Dragon Hidden in the Wolf's Shadow - Chapter - 101

The war council gathered inside Robb Stark’s command tent, the air thick with tension. The siege of Casterly Rock had gone on long enough, and now, with Tysha Lannister’s secret tunnel exposed, victory was inevitable.

Robb sat at the head of the table, his face set in stone, his grey eyes unreadable. To his right sat Howland Reed, ever watchful, the sharp mind of the North. Beside him was Lord Umber, his hands clenched into fists. Around them, the highest-ranking officers of the Northern army leaned forward, eager to hear their next orders.

It was time to decide the fate of the Rock.

Howland Reed cleared his throat. “There’s still the matter of Tysha Lannister,” he began carefully. “You made a promise, Robb. Are you truly giving her the Rock?”

Robb sat back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“When this war began,” he said, his voice even, “when my father was executed like a common criminal, I made a decision.”

The tent fell silent.

Robb’s gaze hardened. “I will destroy everything that belonged to the Lannisters. I will make them nothing more than a forgotten name in history.”

A cold chill swept through the tent.

Even the most hardened warriors exchanged uncertain glances.

Lord Umber leaned forward, his tone gruff but firm. “Lad, we all want revenge, but Tysha played her part. She brought us here. You promised her a castle.”

Robb didn’t blink.

“I never promised her Casterly Rock,” he said flatly. “I promised her land, a castle, and nobility in the North. If she wants it, she can have it. But Casterly Rock will disappear.”

The lords shifted in their seats, unease flickering across their faces.

“This is madness,” one of the generals muttered. “The Rock is the wealthiest stronghold in Westeros. It has resources beyond imagining.”

“And what would I do with that wealth?” Robb snapped. “Sit upon it like a dragon? No. This war isn’t about gold. It’s about justice.”

Howland Reed spoke carefully, his voice laced with logic. “Robb, we could use the Rock. It would serve as a powerful seat in the Westerlands.”

Robb shook his head. “No. The Rock itself is a monument to Lannister arrogance. It represents centuries of their rule. I will not allow it to stand.”

Lord Umber exhaled sharply, rubbing his beard. “Aye, lad, I understand revenge. But wiping the Rock off the map? That’s no small thing. There are innocents inside.”

Robb stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

“You all think that the Starks are like my father.” His voice was low, controlled, but brimming with something deeper. “But my father was not a true Stark.”

Silence.

“My father was raised by Jon Arryn,” Robb continued, his hands pressing against the table. “He was an honorable man, but he wasn’t like the Starks of old. He showed mercy where our ancestors would have shown justice.”

The words hung in the air.

Robb turned to Howland Reed, his tone unyielding. “I grew up reading about the Kings of Winter. The Starks who ruled before my father. The men who built the North into what it is. And it was Jon who taught me what it means to be a true Stark.”

Howland’s expression remained unreadable, but something in his eyes flickered.

“You think Jon would have done the same?”

Robb nodded once. “Jon would have burned it to the ground.”

The room fell into uneasy silence.

Lord Umber sighed. “Then what’s the plan, lad?”

Robb’s jaw tightened. “We collapse the tunnels beneath it. We bring the entire mountain down upon it. Casterly Rock will cease to exist.”

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the lords.

Robb looked around, his voice calm, resolute, absolute. “No more Lannisters. No more Rock. Only dust and rubble.”

And with that, the fate of Casterly Rock was sealed.

The storm of war had raged across Westeros, but in the golden heart of the West, Casterly Rock remained unshaken, untouchable.

Until now.

Robb Stark stood on a cliffside overlooking the sea, watching the great Lannister stronghold in the distance.

It was a fortress no army could conquer. A city carved into the very bones of the mountain, built to withstand sieges for years. Even with Tysha Lannister’s secret tunnel, taking the castle by force was impossible.

Only a few soldiers could enter at a time, and the moment they were discovered, they would be slaughtered like rats in a trap.

So Robb made a choice.

He would not take the Rock.

He would destroy it.

The decision was made. The North would erase Casterly Rock from existence.

Lord Umber arrived with shipments of wildfire, sent by King Jon Targaryen.

Robb had only used a small portion of it to burn Lannisport—a warning, a message.

The rest?

It was for this moment.

For days, Robb’s men worked in silence, smuggling casks of wildfire through the narrow tunnels beneath Casterly Rock.

One by one, the casks were placed deep within the lowest dungeons, hidden beneath tons of stone and gold.

With each cask placed in the darkness, the Rock’s fate was sealed.

And now, only one thing remained.

Robb turned to the lone soldier standing beside him—a young man, barely more than a boy, his hands steady despite the weight of the moment.

In his hand was a small, flickering candle.

This was his task, his one mission.

“You have one job,” Robb told him. “Light the candle. Then run.”

The soldier nodded, swallowing his fear. He knew he had only moments once the fire was lit.

Robb watched as the young man disappeared into the tunnel.

The wind howled against the cliffs.

The sea crashed against the stone below.

And then—

A blinding green light erupted from beneath Casterly Rock.

A roar of fire burst through the tunnels, racing through the deepest levels of the fortress, consuming everything in its path.

A violent quake shook the land.

And then—

The Rock cracked.

From afar, Robb watched as Lannister history collapsed in fire and ruin.

The mountain that had stood for centuries—the pride of House Lannister—was now nothing but a tomb of green fire and smoke.

Inside, thousands burned in an instant.

Lannister lords, soldiers, servants, women, and children—they all perished before they even had time to scream.

The golden house of Westeros was gone.

Only ash remained.

The flames still burned when Robb Stark turned to his men.

His voice was calm, cold, and absolute.

"The Lannisters are no more."

He mounted his horse, glancing one last time at the ruins of what was once the wealthiest stronghold in Westeros.

"Let them be forgotten."

And with that, Robb Stark rode away—leaving only dust and death where Casterly Rock once stood.

The ravens flew swiftly, their wings cutting through the skies of Westeros, carrying the news of Casterly Rock’s destruction.

One message headed north, toward King Jon Targaryen’s war camp.

The other reached King’s Landing, delivering the final blow to House Lannister’s pride.

Jon Targaryen stood in his war tent, the air thick with the scent of parchment and wax.

The messenger knelt before him, his hands trembling as he presented the sealed letter from Robb Stark.

Jon took the parchment, his fingers steady, and read.

With each word, his expression remained unchanged.

By the time he finished, he set the letter down, exhaling slowly.

He wasn’t surprised.

If he had been in Robb’s position, he would have done the same.

The war camp erupted in celebration.

Soldiers raised their cups, cheering for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, and for King Jon, the Dragon of the North.

“The Lannisters are no more!” they shouted.

“No more Rock! No more Lions!”

Fires were lit, songs were sung, and for the first time in a long time, the men of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale felt the weight of war lighten on their shoulders.

Jon stepped outside his tent, watching the fires of celebration burn high.

Brynden Tully approached, his gaze flicking toward Jon’s stoic face.

“You knew this would happen,” he said simply.

Jon nodded. “It was inevitable.”

Brynden hesitated. “Do you regret it?”

Jon was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “No. The Lannisters lost the war the day they executed my uncle. They just didn’t realize it.”

The Red Keep was in chaos.

Cersei Lannister stood frozen, the letter from the Westerlands clutched in her hand, her nails digging into the parchment.

Her face paled, her breath came in short gasps.

“No,” she whispered. “No, this can’t be…”

But it was.

Casterly Rock was gone.

**Everything—**the wealth, the power, the very foundation of House Lannister—gone in fire and ruin.

Tywin had always told her that no matter what happened, the Rock would stand eternal.

But now?

There was nothing left.

Jamie was dead.

Their legacy was in ashes.

And for the first time in her life, Cersei felt the icy grip of true fear.

The letter was placed on Tywin Lannister’s desk.

He read it in complete silence, his fingers tight around the parchment.

Not a word escaped his lips.

Not a single emotion crossed his face.

But those who stood in the chamber with him felt the shift in the air—a rage so cold, so deep, it was more terrifying than any outburst could ever be.

A lifetime of planning, building, securing the future of House Lannister—gone.

His jaw clenched, his golden eyes burning with hatred.

“That wolf pup…” Tywin murmured, his voice low. “I should have killed him the moment he marched south.”

Silence.

Then, suddenly, violently, Tywin threw the letter into the fire, the flames consuming the last words written about the fall of his house.

But no matter how many letters he burned—the truth could not be erased.

For Jon Targaryen, this was only the beginning.

The Lannisters had already lost, they just didn’t realize how completely.

King’s Landing would fall next.

And when it did, there would be no mercy.

The great hall of Storm’s End was filled with nobles of the Stormlands, their expressions grim and uncertain as they listened to their Lord.

Stannis Baratheon stood before them, his face as hard as the stone walls surrounding them.

His blue eyes burned with determination, but as he looked around the room, he could see the hesitation in his bannermen’s faces.

They had come when he called, but loyalty and willingness were not the same thing.

The lords of the Stormlands had been watching the tides of war carefully.

They knew what had happened across Westeros.

They knew that Jon Targaryen had the North, the Riverlands, the Eyrie, and even the Reach fighting for him.

They knew that the Targaryen king was on the verge of capturing King’s Landing.

And worst of all, they knew what had happened to the Lannisters.

Casterly Rock, the unbreakable fortress, the heart of Lannister power, had been utterly destroyed.

Robb Stark had turned it to dust, making it clear that the new rulers of Westeros had no mercy for their enemies.

If Casterly Rock, the strongest stronghold in Westeros, had fallen like nothing—what would happen to them?

What was in store for minor lords who followed Stannis into a war they could not win?

The room was silent as Stannis spoke, his voice firm and unyielding.

“The Iron Throne is mine by right.”

His words echoed, but no one answered.

Lord Bryce Caron of Nightsong, one of Stannis’ most loyal bannermen, finally spoke.

“My lord… we do not question your claim, but—”

He hesitated.

Stannis’ gaze hardened. “But what, Lord Caron?”

Bryce exchanged glances with the other lords before answering carefully.

“But we question our chances of victory.”

Murmurs filled the hall.

“The North fights for Jon Targaryen.”

“The Riverlands follow him.”

“The Vale has joined him.”

“Even the Reach has turned against the Lannisters and now follows Targaryen rule.”

Another lord spoke, his voice edged with concern.

“Casterly Rock was destroyed, my lord. Destroyed! The Lannisters are finished.”

A third lord shook his head.

“If Jon Targaryen can wipe out a house as powerful as the Lannisters… what hope do we have if we fight against him?”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Stannis gritted his teeth, his patience wearing thin.

“I am Robert’s rightful heir.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Joffrey is no Baratheon. He is the product of incest. I am the true King.”

The lords remained silent.

They knew he was right.

But right and victory were not the same thing.

Lord Selwyn Tarth, the Evenstar, spoke next.

“And yet, my lord, Westeros is bending the knee to another king.”

Stannis’ fingers curled into fists. “A boy who calls himself Targaryen. A bastard raised as a Stark.”

Lord Selwyn did not argue. He only bowed his head slightly.

“A bastard… who now holds the loyalty of nearly the entire realm.”

Then, Lord Errol, an older man with years of wisdom, spoke carefully.

“Lord Stannis… we have followed you because we respect you. But we have our families to think of. Our people. We do not wish to bring ruin to the Stormlands.”

Lord Wylde, another Stormlands lord, nodded in agreement.

“We have fought many wars for Baratheon rule. We fought alongside your brother when he took the throne. We fought against the Greyjoys when they rebelled. But this… this is different.”

Lord Estermont, one of Stannis’ few close kin, stepped forward.

“Jon Targaryen is winning. You are an honorable man, Lord Stannis, and we know you seek justice. But if we fight for a lost cause, we risk losing everything.”

Bryce Caron took a step closer, his expression pleading.

“We do not ask you to abandon your honor. We ask you to bend the knee.”

The words cut deep.

The lords of the Stormlands did not want war.

They did not want to fight Jon Targaryen.

They wanted Stannis to bend the knee and secure their future.

Stannis stood rigid.

His pride screamed against it.

His honor demanded he fight.

But logic whispered something else.

For years, he had been denied his birthright. He had endured every insult, every slight, always the shadow behind Robert’s throne.

But now?

His own bannermen hesitated to fight for him.

Even if he won battles, he would never win the war alone.

His claim was right—but his odds were wrong.

After a long, heavy silence, Stannis Baratheon spoke.

“… Send a raven.”

The lords inhaled sharply, waiting.

“To Jon Targaryen,” Stannis continued, his jaw tight with the weight of his decision.

“The Stormlands will bend the knee.”

The lords exhaled in relief, their faces filled with unspoken gratitude.

They had chosen survival.

And now, with the Stormlands submitting, the war was reaching its final chapter.

Only King’s Landing remained.