"Wolves in Silk Halls"

Chapter 26 – "Wolves in Silk Halls"

The Red Keep was a nest of silk and secrets, and today, the air buzzed with tension cloaked in courtesies.

The small council gathered in the Tower of the Hand, sunlight streaming through stained glass, throwing patches of color onto the long oak table. The chamber smelled of ink, wax, and ambition.

Jon Arryn sat at the head, the Hand of the King, pale-faced and grave. Grand Maester Pycelle rustled in his chair, his scrolls already unfurled. Petyr Baelish smiled too easily, fingers tapping a rhythm only he knew. Varys glided in, silent as a shadow. Cersei Lannister arrived last, golden and fuming.

"Let us begin," said Jon Arryn, tone even.

"Begin with what? The Stark boy swinging swords in the yard like a sellsword?" Cersei snapped. "He humiliated Jaime."

"He won a tourney," Varys offered with a measured smile. "And did so with a wolf watching. Rather poetic, really."

"He drew blood."

"So did your brother, Your Grace," Jon said evenly.

"That black wolf of his bared its teeth at nobles."

Baelish gave a chuckle. "Only after being insulted. Lord Hetherspoon's son called it a mutt, and the girl—Lyanna, I believe—poured soup on his boots."

Pycelle harrumphed. "Undignified behavior."

"She's four," Jon said dryly. "Not a court-trained dove."

Cersei turned her gaze to Jon Arryn. "He is dangerous. His army, his wealth, his so-called Frosthall—"

"Which is not officially recognized by the crown," Baelish added.

"Yet it thrives," Jon said. "And the North prospers."

Varys leaned forward. "He is not without allies. The bannermen of the North revere him. The trade routes he helped open have brought more grain into the North than ever before. Even the smallfolk of White Harbor sing songs about the Wolf Lord who tames snow and gold alike."

"He builds armies," Pycelle said.

"He builds safety," Jon replied. "The rangers of Moat Cailin have reduced banditry in the Neck by half."

Robert Baratheon entered, late and already drinking. "Gods, what are you lot whining about now?"

Jon stood. "We were discussing Lord Cregan Stark."

Robert grinned. "Ah, the pup who knocked Jaime on his arse. I like him."

"You would," Cersei muttered.

"Reminds me of myself, back when I had fewer debts and more brawls."

"Your Grace," Jon Arryn said gently. "We might consider extending an invitation. A gesture."

"To keep him close, you mean," Cersei said.

"To keep the realm united," Jon corrected.

Robert sipped deeply. "Send him to court. Let him hunt, drink, insult a few lords. He'll fit in fine."

Cersei looked ready to object, but said nothing.

---

Meanwhile, in the royal gardens, Lyanna Stark was at war.

"Put it back!" a well-dressed Reach girl screamed.

Lyanna held up the floral tiara she had 'borrowed' from the girl's head. "It was crooked. I fixed it."

"You threw it into the pond!"

"It needed washing. Smelled like lemon and horse."

The southern girl burst into tears and fled, her dress dragging against the wet stone.

Lyanna, four years old and full of fire, crossed her arms. "She called Shadow a flea-bitten beast."

Shadow, laying lazily under a cherry blossom tree, yawned.

A few servants moved toward the scene cautiously, whispering among themselves.

Lyanna rubbed behind Shadow's ears, whispering, "They don't get it, do they, boy?"

---

In the Red Keep's northern quarters, Cregan sat with Robb, both sharpening blades.

"They're scared of us," Robb said.

"Good."

"Not just the strength. You. The independence. The wolf in you."

Cregan grunted. "I won't beg for favor."

"You won't have to. But even wolves must tread lightly in a den of vipers."

"If one bites me, I bite back."

Robb chuckled. "At least try not to snarl in every meeting."

A knock. Jon Arryn entered, hands behind his back.

"Lord Cregan. His Grace wishes to offer you a seat at the royal council."

Cregan raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"He admires strength."

"Or wants it nearby."

"Perhaps both."

Cregan stood. "I have no taste for southern councils."

"Then may I suggest an appearance? Show them you are more than a sword."

Robb added, "Better they fear and respect you. Not just fear."

Cregan nodded. "One meeting. Then I'm done."

---

That evening, Varys found himself in quiet conversation with Baelish in the shadow of the Tower of the Hand.

"The wolf has claws," Baelish said.

"Indeed. But not just claws. Teeth. And a pack."

"Do you believe he has ambitions for more than the North?"

Varys smiled thinly. "I believe he doesn't need to want it. Power finds those who don't chase it."

Baelish leaned closer. "Then we must watch him. Closely."

---

Back in the Stark quarters, Lyanna stood on a chair addressing a room full of amused northern guards.

"And then Uncle Cregan said, 'You call that a sword? I've seen better edges on soup spoons!'"

Laughter erupted.

Robb shook his head, watching from the corner. "She's going to outshine us all."

Cregan smirked. "Already has."

Lyanna grinned at them. "You're both hopeless."

That night, as the Red Keep settled into uneasy dreams, the wolves rested.

But the South would not forget the growl in the halls.

---

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