. So, I would watch your next words carefully, Lord Bolton."
This time, Lord Bolton did look surprised, but only for a moment before returning to his usual cold demeanor; as much as Jon's words and evidence gave suspicion to Lord Bolton, it wasn't enough to denounce him as a traitor. It would only bring more disorder if it weren't handled well. But I trusted my brother more than Lord Bolton.
"Lord Bolton," I made myself heard by everyone. "With two people speaking of your treachery and a piece of evidence, I have no choice but to act. I want you to know that what I am about to do is not out of bounds, and I hope you will respect my wish for you to be searched. Your chambers, your men, and your things shall be searched thoroughly. If we find nothing, I will declare this matter over and will not question your loyalty."
"You will find nothing," Lord Bolton replied.
I nodded to Jon, who quickly left with some of my men to search. Seeing how calm Lord Bolton was, I was sure nothing would be found. Lord Bolton was smart enough to hide anything that could incriminate him, well, or keep it close. Realizing that, I walked to him. Knowing that my next actions would tarnish me if I were wrong, I still decided to trust my brother and do what I believed was right.
"Lord Bolton, empty your pockets."
He didn't reply, but when he put his hand into his pocket, he went stiff. He knew I noticed it. Was it a mistake? No, he probably didn't have time to destroy the evidence since, as Jon thought, he received it from one of the rats living in my home. He knew what was in his pocket as he drew the parchment out. He understood his fate at that moment as he looked straight into my eyes.
"I will not plead for my life," Lord Bolton said as he gave the parchment to me. "You played me. I lost. Yet, you haven't accounted for one thing. I have nothing to lose now."
Before I could react, a knife was thrust at my neck. There was little I could do, as my hands were grasping Lord Bolton's left hand while he was using his right hand to thrust his hidden knife at me. Just a moment later, and I would die. But Grey Wind was faster. Just as the knife drew blood, Grey Wind ripped Lord Bolton away from me.
I put my hand on my neck and felt only a scratch. I didn't stay silent out of shock as Grey Wind ripped Lord Bolton apart, nor because of the screams of some weak-hearted, and definitely not because of the cries of pain coming from Lord Bolton as he was mauled to death. I stayed silent and let him die because I felt nothing for him—no pity or empathy. A traitor does not deserve any mercy.