Chapter 32: A Wolf in the Lion's Den, The Hawk's Watchful Eye
The death of Lord Jon Arryn cast a long, cold shadow over King's Landing, a shadow that Darth Vorhax, from his distant strongholds, observed with predatory anticipation. His intelligence network, meticulously woven by Will and Anya over years of patient effort, now provided him with an almost real-time feed of the viper's nest that was the royal court. The reports painted a vivid picture: Lord Eddard Stark, the honorable Northman, thrust into the role of Hand of the King, was a wolf surrounded by lions, spiders, and mockingbirds, his every move scrutinized, his every principle a vulnerability.
Vorhax watched with grim satisfaction as Ned Stark, true to his rigid code, began to unravel the threads of corruption and debt left by King Robert's profligate reign, and, more dangerously, to probe into the circumstances of Jon Arryn's demise. Stark's clashes with the Small Council – the serpentine Littlefinger, the enigmatic Varys, the ambitious Renly Baratheon, and the doddering Grand Maester Pycelle (a Lannister creature to his core) – were reported in meticulous detail. The growing animosity between the new Hand and Queen Cersei Lannister, along with her arrogant twin, Ser Jaime, was a fire Vorhax knew would soon consume them all. King Robert himself, oblivious or simply indifferent, continued his descent into wine, women, and reckless hunts, leaving his Hand to navigate the treacherous currents alone.
Publicly, Lord Ellys Vorant played the part of the loyal, if formidable, bannerman. A raven flew to Winterfell bearing his condolences upon Lord Arryn's death and congratulations (however incongruous given the circumstances) to Lord Stark on his appointment as Hand, accompanied by a gift of a dozen perfectly crafted Stonefang steel longswords for Winterfell's household guard – a gesture both practical and subtly menacing. Another tribute of precisely smelted iron ingots was dispatched to King Robert for the royal armories, reinforcing Vorhax's image as a productive and supportive vassal. Within his own domains – the heavily industrialized Stonefang, the fertile plains around Crow's Nest, and the grimly pacified Old Wyk – his rule remained absolute, a stark contrast of dark order and efficiency to the mounting chaos in the capital.
While the great houses of Westeros became increasingly entangled in the intrigues of King's Landing, Vorhax utilized the deepening shadows to further consolidate his own power. The Obsidian Guard, now a legion of nearly one thousand, their black armor and hawk helms striking terror into any who beheld them, engaged in relentless, large-scale war games in the remote highlands of his territory, perfecting complex maneuvers and siege tactics. His experiments with black powder, conducted in the deepest, most isolated mines beneath Stonefang, had yielded significant results: stable, potent explosive charges and the first terrifyingly effective (if still temperamental) "firelances" – crude cannons capable of hurling iron shot with devastating force. His fleet, under the command of his ruthlessly efficient Obsidian Guard admirals, patrolled his coastlines and discreetly expanded its reach, his black-sailed warships becoming a feared sight in the southern Narrow Sea and the Sunset Sea.
Economically, Vorhax was a leviathan. He subtly exploited the Crown's ever-increasing debts, his agents discreetly buying up notes of royal obligation at a fraction of their worth. He cornered the market on vital resources like high-quality timber (essential for shipbuilding and siege engines) and salt (vital for preserving provisions), giving him immense leverage over less provident lords. His "shadow coalition" of indebted minor houses grew, their loyalty bought with Stonefang steel, secured by favorable trade, or compelled by the unspoken threat of the Hawk's talons. They formed an extensive network of listening posts and potential auxiliaries throughout the Stormlands and southern Crownlands.
The first true tremor of the coming earthquake rumbled when news reached Vorhax of Lady Catelyn Stark's impulsive capture of Tyrion Lannister at the Crossroads Inn. She accused the Imp of attempting to murder her son Bran, brandishing the Valyrian steel dagger Littlefinger had so skillfully planted in her path. Vorhax, analyzing the intelligence, recognized Littlefinger's malevolent genius at play. This act, however emotionally driven, was a point of no return. Lord Tywin Lannister, the Old Lion of Casterly Rock, would not suffer such an insult to his house and his blood.
Retaliation was swift and brutal. Tywin Lannister unleashed Ser Gregor Clegane, his monstrous mad dog, upon the Riverlands, the homeland of Catelyn Stark. Villages burned, smallfolk were slaughtered, and a wave of terror swept through the lands sworn to House Tully. Vorhax noted the strategic implications: the Riverlands, a frequent battleground, were once again being set ablaze, drawing in House Tully and, by extension, House Stark.
In King's Landing, Lord Eddard Stark, as Hand, acted with predictable, honorable outrage. He condemned Gregor Clegane's atrocities, stripped him of lands and titles, and summoned Lord Tywin himself to answer for his bannerman's crimes. He dispatched Lord Beric Dondarrion and a small force to bring the King's justice to the Mountain. Vorhax saw this as Ned Stark signing his own death warrant. To challenge Tywin Lannister so directly, with so little power of his own in the capital, was an act of noble folly.
The realm was now a chessboard primed for war. Vorhax placed his own forces on heightened alert. The Obsidian Guard were recalled from outlying patrols, the Wolf Brigade drilled with renewed intensity, and his fleet prepared for immediate deployment. He instructed Will and Anya to redouble their efforts, focusing on Tywin Lannister's military dispositions, the movements of the great houses, and the rapidly deteriorating political climate in King's Landing. He needed to anticipate every move, every betrayal.
Then came the news that sealed King Robert's fate, and with it, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms' fragile peace. The King, on a hunt in the Kingswood, had been gravely wounded by a wild boar. Vorhax's agents within the royal hunting party confirmed his suspicions: Robert, plied with exceptionally strong wine by his young Lannister squire, Lancel, had been reckless and slow. It was an assassination by proxy, a masterfully subtle stroke by Queen Cersei.
Vorhax knew Robert would not survive. This was the ultimate catalyst.
As King Robert lay dying, he named Eddard Stark Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm, to rule until his "son" Joffrey came of age. But Ned Stark, having finally uncovered the truth of Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen's incestuous parentage (a truth Jon Arryn had died for, and one Stannis Baratheon had likely shared with him), made a fateful alteration to Robert's will, naming the King's "rightful heir" instead of Joffrey specifically. A desperate, honorable gamble in a game where honor was a death sentence.
With Robert's demise imminent, Vorhax convened his war council in the deepest sanctum of Stonefang. The time for subtle maneuvering was ending. The time for decisive action was upon them.
"King Robert is dying," Vorhax stated, his voice like the grinding of glaciers. Red Rain lay before him on the black obsidian table, its crimson ripples seeming to pulse in the dim light. "Lord Stark, in his folly, will attempt to defy the Lannisters and crown Stannis, or at least expose the truth of Joffrey's bastardy. He will fail. The Lannisters hold the capital, the Queen, and the heir apparent. They will not yield."
Brandon Snow grunted. "So, it's war then, my lord. Full war."
"Indeed, Captain Snow," Vorhax confirmed. "The War of the Five Kings, as I have long foreseen, is about to commence. Our initial public stance must be carefully considered."
He analyzed the options with his commanders:
Stannis Baratheon, by law and right, was Robert's true heir if Joffrey was a bastard. But Stannis was Vorhax's bitter enemy, a man who would see him destroyed. Supporting Stannis directly was untenable, unless it was a temporary, deeply cynical alliance of convenience.
Renly Baratheon, Robert's younger brother, Lord of Storm's End, was charming and popular, particularly with the houses of the Reach through his alliance with the Tyrells (though his marriage to Margaery was yet to come, the groundwork was being laid). His claim was weaker than Stannis's, but his charisma and the might of Highgarden made him a significant player. As a Stormlord, Vorhax was nominally Renly's vassal now that Robert had made Renly Lord of Storm's End.
The Lannisters, controlling Joffrey and the machinery of the Iron Throne, would be the de facto royal power. Siding with them could bring immense rewards, but would also mean becoming a tool of Tywin Lannister, a position Vorhax would never tolerate.
Neutrality, at least initially, was the most appealing Sith strategy. Let the great wolves, stags, lions, and falcons tear each other apart. Let them bleed their strength, exhaust their resources. Then, when they were weakened and divided, the Hawk would descend, to impose its own, absolute order.
"For now," Vorhax declared, "we publicly maintain our oaths to the Iron Throne, as currently occupied. We will express our profound grief at King Robert's passing and offer our condolences and fealty to his… successor." The slight sneer in his voice was unmissable to his inner circle. "We will consolidate our own territories, secure our borders, and gather our strength. We will watch. We will wait. And when the moment of maximum opportunity presents itself, we will strike with overwhelming force. Our true allegiance is to the future empire of House Vorant."
As he spoke, a raven arrived, bearing an urgent, heavily encrypted dispatch from Will in King's Landing. Vorhax broke the seal, his eyes scanning the coded message. A cold, predatory smile touched his lips.
"It has begun," he announced, his voice resonating with dark power. "King Robert Baratheon is dead. Lord Eddard Stark has made his move to secure the succession for Stannis. And the Lannisters, as anticipated, have struck first. Lord Stark has been arrested, his household guard slaughtered. The city is in lockdown. The lions have bared their claws."
Vorhax rose, picking up Red Rain. The Valyrian steel seemed to thrum in his grasp, eager for the bloodshed to come. He walked to the great map of Westeros, its surface now a chessboard awaiting his next move.
"The wolf is caged," he murmured, more to himself than his commanders. "The stags will soon be at each other's throats. The lions believe they have won the opening gambit." He placed a black, hawk-shaped marker over his own vast territories in the Stormlands. "They are all fools. They play a game of thrones. I play a game of worlds."
His eyes, like chips of obsidian, gleamed with ancient malice and boundless ambition. The long peace was shattered. The War of the Five Kings had erupted. And Darth Vorhax, the Hawk Lord of Stonefang, was more prepared than any other player to turn its chaos into his ultimate triumph. His vigil was over. The time for the Hawk to truly unleash its fury upon an unsuspecting continent was finally at hand.
(Word Count: Approx. 4400 words)