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"Wolf of The Ruins"
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 07:47:35 +0000 UTCChapter 69–"Wolf of The Ruins"
The heavy doors of the war room closed with a thud behind them. Candles flickered across the old maps spread over the oak table, inked with battle lines, ports, and mercantile routes of Essos.
Cregan Stark stood beside Edwyle Snow, his cousin and Commander of the Company of the Rose. The air was thick with tension as Edwyle slid a stack of parchments across the table.
"They're targeting our partners," Edwyle said grimly. "Offering better deals, threatening some, bribing others. They're trying to isolate us."
Cregan scanned the papers with narrowed eyes. "Second Sons?"
"Aye," Edwyle confirmed. "Salty from last time we broke their pride. And this time... they've got coin. A lot of it."
Cregan scoffed. "Those golden whores can't do shit. Magisters don't profit just from our trade — they owe us. Old debts, unpaid favors, fear — that's more binding than gold."
Edwyle wasn't smiling. "Don't underestimate this. Tywin Lannister's pockets are deeper than any Magister's. They've already bought weapons from Qohor, Norvos, Volantis... even Braavos. And that's not all."
He slid another parchment toward Cregan.
"There are over 8,000 men — mercenaries, killers, thugs. Armed to the teeth. Second Sons are leading them, but others have joined. They're consolidating."
Cregan stared at the numbers. The sheer scale made him exhale slowly. "How much does that old fuck hate me to spend this much?"
Edwyle gave a dry chuckle. "Enough to cross the sea and try to ruin everything you've built."
Silence lingered before Edwyle spoke again, voice low. "Maybe it's time we rang the bell."
Cregan looked up sharply. "You're not serious."
"We've kept the truth hidden long enough," Edwyle said. "Our enemies think we're just another band of Northerners playing at sellswords. They don't know what the Company of the Rose truly is."
"And we'll keep it that way," Cregan snapped. "You think Essos won't panic if they find out our men aren't undisciplined thugs but trained, loyal soldiers? That we've been breeding an army in silence?"
"One day, the truth will come out."
"Not today. I won't risk your life or the Company unless I must," Cregan said, voice hardening.
Edwyle leaned on the table. "Then what's the plan? We have three thousand men. They have nearly triple that."
Cregan's stare was unyielding. "We trust me."
Edwyle smirked faintly. "I do. With my life. You saved my sister and me. Avenge my father. If you asked, I'd throw myself into the fire. That's why I say — use the shadow force. Isn't that why we created it?"
Cregan's voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't save you just so you could die before your time."
A quiet fell between them.
Eventually, Cregan asked, "Where'd the intel come from?"
Edwyle grinned. "Our friends in Qohor and Norvos like us. Especially since we don't flood the market with Blacksteel. They're grateful."
Cregan chuckled. "Of course they are. How's our spymaster doing?"
"Myra?" Edwyle chuckled. "Thriving. Disguised as a drunk captain, always in a tavern brawl. They call her the Thorny Rose now."
Cregan laughed, shaking his head. "Suits her. Looks soft, but you touch her wrong and you'll bleed."
He leaned back in his chair, face thoughtful. "How are the finances holding?"
Edwyle smirked. "Better than ever. The army was expensive to build — hiding, arming, training, feeding them — and making sure they stay loyal. But Jon Snow made sure we never lacked coin."
Cregan raised a brow. "Jon?"
"He's been sending regular funds from Frosthall. Every gold dragon, accounted for. The men are paid well, never hungry, and loyal to the bone."
Cregan nodded slowly. "People give me credit for building the North's wealth and army. But it's Jon. I demand, he delivers. He knows more than I do about what we own or spend. I offered him Moat Cailin once, and he refused."
Edwyle's voice softened. "He deserves more than what he takes credit for."
"Truly."
There was a pause. Edwyle reached into his cloak and dropped a sealed scroll onto the table. "Speaking of credit — you might want to read this."
Cregan unfurled the scroll — scanned the report. His eyes widened.
"You're joking."
"I'm not. Our standing force is 15,000 men. Trained, armed, hidden across Essos and the North."
Cregan nearly choked on his ale. "FIFTEEN THOUSAND?!"
Edwyle blinked. "Wait. You didn't know?"
Cregan set the cup down. "No! I thought we had maybe four thousand. Five at most."
Edwyle raised a brow. "You trust Jon that much that you've never even checked the numbers?"
"Yes. He's my brother. I never needed to ask."
Edwyle was quiet a moment. "He's more than just your steward, Cregan. He's... ruthless. Cold, methodical. His orders to us were brutal and precise. Train the men. Keep them hidden. Make them loyal — not to the Rose. But to the North ,to you."
Cregan stared at him.
"He said it plainly. 'Loyalty to the Starks — especially to Cregan Stark — above all.'"
For a long moment, Cregan was silent.
He looked down at the map, then at the blazing hearth, as realization settled deep in his chest.
"Jon," he whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief. "You've been preparing for a war I didn't even know I started."
---
Edwyle refilled their goblets with dark, Essosi wine. The flickering candlelight now cast longer shadows across the map-covered table, where war and diplomacy fought silently.
Cregan leaned forward, his knuckles resting on Volantis.
"We should try for peace," he said quietly.
Edwyle looked up, surprised. "Peace? You want to negotiate with the same bastards sent to gut your empire?"
"I don't trust them," Cregan admitted. "But if we can avoid unnecessary bloodshed, I'll take that risk. War is never my first choice — just the one I'm best at."
Edwyle rubbed his jaw. "They're proud sellswords. They don't bend unless paid or broken."
"Then let's test which one they prefer."
Edwyle narrowed his eyes. "You're serious."
Cregan nodded. "We'll send a formal request for parley. Somewhere public. Neutral. Let the whole city of Volantis watch if they want."
"They'll think we're weak."
"No," Cregan said calmly. "They'll think we're clever. Let them assume we want peace because we're scared — and if they refuse, we'll have every justification to burn them without remorse. Let the world see who chose steel over sense."
Edwyle took a long drink, mulling over the idea. "I can get the message out through Myra's channels. Offer them terms. A seat at the table."
"Make it clear we're willing to talk," Cregan added. "But if they try anything stupid—"
"We'll bury them." Edwyle finished the thought with a grin.
Cregan's voice turned sharp again. "We give them one chance. One. If they spit on it, we move fast. Quiet. Ruthless."
Edwyle nodded. "I'll arrange the meeting. I'll have Myra pick the messengers. Trusted ones only."
"Tell her to double the watchers. I want every alley and rooftop covered if they agree to meet."
He stood from the war table and walked to the window, looking out over the harbor where their stolen ships were anchored. His direwolf, Shadow, was curled near the doors, awake but still.
"I don't want this war," Cregan muttered. "But I'll end it if I must. The Second Sons need to understand something — I won't let the old lion buy the future of my people."
Edwyle joined him, arms crossed. "If peace fails...?"
Cregan's expression hardened. "Then they'll learn why they called me the Wolf of the Ruins in Essos."
---
