"Wolves in the Golden Cloaks"
Chapter 34 - "Wolves in the Golden Cloaks"
Three moons had passed since Cregan Stark took command of the City Watch of King's Landing.
And in those three moons, everything changed.
Not all at once, of course. No, the changes came gradually, like the first frost before a hard winter—unseen, slow, and then, suddenly, everywhere.
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Week One: The Arrival of the Black Wolves
The first signs were subtle. The golden cloaks of the city watch began patrolling the streets with an unfamiliar formation. Tighter spacing, disciplined marching. Then came the black-armored men—Cregan's own from the North—draped in wolf-sigil cloaks, their silent presence spreading across the city like creeping fog.
The city folk whispered.
"Those are wolves, not guards."
"They don't talk. Just glare."
"One caught a thief and made him clean the whole street. With a toothbrush!"
But the criminals were less amused. In alleys where bribes used to work, now they met fists. Or worse: silence and black steel.
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Week Two: The Fires Begin
Cregan's men began auditing the Watch's ledgers. Quietly, efficiently. Within days, names surfaced. Men who had never walked a real patrol, others who were on two coinmasters' payrolls, some who had never worn armor but held rank.
Cregan confronted them directly.
In the courtyard of the Watch barracks, he stood beneath a banner of a snarling wolf, hands behind his back. A dozen names were called forward. The men strutted, confused.
Then Cregan spoke.
"I reviewed your records," he began, voice calm. "You take coin, but you don't serve. You wear a cloak, but not a blade. You answer only to gold, not duty."
One man, Ser Hallam, scoffed. "And what will you do, northern pup? Strip me of my rank?"
Cregan nodded. "No. I already did."
He gestured. Shadow, his black direwolf, padded into view. One bark was all it took.
Hallam ran. He didn't get far.
By sunset, twenty men were dismissed. Three were arrested. The rest were warned.
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Month One: The War on Rot
Cregan hunted corruption like a wolf stalks deer.
He disguised his audits as casual inspections, caught drunkards on duty, exposed a hidden gambling ring in the western barracks, and forced a dozen senior watchmen to return years of stolen coin.
Some tried to threaten him. One even left a note on his door.
"Gold cuts deeper than steel."
Cregan pinned the note to the board outside the barracks with a dagger. He wrote beneath it:
"Black steel cuts deepest."
By the end of the moon, nearly sixty guards had been removed or replaced. In their place, Cregan installed new recruits—tough but loyal, many trained by his own hand.
They called them "The Black Fangs."
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Month Two: Political Whiplash
The Small Council grew... tense.
Littlefinger, who once held quiet sway through favors and planted gold, was livid.
"Lord Stark, the Watch cannot function if every man fears your northern beasts," he snapped during a meeting.
Cregan leaned back in his seat. "Then they should behave like men, not rats."
"You've dismissed too many," Littlefinger hissed. "Good men."
"Thieves, frauds, and cowards," Cregan corrected. "If those are your definition of good men, Lord Baelish, I suggest you get your eyes checked."
A few council members chuckled. Renly Baratheon covered his mouth to hide his grin.
Even Varys arched a brow. "Lord Stark does seem... thorough."
"You've been granted control of the Watch," Jon Arryn said carefully. "But perhaps pace yourself, Lord Cregan."
"I prefer results," Cregan replied.
Jon studied him. "So far, you've delivered."
Littlefinger, lips pressed in a tight line, said nothing.
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Month Three: The Pack Expands
Cregan opened a new training yard outside the city walls. There, he personally oversaw the conditioning of his Black Fangs. He brought in trackers, rangers, and blacksmiths from the North to teach wilderness survival, discipline, and weapons forging.
They trained with hounds. Each man assigned a war-trained canine, taught to track, defend, and even fight beside them.
Shadow often watched from the shadows, and the new recruits began calling him "The Old Fang."
Meanwhile, crime in the city dropped. Markets became safer. Even the brothels reported fewer problems.
Word spread quickly.
"Don't cross the wolves."
"The new commander knows everything."
"He sees in the dark."
Some joked he had spies in every well. Others began to fear him.
Cregan didn't care.
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Council Clashes and Counterstrikes
In council meetings, Cregan remained blunt. Sometimes even deliberately sarcastic.
When Littlefinger proposed a tax increase on river trade, Cregan raised a brow. "Oh, more coin for the Crown? Or a new brothel for your friends?"
"That was uncalled for," Baelish said tightly.
"So was charging traders twice for the same permit."
Jon Arryn nearly dropped his quill.
"If you don't like my tone," Cregan said, smiling, "you're welcome to argue with Shadow."
From the corner of the room, Shadow lifted his head.
Baelish tried rallying support with other members, but the fear of exposure had already taken root. Too many had secrets. And now they feared the black-cloaked wolf who might be watching.
Even Grand Maester Pycelle, once dismissive of Cregan, now cleared his throat before speaking, cautious of receiving the young Stark's sharp wit.
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Varys' Thoughts
Varys, in the privacy of his chambers, penned a report.
"Lord Cregan Stark remains an unpredictable element. His speed in rooting out corruption is admirable—or terrifying. He does not seek favor. He does not ask permission. He merely acts. Such men do not last long in King's Landing. But while he remains... the wolves rule the streets."
He paused.
Then added:
"I must discover if the blade in his hand is sharper than the one in his mind."
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The Court Reacts
Courtiers and minor lords whispered at feasts.
"Have you heard? He fired another ten."
"Goldcloaks are changing. They march like soldiers now."
"Did you see one of them punch a Lannister bannerman for assaulting a merchant girl?"
"And Cregan backed him! Said, 'He deserved worse."
Even Cersei Lannister, seething from her failed marriage trap, found her efforts frustrated. She had tried to place her own men within the Watch.
They were found, questioned, and dismissed.
Publicly.
When she brought it up at council, Cregan responded, "If the Queen desires soldiers, I suggest she raise her own. The Watch belongs to the city. Not the throne."
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Closing of the Third Moon
As the third moon waned, Cregan stood atop the Watchtower, staring out at the city.
Robb's letter had arrived, full of family updates and scribbled chaos from Lyanna. She missed court. Shadow missed roasted duck. And Torrhen had drawn another picture.
This one said: "Wolves Bite Lions."
Cregan smirked.
Behind him, the city marched in silence, gold cloaks trimmed in black.
Wolves in the den of kings.
And Cregan, their alpha.
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