[79] A Wolf’s Deal With a Dragon

Chapter 79: A Wolf’s Deal With a Dragon

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The candlelight cast shadows across Catelyn’s face as she stood there, like a statue in Stark grey. Her eyes flickered to the shattered vase near the hearth—the Sand Snakes’ parting gift—before snapping back to me. I stretched my legs wider, feeling the chair creak.

“...Your Grace,” she spoke up a moment later, and her voice was colder than a winter stream. “I appreciate the audience at this late hour.”

I swirled the wine in my cup, watching the droplets cling to the rim. “It’s alright. I don’t need much sleep, the dragon blood is strong in me. But I don’t think you came here to admire my decor.” I gestured to the overturned table and the splintered leg of a chair. “Let’s get to the point, Lady Stark.”

Her jaw tightened at my blunt tone. “This is about my daughter… and you. I recall how close you two were.”

I barked a laugh. “Sansa?” The name dripped mock sweetness. “Interesting, why’re you bringing her up? We shared a few rides and a few whispers. But nothing else. Just so you know—her maidenness is intact. Wouldn’t want to give you another reason to hate me since you already hate me so much.”

Catelyn shook her head. “You have the wrong idea of me then, Your Grace. That was before the war.”

“Ah, right. The war.” I leaned forward, the chair groaning. “The war where I roasted your enemies, took your city, saved your sons, and returned to claim the throne your precious Ned died groveling for. Fair point, I now understand why you’ve come to my chambers.” I took a slow sip, letting the silence thicken.

“....” a deep scowl darkened her face. She hated how I was rubbing it on her.

“Be clear with me, Lady Stark—just what do you want now that you’ve realized how great a man I am?” I smirked.

She didn’t flinch. Good. But her pulse jumped in her throat. “The Tyrells will become the second Lannisters. A wise king would see that. Margaery will have her claws in you if she hasn’t already.”

I grinned, all teeth. “Claws? That rose has some fresh thorns, not claws. And thorns…” I snapped my fingers over the candle. A spark leapt from it, dancing briefly before it snuffed out. “…burn. Roses, more so.”

Catelyn sighed. Not at the parlor trick—at the implication.

“You’re not taking my words seriously. Olenna Tyrell lands within days,” she pressed. “She’ll have you wedded to that girl before the next moonrise. You think she’ll let you rule? You’ll sit on the throne, true, but like how Tywin managed the realm during Robert's time, she'd do the same during yours.”

I arched my brow. “Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

"You can stop it.”

"Do I want to?” I shrugged. "It sounds fun to have someone else run my nation while I enjoy kingly activities. What's the issue?"

I watched the way her fingers curled into a fist. The need in her eyes. The tension in her shoulders. I saw it all, and I reveled in it. This same woman was looking at me with hate, for my father had killed her fiance back in the day—Ned Stark’s older brother.

The wine burned pleasantly as I swirled it, watching the Stark woman’s reflection warp in the golden goblet. Her posture screamed of Tully arrogance mixed with Stark pride; her spine was straight as a spear, chin lifted just enough to avoid looking down her nose.

Amusing, given she stood in my chambers, surrounded by the wreckage of my earlier entertainment. The nobles of this world seldom realized how easily they could be killed, otherwise they’d have been less full of themselves.

“I didn’t take you for that kind of King,” she said. “The type who lets others rule. Guess I was wrong?” The way her lips curled up just slightly was annoying as she questioned my kingsmanship. She did look incredible at that moment though—attractive.

[Image Here]

For the first time, I took a proper look at Catelyn Stark. Who would believe she was a widow and mother of four?

Her auburn hair was loosely braided over one shoulder, with stray strands framing her face and softening her sharp gaze. She stood with quiet strength, wearing a rich, dark gown with gold embroidery and a deep neckline that revealed her cleavage beneath the intricate patterns.

A pendant, dark and sharp as her stare, hung at her throat against pale skin. Her hands were clasped firm over one another, and her expression was a blend of resolve and something else, lit by the warm glow of the fire behind her.

I recall in the books, many characters were younger than their show counterparts. This woman must be a result of that.

“You must think I’m an idiot, Lady Stark,” I said very slowly, letting the words drip like honey.

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation betraying her composure. “I think you’re a king who understands the game. I still do.”

I laughed loud enough that it made her flinch. “I like to think I do,” I set the goblet down with deliberate slowness, and a clink echoed in the ruined room. “But the last time I offered you kindness, you spat on my family name. Called me Mad King’s brat in that sweet motherly tone of yours. If not for Robb’s wise decision, we’d have been enemies.”

“...I apologize for that,” she said.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, watching her throat tremble. “Whatever the case, now you’re standing in my chamber, reeking of desperation, speaking of marriage. Tell me—” I dropped my voice to a whisper, “—what benefits do I get from marrying Sansa Stark?”

Her hands flexed at her sides, pale fingers digging into grey wool. For a heartbeat, I thought she might bolt. Then her lips parted, the words forced out like a prisoner’s confession. “A union. A bond between our houses – our independent nations – that secures the North’s future and cements your rule.”

“Mmm. A bond.” I drummed my fingers against the armrest. “Is that what you call it? Not bartering your daughter like a broodmare at the Winterfell market?”

Her cheeks flushed, but her voice remained steady. “Do not insult my motherhood like that, Your Grace. My daughter wants you, and that is the reason I am here. If she didn’t, I’d have myself hanged before I sell her for political reasons.”

“Eh, you did that for your son, so why not your daughter?”

“You may mock my words, but you know what I say is true. " She closed her eyes and sighed, realizing I was just trying to irritate her. “The North at your side is better than the Reach at your back. Plus, as I said, we’re an independent nation while the Reach is a region under you. Marrying the Princess of House Stark is the wiser choice.”

I rose abruptly, boots crunching over shards of the shattered vase. Catelyn didn’t retreat, though her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat. “You’re missing the part where I gave the North its independence. It means I am not interested in that frozen place,” I said, circling her like a wolf sizing up wounded prey. “You’re free. You rule yourselves. And winter is coming, and your crops will freeze. You're benefiting a lot more from having your daughter be my Queen. After all, then I'll be obliged to look after the North. The same isn't true for the Reach. Rather, the amount of crops the Reach has grown can feed me for decades to come. You tell me, which choice is better?”

“But-”

“No buts. Answer me clearly, what need have I for your daughter, Lady Stark? A pretty little thing, sure—but roses have thorns and wolves…” I paused, close enough to smell the lavender soap clinging to her skin, “...have teeth. That is needless trouble for me.”

She turned sharply, meeting my gaze. “Because we both know the game isn’t over yet. Tywin Lannister still draws breath. Olenna will try to control you. And you need allies who are loyal—not sycophants waiting to carve your throne into souvenirs. Northmen are loyal.”

I hummed, tilting my head. Moonlight caught the sweat beading at her temple. “I'll admit that. But, loyalty is such a fragile thing.” I reached out, brushing a strand of auburn hair from her shoulder. It was too intimate of a gesture, done too casually. She stiffened but held her ground. “I don't need loyalty when I have a dragon. Try again. What would the North give me, besides a blushing bride who jumps at her own shadow?”

The wine’s bitter aftertaste clung to my tongue as I smiled at her. Catelyn didn’t retreat, but her nostrils flared—like a wolf scenting fire.

“Regardless, I see your point for Olenna,” I said when she stayed silent for too long. “She's a dangerous old woman. However, suppose if I’m to consider your proposal,” I said, tilting my head as if pondering my words, “I should test it first.”

Her spine stiffened. “What…?” her eyes glowed in danger. “If you think I, Catelyn Stark, will let my daughter s-”

Another step. Close enough to count the silver threads in her gown. Close enough to see the vein throbbing at her temple as she paused. “Listen. A marriage is built on… compatibility,” I said slowly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Her hand twitched toward the absent dagger at her hip. “Your Grace—”

“I’m not heartless enough to ask for a maiden like Sansa for testing purposes. That's beneath me. So… One night with you, Lady Stark.” I leaned in, my breath stirring the loose strands of her auburn hair. Her scent—frost and iron, no trace of fear—made my grin widen. “That’s all. To ensure Stark women don’t shatter beneath Targaryen men.”

Her slap came swift, but I caught her wrist mid-air, fingers digging into bone. “Careful. That's an execution-worthy crime.”

“You're disgusting.”

“The choice is yours, Lady Stark,” I shrugged, backing off and staring into her eyes, really curious if she’d give into the bait or not.

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