The Wild Hunt

King's Landing

The Red Keep

Tower of the Hand

"What do you mean by he was no longer there?" asks Tywin's deceptively calm voice. "Was he or was he not there when you left the brothel?" asks Tywin.

"He was. By the time I had the establishment surrounded however, he and Prince Oberyn had been long gone." replies Tyrion before chugging the wine in his cup, far too shaken at the moment to care about his father's reaction or his thoughts towards him.

Meeting Jon Snow had not been good for his health. Just the sight of him had nearly made his heart give out. The boy no longer looked like a boy nor carried himself like a kicked puppy, and his words to him had simply been the final nail in the coffin to confirm to him that sullen, brooding, and naive Jon Snow had died sometime after their first meeting. Standing in his place was a terrifying young man that made Tyrion's hair stand on end.

The boy had grown a few inches since their first meeting, his already dark hair seemed to have become black, his face had lost most of its remaining baby fat, and his eyes…the boy's eyes had somehow gained a star like blue to them, making it unnerving to meet.

Throughout their entire encounter something in the back of Tyrion's mind had been screaming at him to run, that despite having Bronn at his side he would have met a torturous fate had he provoked a confrontation with Jon. Something had changed within Jon Snow and Tyrion is willing to bet all the wine and whores in the world that the murder of his brother, at a wedding, under guest rights, at the hands of his sworn bannermen, and under the endorsement of his father had something to do with it.

"What of Prince Oberyn?" asks Tywin, shaking Tyrion from his thoughts.

"He and his retinue are nowhere to be found." replies Tyrion as he refills his cup.

"Do you mean to tell me that after a private conversation with the bastard Prince Oberyn and his retinue simply left the capital?" says Tywin.

"Indeed, two very dangerous men that have cause to hate our house had a very private conversation under our noses before vanishing to gods know where. Nothing could possibly go wrong because of their meeting." japes Tyrion before taking another drink from his cup.

"Do not be dramatic, the boy is no more dangerous than his brother was. Even less so now that the North no longer has an army nor anyone to rally behind other than a bastard acting as regent for a boy." says Tywin.

"I doubt that the Red Wedding completely wiped their forces." says Tyrion as he ignores the slight twitch in his father's brows at the name the people have taken to calling .

"Irrelevant. The 25,000 that Tarly has should be enough to bring the Riverlands to heel while the northmen lick their wounds back home." replies Tywin. "The Riverlands will be returned into the fold, the Kingsroad will be heavily guarded, and the North shall be cut off from the rest of the Kingdoms. Let us see them survive the winter without aid. By spring the bastard will be ousted and they shall be begging to be welcomed into the fold. In the meantime, we have more important matters that need to be seen to." says Tywin as someone knocks on the door

"Enter." commands Tywin as he leans back in his seat.

From the door, enters Varys, the Master of Whispers, Ser Kevan Lannister, Master of Laws, Grand Maester Pycelle, Cersei Lannister, the Queen Regent.

"My lord." greets Pycelle as he and the members of the Small Council make their way to their seats.

"What new of the Westerlands?" asks Tywin as he pointedly looks at Varys.

"Rumors of a dragon burning holdfasts persists through the Westerlands as well as reports of crops going missing." says Varys momentarily pausing and worryingly glancing at Tywin.

"Well? I don't have all day." he says.

"Reports… have reached me of Lannister soldiers being killed at Lannisport in the dead of night, along with any Lannister affiliated ships being burned at port. The smallfolk whisper of the Seven's retribution for the Red Wedding, and merchants have begun to avoid the city." reports Varys .

"Do you at the very least have suspects?" questions Tywin.

Reaching into his pocket, Varys brings out a rolled piece of parchment "These have been found nailed upon the bodies of the victims." he says as he unrolls the parchment and begins to read. The words are dark and ominous, instilling the listeners with a terrible sense of foreboding as if it were a warning, or a prophecy.

In the cold, dark North, where the wind does howl,

The Wild Hunt rides, with a fearsome growl.

The hounds do bay, and the Starks do ride,

Their cloaks of black, with a wolf at their side.

Their eyes are cold, their swords sharp as ice,

As they hunt their prey, without a price.

Their power unbridled, their justice so just,

The Wild Hunt, with House Stark in their trust.

Their banners fly, with a direwolf's howl,

A sign of their strength, and their resolve so foul.

For they are the hunters, and the hunted beware,

For the Starks will show no mercy, and no care.

Their vengeance is cold, like the winter's snow,

Their justice unyielding, and their power will grow.

For the Wild Hunt and House Stark, they are one,

And together they ride, until their work is done.

So beware the Wild Hunt, and House Stark's call,

For their justice is cold, and their vengeance will fall.

And in the dead of night, when the moon is high,

The Wild Hunt rides, with House Stark at their side.

As Varys reads the words from the parchment the shadows in the room seem to come alive and a bitter chill invades their bones as the room is filled with tension.

Pycelle, who had gone bone white at the words, falls from his chair as he begins to hyperventilate and gasp for air, causing Cersei to let out a scream at the sudden sound.

Springing to his feet, Kevan Lannister makes for the door where he calls out to the guards "Summon the Maester's assistants."

"My little birds were able to retrieve all the parchments thus far, but eventually someone else will get to them first." says Varys as Kevan returns to his seat.

"How exactly have the soldiers been killed?" asks a pale and trembling Tyrion.

"They…seemed to have been mauled by dogs, my Lord. Or wolves judging by the words on the parchment." answers Varys.

"There are no wolves in the Westerlands." says Cersei, her voice slightly quivering and her hands shaking. "They were most likely beset dogs and some surviving Stark loyalists." she adds.

"Unlikely. The Starks took all of their men North and any remaining northman in the Westerlands would have left by now. There is something foul about this situation." says Tyrion, earning a glare from his sister.

"I refuse to believe that these men were mauled to death by hounds and no one heard or saw anything, keep searching." commands Tywin as Pycelle's assistants finally arrive to carry him out of the room.

"Anything else from the Westerlands?" asks Tywin.

"Yes." says Varys as he reaches over to the document Pycelle had brought with him and presents it to Tywin.

Watching their father read the letter, Cersei and Tyrion grow increasingly nervous as Tywin's expression seems to darken.

With a rare show of rage, Tywin slams the letter on the table before leaning back in his seat and taking a deep breath as he closes his eyes.

Curious, Cersei takes the letter to read herself. The letter itself is none too special, being in the handwriting of her Aunt Gemma, Tywin's sister and the current castellan of Casterly Rock.

The contents of the letter however makes Cersei's heart stop and causes a pit to form in her stomach. The caged lions in Casterly Rock were released in the dead of night and murdered a vast majority of the castle's inhabitants before they were finally put down. The maester suspects that they were injected with something that had aggravated their bloodlust.

Unfortunately the bad news does not end there. That same morning the patrolling guards stumbled upon the Lannister vaults. They were wide open and devoid of all their belongings with a message written in blood.

You mistook our honor and kindness for weakness, but you forget our power runs deep. One does not simply rule uninterrupted for 8000 years by being weak. We did not conquer the barrows through weakness, nor did we triumph over the Red King with kindness. So caught up in our honor that you forget that ours is a line that has spawned some of the most cruel and ruthless men this world has ever borne witness to. To this day the Maesters teach of the Hour of the Wolf led by Cregan Stark, of the massacre of the slavers who dared come to the North by Brandon Iceeyes, and even thousands of years later Andalos still feels the effects of Theon the Hungry Wolf. With the orchestration of the Red Wedding, you have incurred a debt that can only be paid for in blood. This is only the beginning.

…

…

…

The Riverlands

They come in the dead of night, when the moon is high. A pack of wolves emerge from the shadow ridden forest with a direwolf leading the charge. Its eyes are a dark golden color that seem to glow in the night, and its fur is gray reminiscent of the banner of House Stark.

They stalk their prey, without a sound. An army, with swords and shields in their hands, and a hunger for glory and a drive to bring the Riverlands to heel. Unaware of the danger at hand, they delve deeper and deeper into the land as the pack slowly encircles them.

It begins with outriders going missing and stragglers being picked off silently until the men begin to notice that they are in danger. And yet for all their vigilance they never suspect a pack of wolves, thinking that their enemies are merely the last remnants of the Riverland's army.

At night, the howls of the pack send chills down their spine, and still they do not suspect a direwolf leading her pack. They can feel the tension and danger but most attribute it to the eeriness of the forest.

The first attack comes on a cloudy night when the moonlight is blocked. The wolves move in with deadly efficiency, their eyes aglow with a fierce hunger. As they attack their prey, the direwolf, who had keenly observed the army, leads her most ferocious wolves towards the leaders of the camp while the rest of the pack make quick work of their horses.

By the time the army recovers to lead a counterattack the wolves have already retreated beyond their reach, leaving behind hundreds of dead knights and horses.

Unseen by all were the assassins who contributed hundreds more to the list of casualties; leading the army to believe that the wolves were all responsible for the dead.

As the army marches on, the pack continues to circle their prey. The direwolf, with teeth as sharp as steel, continues to study her enemies before once more leading the charge with murderous zeal ten more times, each charge more disastrous than the last.

On the final charge, the soldiers, with fear in their eyes, raise their swords, and prepare to desperately repel the enemy.

Whereas the first battle took place under the cover of darkness, this one is under the light of a full moon.

The soldiers fight with all their might, but the wolves are simply too fierce for men whose minds are completely addled with fear. The unnatural attacks had whittled down their resolve and now these trained and well armed men fight with no better skill than peasant levies.

The wolves too are far more fierce than they have a right to be, and with the aid of the shadowed assassins they seem invincible.

As they rip through the army with deadly effectiveness, what begins as a battle quickly turns into a feast as they rip and tear through the barely living men, staining the ground red with blood. Their victory is savage and cruel, and the remaining men, cognisant enough, begin to run for their lives; all thoughts of glory and honor far from their minds.

Like this the wolves fade into the night, the army defeated without a fight, and a warning is sent throughout the realm to all those who would dare enter the Riverlands with ill intent; the Starks may have retreated North, but they have not abandoned the Riverlands.

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Author's Note: We get to see the affects of Aemon's plans put into action. Tell me what you guys think so far