The Warg King

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter Great story as always.
Jon should do a service to the realm and teach Joffrey about consequences

 

[LazyWizard]

"And there you have it, people!" The announcer screamed, his voice carrying across the stands, riding over the roar of the crowd. "With that arrow, which seemed to have been guided by the crone herself, Lord Blackfish—er, Lord Brynden Tully—defeats Anguy and takes the win as the best Archer of the Tourney."


The crowd snickered at the herald's fumble, but who could blame him? Even the children recognised the veteran knight by his nickname rather than his true name.


"Curse it! I was sure that Anguy from Dorne would take the win." The Baker threw the wooden stub to the ground before stomping on it for good measure.


"How much did you bet?" Gendry looked at his friend with amusement as they retook their seats along with the rest of the charged crowd.


"5 stags," he admitted reluctantly.


"You put that much on a bet?" Gendry asked incredulously. "Did your father finally increase your allowance?"


"As if! The miserable old goat would bake all his money and eat it before he'd give me an extra penny," he snorted. "It's part of what I managed to save over the years."


"Stole from your father, you mean," Gendry mumbled, but the Baker ignored him.


"But I really thought the Dornish boy would win." He slammed his fist into his palm. "He always managed to hit the centre so easily before, so how did he fumble at just ten paces more?"


"I think it must have been the wind." Gendry glanced towards the flags fluttering in the wind. "They both tied at a hundred paces, and the only thing different this time was that the wind was flowing a little faster. Blackfish is a veteran of many wars, and has a lot more experience than Anguy, after all. Besides, it's already a great achievement for him to reach the finals against nobles like Swann and Blackfish."


"How would that help me?" he grumbled. "The Blackfish must be over fifty, right? So how could he hit a target that I can't even see from here?"


"I heard it's because he eats fish eyes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, every single day of his life."


An old farmer sitting in front of them turned his head and chipped in with a serious expression.


"Yeah, right," he scoffed, but a moment later he turned to Gendry. "That wouldn't help, right?" he whispered.


"Who knows?" He shrugged.


"Look, they are clearing the fields." He pointed at the men taking away the targets. "Are they finally going to start the lists now?"


"Let's see." The Baker counted on his fingers. "The archery is over, and we had that squire's melee before that, and the True Melee doesn't start until two days later, so I guess the final is the only thing left now."


"Why are they taking two days' break? Wouldn't it be better to do it all at once?"


"Well, they have to give the ones who competed in the Tourney a chance to take some rest, don't they?" He settled back while folding his hands. "And especially the two in the finals. Even if the pretty one from Reach doesn't compete, Jon Snow is surely going to be joining the Melee."


"You think so?"


Gendry scratched his head.


"But isn't he too young? I mean, I know he is talented and all to reach the finals against everyone, but it is one thing to compete on a horse and quite another to go head-to-head against monsters such as Sandor Clegane. The beast is at least a foot taller than him."


"He is not just any fifteen-year-old, though." The Baker shook his head. "Didn't you see those brats hitting each other with their wooden swords in that idiotic squire's bout earlier? They are probably the same age as him, likely even older, so do you think they stand a chance against him?" He raised an eyebrow.


"No." The answer came without any hesitation.


The answer left Gendry's mouth before he even finished thinking about it.


In fact, just imagining those fumbling padded squires standing against Jon Snow made him wince in sympathy. It would be too cruel.


"Exactly." The Baker leaned back and nodded. "The boy's been blessed by the gods, I tell you. He'll show us another amazing show in the Melee, I am sure of it."


"You don't expect him to win against the likes of Jaime Lannister and others, do you?" He turned to him with a strange expression on his face.


No matter how much you believe in someone, there has to be a limit to how far you can stretch it.


To have faith that a fifteen-year-old brat will outdo forty other veteran knights in a chaotic bout and come out on top was nothing short of a fantasy; one might as well believe that dragons will revive again.


"Why not?"


The Baker raised his chin. "I-It can happen," but his voice lacked the confidence his body was trying to exude; clearly, even he was having trouble imagining this coming to fruition.


"Yes, sure." Gendry rolled his eyes at the stubbornness of his friend.


"People say that the boy has been fed wolf hearts since he was born, and has the strength of a hundred wolves."


The farmer turned and chimed in again.


"Where are you getting these facts of yours, old man?" Gendry smiled helplessly. "Have you even travelled out of the city in your whole life?"


"Why? Of course I have," the farmer retorted defensively. "I have been to many places like t-that Dunkesdale. I went there just last year to my cousin whose brother's son's maternal uncle was getting married, and I also—"


But before the old farmer could tick off all the places he had ever been to, the women sitting just below them, separated by a wide empty section, stood up and began screaming their hearts out.


Ahhh!!!


"W-What? What happened?"


Gendry stood up and looked around with alarm.


"I-It's Jon Snow. He is here." The Baker jumped in excitement and began pointing towards the fields. "Look! On that white horse! Damn, he looks good in that armour."


"That's it?!"


Gendry was left speechless by this exaggerated reaction from the women at seeing a boy they had been witnessing every day over the past week.


But despite his internal grumbling, he couldn't resist craning his head and taking advantage of his height to see the famous bastard in all his glory.


"He doesn't look that strong, though..." was the conclusion he reached a few minutes later, as he watched the boy complete a round of the grounds while waving at the crowds with a brilliant smile on his face.


"You wouldn't be saying that if you had seen him smash knight after knight from their horses as if they were toys, without taking a single hit." The Baker pointed proudly towards the field. "He is like lightning out there. One moment he is riding calmly and the next, whoosh! His lance strikes true. One can barely see him."


"Uh-huh." He nodded distractedly, his attention having been fully captured by the armour Jon Snow was sporting.


Black plate covered him from head to toe. Every piece fitted so closely that it seemed less like armour and more like a second piece of clothing made out of dark steel.


The edges of the plates overlapped with such precision; simply from the way he moved his arm, Gendry could tell that whoever made it had taken his measurements down to the smallest detail.


Not only practical, but it was also very beautiful, and every time the sun shone on the polished black surface, intricate details appeared that must have taken weeks of effort to create.


'Who could have made something like this?'


Gendry frowned as he went over the names of all the master smiths famous across Westeros.


'Even Master Tohbo wouldn't be able to create this... at least not without a lot of help from other skilled blacksmiths scattered all over the Seven Kingdoms.'


The screams from the stands gradually faded as Jon headed towards the white tent at the edge of the field with a flag showing a proud white wolf snapping in the wind.


Then another wave of screams rose from the women, mostly from the younger lasses.


"What is it this time—"


"It's the Tyrell boy!"


The Baker jumped again.


Gendry huffed and dropped back into his seat, not feeling very excited to see yet another noble boy who was good at riding horses because it was the only thing he had trained in since he was a child.


Their seats were on the left side of the grounds, and they sat close enough to Jon Snow's tent that Gendry could see the boy's armour in even more detail.


"Who's that red one?"


Gendry noticed Jon talking with a tall, muscular boy around his age standing in front of his tent with a smile on his face.


"Oh, that's Robb Stark, the heir of the North." The Baker turned towards him. "He is Jon Snow's older half-brother."


"They seem close," Gendry murmured, feeling a strange warmth in his chest for some reason at watching them like this.


'But what do I care if a bastard is accepted by his family?'


"Look! Loras is heading right there!" The Baker practically bounced in his seat.


"Why in seven hells are you getting excited about that?"


Gendry looked helplessly at his friend, who ignored him and kept his focus on the pretty Tyrell boy in white armour as he dismounted before the two Northerners.


"What do you think they are talking about?" The Baker asked aloud with intense curiosity on his face.


"Are they friends?" Gendry watched the two young boys, who were about to meet in the finals, trading jests and knocking each other's shoulders.


"Are they friends?!" The Baker squeaked as he turned with a look of disbelief. "Are you out of your mind? Have you been living under a rock?!" He pointed at Gendry as if he had just told him he didn't know who the Sevens were.


"Why?" The extreme reaction made even Gendry doubt himself, wondering if he overlooked something obvious.


"Don't you know that they are—"


"Look! It's Lady Margaery."


A young girl of about 18 suddenly screamed and jumped in her seat, being the first one to notice, drawing the attention of the two boys and everyone else sitting nearby.


"What is she doing there?"


Gendry stared in amazement as the Tyrell lady, who was easily the most beautiful girl he had seen in his entire life (which was saying something, considering he lived in King's Landing, the home of nobles), greeted the three boys and conversed with the two Northerners as if they had all known each other for years.


'They all seem happy.'


Gendry noticed, which seemed like a bizarre thing to notice, but when he recalled every other noble he had seen before, he remembered only faces with their nose up in the air, with disgust in their eyes or carrying a false, hypocritical smile on their faces that sent shivers down your spine... but they seemed different.


"You really don't know?" The Baker sat down and looked at Gendry as if he were a rare animal. "Haven't you heard the rumour?"


"What rumour?"


"That Lady Margaery and Jon Snow..." The Baker raised two fingers and slowly pressed them together "...are like this."


"Don't be absurd." Gendry scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "Jon Snow is a bastard," he stated as if it explained everything.


"It would be more believable if you said the same about the red-haired one." Gendry pointed towards Robb.


"But it's the truth! Ask anyone out here." He immediately searched around for a target, and coincidentally the one closest to them was the farmer sitting in front.


"Oi, old man! You know about Jon Snow and Lady Margaery, right?" The baker grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around. "Tell my friend here that I am not lying about them."


"Huh, oh, yes. He is telling the truth." The farmer nodded, though reluctantly for some reason. "There is indeed something going on between the two."


"But he is a bastard..." Gendry had a look of utter incomprehension, as if the world wasn't making sense. "Even if he belongs to one of the Great Houses, there is little chance that there would be any future between them, right? So how is anyone even allowing that..."


"That's what makes it so interesting, you fool!" He slapped Gendry's back in excitement. "It's just like in the stories, a lowly bastard who rose up from the bottom because of his hard work, and a beautiful high noble lady who fell in love with him because of his chivalry..."


"You are really not making this all up?"


"I am not—"


"Your friend's telling the truth." The excitable young girl sitting in front of the farmer turned to join the conversation. "I saw the two just yesterday; they were alone, by themselves, shopping in the market, just the two of them," she insisted with her eyes wide open, as if she couldn't even believe her own words.


"Did you really see them?" A middle-aged woman sitting beside her leaned forward with a gossipy expression. "How did they look?"


"So pretty." The girl clasped her hands together. "Like a match made by the Sevens."


The farmer let out a sigh.


"It is truly regrettable, though, that such a noble lady from a good family like hers has been beguiled by the wiles of a bastard, even if he is good-looking and knows jousting."


"Watch your mouth, old man?!"


"Yes, who are you calling lowly, you old fucker?"


The middle-aged woman and the young girl wheeled on him together, with angry expressions on their faces, as if they were ready to fight.


The farmer was flustered, but didn't back down. "B-But everyone knows that bastards are products of sin, who are cunning, envious and treacherous, and will rob you of your wealth if you are not careful."


"He has enough money to buy all thirteen of your generations. Where the fuck do you get the guts to call him lowly?"


"I... I..." The farmer stuttered in embarrassment, but he couldn't find the words to retort.


"Sheena, look!! She is taking out a ribbon," the young girl's friend said, shaking her shoulder, and taking her attention away from the pious farmer.


"Really?"


The girl's head snapped towards the field.


Gendry followed her gaze and finally spotted the thin red string in Lady Margaery's hand.


"I bet she's going to put it around Jon!" she squeaked.


"You think so? But her brother's right there." The friend seemed torn between Loras and Jon, as if unable to decide which one to support.


"Doesn't matter. She'll choose Jon, because he is her lover after all." The young girl was confident.


"But she can't just embarrass her brother like that in front of everyone, right?"


"How about a bet then?" she provoked with a smile That new red dress of yours would look good on me," she provoked with a sly smile.


"T-That, only if you bet your brother."


"Which one?"


"The younger one."


"Deal!"


..


.


"What the fuck is wrong with these two?"


Gendry looked at the Baker.


The Baker stared back.


Both of them shivered before simultaneously shaking their heads, deciding to purge the conversation from their minds.


They turned their attention back to the field where the drama had intensified.


Both the contestants had put their hands in front of Margaery, seemingly leaving the decision to her.


For a moment, there was complete silence in the stands as everyone held their breath and focused their eyes on them, watching to see which one Margaery chose to bestow her favour.


Margaery seemed to feel the weight of all those eyes upon her. She glanced towards the stands before looking back at the two boys.


But then, just as she made a decision and raised the ribbon, one of the hands in front of her reached forward and snatched it out of her hands before taking off.


"Oi!"


Jon yelled indignantly as he made to chase after him, but then, just after a few steps, thought better of it and stopped, realising it would be too childish to run around in front of the crowd.


"You'll need to win to get it," Loras shouted triumphantly as he waved the ribbon while running towards his horse on the other side, grinning all the way.


"You're going down, you brat," Jon called back before he turned and made his way towards Pegasus with a resolute expression, as if about to go to war.


Margaery, the reason behind the whole drama, was left standing alone with a powerless expression, before Robb offered her an elbow.


She accepted it, and the two began making their way back towards their seats.


"Did you see that, people? Did you see?!"


The herald's voice thundered across the field, positively delighted by the drama unfolding before them. "The stakes have been raised even further for the finals! Whoever wins the bout not only becomes the champion of the Tourney, but also gets the favour of the most beautiful maiden in Westeros, the rose of Tyrell."


"Looks like that Lord's not very happy with that announcement."


Gendry pointed towards the Tyrell stands.


A fat lord was standing against the railing, angrily waving his hands while shouting something at the announcer that they couldn't hear, raising a commotion.


"I think... that is Lady Margaery's father, Lord Mace Tyrell." The Baker replied with a finger on his chin.


"That makes sense then." Gendry slowly nodded in understanding, but then his brows furrowed.


'Wait! No, it doesn't.'


"How did he not know about any of this before? About his own daughter?" He turned to his friend, "Is he a fool?"


Because, sure, he too didn't know about the rumours running through the city before today, but that was because he wasn't the kind to socialise, and more importantly, he was not the girl's father.


"Perhaps." Baker scratched his head. "Hm, now that I think about it. I've never really noticed him before at any of Jon's previous matches. Which is weird... because why would he stay away when all the other Lords were here?"


'Maybe he was kept away.'


Gendry thought, as he watched the fat Lord be forced back into his seat by a limping man and a strict old woman who seemed to scare him.


PWAAH!!


A loud, piercing horn tore through the stands as their attention returned to the list where both the contestants had taken their starting positions.


Slowly, the noises from the crowd ebbed away, and even their breathing became suppressed as every eye there went towards the two men on horses.


And then, with an abrupt swish of a red flag—


Clap!


Both the horses blasted off almost simultaneously, charging towards the middle with their lances at rest and their shields to the side.


The tilt was wide, stretching nearly the entire length of the stand from left to right, but even so, the two managed to clear it in merely 10 seconds.


Closer.


Closer.


And then, just moments before they reached the middle, both riders leaned forward, raising their lances to—


Boom!


Both their shields shattered as the lances struck almost simultaneously.


Gendry breathed out and realised that he could hear the roar of the crowd once again.


"RWAAR!!"


The people went wild with cheers.


But Loras and Jon didn't pay any attention to that, and without a moment's rest, recovered their proper position and wheeled their horses, took up fresh lances, and charged again.


And this time, Jon's white horse galloped even faster, its legs barely touching the ground.


"Hit him!"


Gendry didn't realise he'd shouted the words until they were already out of his mouth.


From where he stood, just from the posture, the speed, and the sheer confidence, Jon looked to have the upper hand, and until the very last moment, Gendry was sure of his judgement.


But then...


The lances met.


And then—


Screech!


It bounced off.


He didn't know how, but the Tyrell knight had somehow managed to shift his shield at the last possible moment, and turned a sure-hit, decisive strike into a glancing blow.


The crowd around him groaned at the missed chance, but, once again, they didn't even have the time to feel regret as the riders were already turning at the end of the tilt, taking fresh lances from their squires.


'Does it not hurt?'


Gendry wondered how these two had trained their bodies to absorb hits like that and continue without flinching.


"Once more!" "Once more!" "Once more!"


The crowd rose at once and began screaming and stomping their feet, their tempo growing faster with each shout.


As if mirroring them, Jon shot forward even faster— which Gendry didn't know was even possible.


His horse seemed to devour the ground beneath it, rapidly closing the distance while Loras struggled to match the pace.


"Send him flying!!!" screamed the crowd.


This time, they met not in the centre but halfway to Loras's side.


And on the third pass there was no competition, as Jon's momentum carried his lance forward and struck the very centre of the Tyrell rose on his chest and sent him flying.


"RAAHHH!!"


The crowd went mad with cheers.


But for just a moment...


As somehow Loras Tyrell, with his back almost flat on his horse, managed to stay in the game by locking his legs to the stirrups.


"Are you joking with me?! Are you fucking joking?!!"


The Baker cursed, throwing his hands into the air, and he wasn't the only one, as the crowd had also been caught off guard by the near win.


But unlike them, Jon wasn't shaken in the least by the false victory; in fact, the boy didn't even slow down for a moment.


Not even when the turn came.


He went wide, completed a beautiful arc to reverse his direction, all while maintaining his speed.


And then came the acceleration...


"Is he insane?"


Chills went down Gendry's spine as he saw the Northerner thundering down the list, moving faster and faster, until he was nothing more than a blur.


"What's he doing? No human can control themselves at that speed?"


Gendry couldn't believe that anyone would be this suicidal; at this pace, a single mistake could turn deadly for both him and his opponent, yet Jon was still rushing headlong, picking up speed as if he knew no fear.


"That's what I have been saying!" The Baker screamed in his ear, vibrating with excitement, but Gendry's whole being was focused on the two riders.


Loras took a while to gather himself this time, and by the time he began to build up a little speed, Jon was already there.


His lance was in front of him.


BAM!


Gendry almost didn't see it, even with his eyes wide open, as the two horses thundered past each other.


One second they were there, and in the next the shield shattered into a thousand pieces as Loras was picked clean off his horse.


To the crowd, it felt as if the boy seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before he went crashing into the ground.


The impact made Gendry wince.


But Loras rolled with it, bleeding away enough of the momentum that the crash did not become something worse.


"RAAHHH! RAAAH!!"


The stands erupted in cheers and began jumping in place, their excitement knowing no bounds.


Jon didn't, or perhaps couldn't, slow down until he reached the very end, where he finally controlled his horse down to a comfortable trot.


The broken lance and shield were thrown aside as Jon raised a shaky fist towards the crowd, who responded with screams so loud that they shook the ground.


"SNOW!" "SNOW!" "SNOW!"


Waving along as he went, Jon smiled at the crowd as he slowly made his way back towards where Loras lay on the ground, staring at the sky as if contemplating his life choices.


The Bastard from the North, soon to become a knight, removed his helmet and offered a hand towards the fallen knight, who accepted with a roll of his eyes.


"Look! That squire!"


The girl in front of them squeaked once again, while pointing towards a 10-year-old boy wearing Northern clothes with a white merman on his chest, running into the field towards Jon with a wild grin on his face. "Look at his hand; he's carrying a crown!"


'Does she have the eyes of an eagle?' Gendry wondered as he finally spotted the small wreath made of red roses the boy was bringing to Jon.


"He is going to declare his Queen of Love and Beauty—"


"Gendry!!"


A familiar voice shouted from somewhere behind them.


Both men turned.


Someone was pushing through the crowd towards their seats.


"Bard!"


The Baker waved.


Their missing friend had finally joined them after all this time. "Where have you been, you bastard? You missed everything."


"I got... held... t-the prince... the horse... the queen... crying..."


"What are you talking about?"


Gendry reached out and patted the back of the Bard, who was gasping as if he was on his last breath. "Take a deep breath, and then speak."


"It's the prince," he wheezed out a few moments later, while pointing behind him towards the city. "He's a goner!"


"What?!" Baker jumped as if he was a cat whose tail had been stepped on, and hurriedly covered his mouth. "What are you doing? Are you trying to get us killed?!"


"Mmh," The bard removed his hands. "I am not lying," he pressed, eyes wide in disbelief. "I-I mean, I am not sure if he is dead-dead. But he is definitely not in good condition!"


"Be clear. What happened?"


Gendry held back the Baker and stared at Bard with a serious expression, knowing he wouldn't be stupid enough to make such a deadly jest. "How would the prince be hurt with all his guards with him?"


"It was a horse!" He frantically waved his hands. "I guess it was being uncooperative or something, so he brought out a whip, but then—Bam!" he slapped his hands


"The horse went wild; he threw him to the ground and trampled all over him, at least two to three times, before it raced away," he finished with an excited expression, as if he had seen the show of a lifetime.


"Even one of the Kingsguard was not spared, and that one was dead for sure; I heard his neck crack."


"A-And you saw this with your own eyes!"


The Baker had gone pale with shock, and even the people around them were staring at the Bard with dumbfounded expressions.


"I swear on the Seven." He pinched his throat. "That prince! He's at least crippled for life."


Just then, loud whispers began to ring out from the other side of the stands, and all of them turned their eyes to see that the origin of the commotion was none other than the King.


The fat man, who stood even taller than Gendry, was halfway down the platform with a sword in his hand, which he probably intended to use to knight Jon Snow, but he had been interrupted halfway through by a Lannister guard.


They couldn't hear the conversation, but just from their expressions, Gendry could guess the news didn't please him.


The King looked annoyed for a moment before he nodded and handed the sword to Ser Barristan.


After patting the Old Knight on his shoulder, he said a few words, and then took off in the opposite direction, towards the tents where their horses were being kept.


'It can't be true, can it?'


///


Did you like that? If you did, then there's a surprise for you:


Introducing: The Golden Weasley— My new fanfic.


A Ron Weasley SI where the boy just wants to get bloody rich.


Be sure to go check and leave a review if you like it.

 

[Count Dragulia]

Lmaoooo that's what you get for being a sociopathic monster in a world with wargs.

 

[ATP]

Lmaoooo that's what you get for being a sociopathic monster in a world with wargs.

Click to shrink...

Could be worst.some rat could eat his dick during his sleep.or eyes.Why not both?
That aside, how it is possible?

Jon could not do that.Not during fight with Loras.So,who did it,and why?

But - Tommen as King would be much better,and we do not need civil war here to avoid psycho on throne.

P.S Which Kingsguard die? certainly not Jaime or Trant,both are too good to be killed by horse.

 

[Septaemus Meridaeus]

Could be worst.some rat could eat his dick during his sleep.or eyes.Why not both?
That aside, how it is possible?

Jon could not do that.Not during fight with Loras.So,who did it,and why?

But - Tommen as King would be much better,and we do not need civil war here to avoid psycho on throne.

P.S Which Kingsguard die? certainly not Jaime or Trant,both are too good to be killed by horse.

Click to shrink...

Could be any one of the northmen that came with him, that has the ability including Robb.

It may have been slynt (I think that's how you spell it, and I think he was in the kingsguard iirc.)

P.S. just a distinction but Wargs are typically skin changers that only skin change into wolves or direwolves (hence why the stark children barring Bran are referred to as Wargs) but any skin change (essentially drift/merge minds with an animal, like how one would in pacific rim with their twins/siblings, etc) into any animal (that may include wolves and direwolves but also have more, shadow cats, snow bears, eagles, etc) are typically referred to as skin changers as they don't just skin change into wolves or DireWolves wolves (that or skin changers was just the term those North of the Wall used, I can't remember the full lore though I think the first reason I gave is it, I may be wrong.)