Kapitel 6: Chapter 5
As the Northern Army arrived at the Twins, the imposing fortress loomed large before them, its twin towers casting long shadows over the surrounding landscape. The soldiers marched wearily, their spirits bolstered by the sight of their destination but weary from the long journey.
Ned Stark rode at the head of the column, his expression grave as he surveyed the formidable stronghold ahead. The Twins held a strategic significance, its position spanning the Green Fork of the Trident, a vital crossing point for armies traveling north and south.
As they approached the gates, the Stark banners fluttering proudly in the breeze, the soldiers prepared themselves for what lay ahead. The atmosphere was tense, anticipation mingled with apprehension as they awaited entry into the Twins, unsure of what reception awaited them within.
Walder Rivers stepped out from the shadows of the Twins, his presence commanding attention despite his illegitimate status. His dark demeanor and foul temper preceded him, earning him the ominous moniker of Black Walder. As he approached the Northern Army, his eyes swept over them with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
Ned Stark, ever the diplomat, inclined his head in greeting as Black Walder neared. The tension between them was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the fraught history between House Stark and House Frey.
"Lord Walder sends his regards," Black Walder intoned, his voice betraying no warmth. "He bids you welcome to the Twins."
Ned's gaze remained steady, his expression unreadable. "We are grateful for Lord Walder's hospitality," he replied evenly. "We come seeking passage across the Trident."
Black Walder's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Of course," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I will inform my lord of your arrival. Follow me."
With that, he turned on his heel and led the way into the Twins, leaving the Northern Army to follow in his wake, their fate in the hands of House Frey.
—
Ned, flanked by Cregan and Arthur, strode into the hall of the Twins, where the 'Late' Walder Frey awaited them. The Greatjon loomed behind them, a formidable presence at Ned's side.
Walder Frey, seated upon his high lord's chair, regarded them with a mixture of disdain and amusement. His eyes, sharp and calculating, seemed to size them up with a single glance.
"Lord Stark," he greeted, his voice dripping with false courtesy. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"
Ned's jaw clenched slightly at the mocking tone, but he maintained his composure. "We seek passage across the Trident," he replied evenly. "We are on our way to Winterfell and require safe passage through your lands."
Walder's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Ah, Winterfell," he mused, leaning back in his chair. "A long journey indeed. And what guarantee do I have that you won't simply march your army through my lands and leave me to deal with the consequences?"
Ned's gaze hardened, his resolve unyielding. "You have my word as the Regent to the Warden of the North," he stated firmly. "We seek only safe passage, nothing more."
Walder Frey's lips curled into a sly smirk, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. "Your word, eh?" he scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "Forgive me if I find it hard to trust the promises of a Stark, regent or not."
Ned's jaw clenched, but he maintained his composure, refusing to be provoked by Walder's barbs. He knew that diplomacy was their only recourse in dealing with the notoriously treacherous lord of the Twins.
Walder Frey's gaze shifted to Cregan, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the young boy who now held such significant titles. A calculating gleam flickered in his eyes, his mind undoubtedly churning with thoughts of potential alliances and opportunities.
"Well, well, well," he mused, his voice oily with false congeniality. "And who might this be? The new Lord of Winterfell, I presume?"
Ned's grip tightened on his hilt, a silent warning to Frey not to overstep his bounds.
Walder Frey's words were laced with thinly veiled disdain as he spoke, his gaze lingering on Ned with a mixture of contempt and begrudging acknowledgment.
"Well, Lord Stark, it seems fortune favors you this day," Frey sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your young pup has quite the luck to inherit such titles at his tender age."
Ned's jaw clenched at the insult, but he held his tongue, knowing that any retaliation would only escalate the situation further.
"As for the toll," Frey continued, his tone smug, "King Robert has graciously decreed that it shall be paid from the Royal treasury. Consider yourselves fortunate."
Ned's jaw clenched at Walder Frey's words, the reminder of their reliance on the Crown's support a bitter pill to swallow. Yet, he knew better than to openly challenge the man before him, especially with Cregan's safety hanging in the balance.
"I see," Ned replied evenly, his voice betraying none of the frustration he felt. "We appreciate King Robert's generosity and will ensure that the toll is paid as instructed."
Walder Frey's offer to host the Northern Army for the day was met with a polite refusal from Ned Stark, who cited a pressing need to return home after a long and arduous campaign.
"We appreciate your offer, Lord Frey," Ned replied, his tone diplomatic yet firm. "But our journey has been long, and we are eager to return to Winterfell without delay."
Though the courteous facade masked his true feelings, Ned's underlying motive was clear—he had no desire to prolong their stay in the company of Walder Frey and his scheming kin.
With a nod of farewell, Ned Stark signaled for his party to depart, wasting no time in taking their leave of the Twins and its dubious host.
As they rode away from the castle, the tension that had lingered within its walls began to dissipate, replaced by a palpable sense of relief and determination to reach their destination without further delay.
With each passing mile, Winterfell beckoned ever closer, a beacon of home and sanctuary amid the trials and tribulations of the road. And though their journey was far from over, Ned and his companions rode on, their spirits buoyed by the promise of reunion and the prospect of peace at last.
—
As the Northern party made their way towards Winterfell, amidst the clatter of hooves and the creak of wagons, there were countless moments of endearing interaction between young Cregan Stark and his betrothed, Rhaenys Targaryen.
In one instance, while they rested by a bubbling brook, Cregan stumbled upon a patch of wildflowers. With a gleeful laugh, he plucked a vibrant bloom and shyly presented it to Rhaenys, his eyes alight with childish delight.
Another time, as they sat side by side on a blanket spread beneath the shade of an ancient oak, Rhaenys shared a handful of ripe berries with Cregan, giggling as he made a mess of his face with the sweet, juicy fruit.
As the flames danced and shadows flickered, Cregan's imagination took flight, weaving tales of daring adventures and heroic feats. With animated gestures and infectious enthusiasm, he recounted the exploits of a young wizard named Harry Potter, who battled dark wizards and mythical creatures in a world of magic and wonder.
With wide-eyed wonder, Rhaenys listened intently, captivated by the tales of bravery and friendship that unfolded before her. She gasped at the close calls and cheered for Harry's triumphs, her imagination ignited by Cregan's vivid storytelling.
Unbeknownst to Rhaenys, these tales were not merely figments of Cregan's imagination but echoes of a life once lived in another world—a world of spells and enchantments, where the line between reality and fantasy blurred with each twist of fate.
And as the stars twinkled overhead and the night grew deep, Cregan's stories wove a magical tapestry of adventure and camaraderie, binding him and Rhaenys together in a bond forged by imagination and shared wonder.
It was a testament to their enduring friendship and affection that would one day blossom into something more profound and everlasting.
—
Tywin Lannister's study was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight as he sat behind his desk, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Kevan stood before him, delivering the unsettling news of recent events at Winterfell.
"Brother," Kevan began cautiously, "there have been developments in the North. A new Lord of Winterfell has emerged—Cregan Stark. And he's betrothed to none other than Rhaenys Targaryen."
Tywin's brows furrowed, a flicker of intrigue crossing his features. "Cregan Stark?" he echoed, his tone laced with curiosity. "The trueborn son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne, I presume?"
"Indeed, brother," Kevan clarified, noting Tywin's lack of recognition. "Cregan Stark, the trueborn son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne, now Lord of Winterfell."
"Ah, I see," Tywin replied, his mind already racing with calculations. "So that's how it is. The secret marriage between Ashara Dayne and Brandon Stark has finally come to light."
"Intriguing," Tywin mused, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "I always suspected there was more to the Stark-Dayne connection than met the eye. With the way Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne were acting around each other at the Tourney of Harrenhal, I expected something like this to happen. It seems my suspicions were well-founded."
Kevan nodded in agreement, silently observing his brother's contemplative demeanor. Tywin was a man of intricate plans and calculated moves, and Kevan had learned long ago the wisdom of allowing him space to think.
"As for the marriage," Kevan interjected, sensing the need to provide further context, "it took place during the Tourney at Harrenhal, on the Isle of Faces. It was conducted under the traditions of the First Men, with Princess Elia Martell serving as the witness."
Tywin's brow furrowed slightly as he processed this information, his mind already calculating the implications of such a union. The marriage's legitimacy under ancient customs added a layer of complexity to an already intricate situation.
"Interesting," Tywin murmured thoughtfully, his gaze drifting into the distance as he contemplated the significance of these new developments. "This changes the landscape considerably."
Kevan nodded in agreement, silently acknowledging the weight of the situation
Tywin's steely gaze bore into Kevan, his expression unreadable. "And how did the betrothal between Lord Cregan and Princess Rhaenys come to pass?" he inquired, his voice tinged with barely contained frustration.
Kevan cleared his throat, meeting Tywin's gaze with a mix of apprehension and deference. "It was by the command of King Robert," he began cautiously, "who sought to negate any claim Rhaenys might have to the Iron Throne by marrying her into House Stark, considered the most loyal to House Baratheon."
A muscle twitched in Tywin's jaw as he absorbed the implications of Robert's decree. His mind raced with the implications of this strategic alliance and its potential repercussions for the realm. But outwardly, he maintained his composed facade, betraying no hint of the tumultuous thoughts churning within.
"And what of the boy?" he pressed, his voice cold and calculating. "What of Aegon?"
Kevan hesitated before delivering the final blow. "Aegon is to be sent away after the wedding," he revealed, "to the Wall or the Citadel, to negate any claim he may have to the throne."
Tywin's features hardened at the news, his mind already racing with plans and contingencies. "This changes things," he murmured, more to himself than to Kevan. "We must proceed with caution."
Kevan nodded in silent agreement, knowing all too well the weight of his brother's words.
—-
Lady Olenna Tyrell sat in the quiet solitude of her chambers, her thoughts swirling with the weight of their family's predicament. House Tyrell, once revered as one of the most powerful and influential houses in the realm, now found itself at a crossroads, teetering on the edge of irrelevance.
As the matriarch of her house, Lady Olenna understood the gravity of their situation all too well. The Tyrells had gambled on the wrong side during Robert's Rebellion, aligning themselves with the Targaryens in a bid to maintain their position of power. But their allegiance had cost them dearly, resulting in the downfall of their liege lords and the loss of their prestige.
Now, more than ever, it was imperative that House Tyrell find a way to rise from the ashes of their defeat, to reclaim their status and secure their future in the new order of Westeros. Lady Olenna knew that they could not afford to wallow in past mistakes or lament the loss of what once was. Instead, they needed to adapt, to seize whatever opportunities presented themselves and turn them to their advantage.
With a steely resolve, Lady Olenna began to devise a plan—a strategy that would enable House Tyrell to navigate the treacherous currents of court politics and emerge stronger than ever before. It would require cunning, diplomacy, and perhaps a willingness to forge alliances with unexpected allies. But Lady Olenna was undaunted, for she knew that the fate of her house rested in her hands, and she would do whatever it took to ensure their survival and prosperity in the tumultuous game of thrones.
Lady Olenna's eyes narrowed as her son, Mace, stumbled into the room, his face flushed with excitement. She listened with a mixture of disdain and curiosity as he blurted out the news of the raven from King's Landing regarding the new Lordship in the North and the betrothal between the new Lord Stark and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.
"And what do you propose we do about this, Mace?" she asked, her voice laced with thinly veiled impatience. Despite her exasperation with her son's ineptitude, Lady Olenna couldn't deny the significance of the information he had brought.
Mace blinked, clearly caught off guard by his mother's sharp tone. "Well, Mother, I thought perhaps we could..." he began, his words trailing off as he struggled to formulate a coherent response.
Lady Olenna sighed inwardly, her frustration mounting with each passing moment. It was clear that her son was utterly out of his depth, incapable of grasping the gravity of the situation. With a resigned shake of her head, she realized that if House Tyrell was to navigate the treacherous waters of Westerosi politics, it would fall to her to chart the course.
"Leave it to me, Mace," she said tersely, cutting him off before he could embarrass himself further. "I'll handle this matter personally."
As Mace nodded dumbly in response, Lady Olenna's mind raced with possibilities. The betrothal between the new Lord Stark and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen presented a golden opportunity for House Tyrell to secure a powerful alliance—one that could potentially reshape the balance of power in the realm. But it would require finesse, cunning, and a deft touch—qualities that her son sorely lacked.
With a determined glint in her eye, Lady Olenna resolved to seize the moment and ensure that House Tyrell emerged from the shadows of defeat stronger and more influential than ever before.
—
Queen Rhaella Targaryen stood on the windswept cliffs of Dragonstone, her heart heavy with grief and worry. The loss of her firstborn son, Rhaegar, weighed heavily on her soul, a gaping wound that refused to heal. With each passing moment, the pain of his absence grew sharper, a constant ache that threatened to consume her.
As she gazed out across the turbulent waters of Blackwater Bay, Rhaella's thoughts turned to Rhaegar's wife, Elia, and their children—Rhaenys and Aegon. She feared for their safety, knowing full well the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of Dragonstone's walls. The world was a cruel and unforgiving place, especially for those with Targaryen blood running through their veins.
But even in the depths of her despair, Rhaella found solace in the life growing within her—a new hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf her. She cradled her swollen belly protectively, feeling the flutter of movement beneath her fingertips. Despite the turmoil that surrounded her, the presence of her unborn child filled her with a sense of purpose—a reason to keep fighting, to endure.
With a silent prayer on her lips, Rhaella vowed to protect her unborn child at all costs, to shield them from the horrors of the world beyond Dragonstone's shores. Whatever trials lay ahead, she would face them with courage and determination, drawing strength from the love that bound her to her family and the legacy of House Targaryen.
As Ser Willem Darry relayed the grim tidings, Rhaella's thoughts drifted to her tumultuous relationship with King Aerys. Memories of his cruelty and abuse haunted her, casting a shadow over her grief for the fallen king. She had endured years of torment at his hands, her spirit battered and broken by his relentless cruelty.
Yet, despite the pain he had inflicted upon her, a part of Rhaella mourned the loss of the man he once was—a husband she had once loved, before madness consumed him. She couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for the shattered dreams and lost promises of their youth, now drowned in the blood-soaked ruins of King's Landing.
As she grappled with the complex emotions that swirled within her, Rhaella found solace in the knowledge that her gooddaughter Elia and her grandchildren had survived the chaos. In the midst of tragedy, the glimmer of hope offered by their survival provided a beacon of light amidst the darkness that enveloped Dragonstone.
But that relief was tempered by the knowledge that they were now wards of Winterfell, far from the safety of their home in Dorne. The North was a land unknown to her, and the thought of Elia and her grandchildren in such a distant and unfamiliar place filled her with unease.
Ser Willem Darry's voice cut through her thoughts, bringing more unexpected news. "Your Grace," he said gently, "the new Lord of Winterfell is Cregan Stark, the son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne. They were secretly married."
Rhaella's eyes widened in recognition. She had been quite close to Ashara, who was Elia's closest friend and confidant. The news of this secret marriage was a surprise, but it made sense in hindsight, considering Ashara's mysterious absence from court for so long.
Ser Willem continued, "Furthermore, there is a betrothal arranged between your granddaughter Rhaenys and Lord Cregan. This alliance was sanctioned by King Robert, to secure peace and stability."
Rhaella's heart ached with a mix of emotions—relief that Rhaenys was alive and safe, but also sorrow for the heavy burdens placed on such young shoulders. She knew Ashara's son would be raised with honor and strength, but the path ahead would not be easy for any of them. She could only hope that Winterfell, despite its harsh climate and distance, would become a place of refuge and strength for her family amidst the storm of their fractured world.
—
As the Northern army approached the ancient stronghold of Winterfell, the towering walls and formidable gates came into view, a sight both awe-inspiring and daunting. On horseback, Arthur Dayne carried Rhaenys Targaryen, while Ned Stark bore his young nephew, Cregan.
Rhaenys, nestled safely in Arthur's arms, peered curiously over the knight's shoulder, her violet eyes wide with wonder. "Is this our new home?" she asked, her voice tinged with both excitement and uncertainty.
Arthur smiled gently down at her. "Yes, little princess. This is Winterfell, the heart of the North."
Cregan, cradled securely in Ned's strong embrace, looked up at the high walls with a mix of fascination and trepidation. Though only a year old, there was an unmistakable spark of awareness in his eyes as he sensed the significance of the moment.
"This is where you belong now, Cregan," Ned murmured softly, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and determination. "Winterfell is your home."
The cold wind of the North brushed against their faces, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth. The great castle loomed ever closer, its ancient stones standing as a testament to the enduring strength and resilience of House Stark. As they passed through the gates, the bustling activity of the courtyard greeted them—soldiers, stablehands, and servants all pausing to witness the arrival of their new lord and his retinue.
Rhaenys clung a little tighter to Arthur as they entered the unfamiliar grounds, her gaze darting around at the new faces and surroundings. Cregan, meanwhile, seemed to take it all in with a calm curiosity, his small hands gripping the front of Ned's cloak.
"Welcome to Winterfell," Ned said, his voice carrying a sense of finality and new beginnings. "Here, you will grow strong, and together, we will face whatever challenges come our way."
As the party dismounted and the retinue began to disperse, Ned took Cregan in his arms and walked toward the courtyard where his brother Benjen awaited. The younger Stark stood tall, his expression a mix of anticipation and relief.
"Cregan," Ned said softly, leaning down to the boy's level, "there is someone very important I want you to meet."
Benjen stepped forward, a warm smile breaking through his otherwise serious demeanor. "Hello, little one," he greeted, his voice gentle. "I'm your Uncle Benjen."
Cregan looked up at the unfamiliar face, his eyes wide with curiosity. He clung to Ned's cloak for a moment before cautiously reaching out towards Benjen.
Benjen extended his arms, and Ned carefully passed Cregan over. The boy settled into his uncle's embrace, looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and comfort.
Benjen gazed at Cregan with a tender expression, taking in the child's features. "You look just like your father. Except you have your mother's eyes," he remarked warmly. "It's good to finally have you home, Cregan. Winterfell has missed you."
Ned, curious and slightly surprised, asked, "How do you know so much about Cregan already?"
Benjen shifted his gaze to his brother. "There have been ravens sent from King's Landing to all the major keeps," he explained. "They informed us of the new Lord of Winterfell and his betrothal."
Ned nodded, understanding now how Benjen was so well-informed. "I see," he said thoughtfully. "It seems the news traveled fast."
"Indeed," Benjen agreed. "The message from the crown carried great weight. Everyone is aware of Cregan's new role and his future marriage to Princess Rhaenys."
Ned placed a hand on Cregan's shoulder, feeling the weight of responsibility settle upon him. "Then we must ensure that Winterfell stands strong, not just for us but for the future we are building."
Benjen gave a reassuring smile. "Winterfell has always stood strong, brother. And with Cregan here, it will only grow stronger. We'll teach him the ways of the North, and he will thrive."
As they walked together into the heart of Winterfell, the sense of unity and purpose grew stronger. The Stark family, bound by duty and honor, was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
---
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Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
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