Dragon Hidden in the Wolf's Shadow - Chapter - 100

Robb Stark stood on a rocky outcrop overlooking the great fortress of Casterly Rock, the seat of House Lannister, the last stronghold of the lion. The golden banners still flew high over the towering stone walls, defiant even as the Lannister cause crumbled around them.

Robb had fought many battles, had seen castles fall before the might of the North. But this—this was different.

Casterly Rock was impregnable.

It was a mountain carved into a fortress, standing as the greatest seat of power in Westeros after the Red Keep itself. Robb had tried every strategy, but the walls were too thick, the defenses too well-prepared.

We can’t take it by storm, he thought grimly. Not without losing half my men.

His captains and lords stood behind him, waiting for a plan, but there was none.

"We Starve Them Out"

“The Rock cannot be taken,” Lord Umber grumbled, his massive arms crossed. “We’ve thrown everything at it. We can’t scale it. We can’t break it.”

“We don’t need to break it,” Howland Reed said. “We just need to wait.”

Robb turned to him. “A siege?”

“Aye,” Howland nodded. “The Lannisters may sit behind those walls, but they can’t eat gold. They can’t drink their pride. Casterly Rock has never been taken by force because no one has ever been patient enough to wait them out.”

Robb exhaled. It was not the glorious victory he had hoped for, but it was the only way.

“We cut off every supply line,” Robb decided. “No food, no water, no escape. We starve them until they have no choice but to bend the knee or die.”

With the decision made, the northern army began preparations for a long siege.

They built fortifications around the Rock, digging trenches and raising wooden palisades to keep the Lannisters trapped. Scouts hunted down supply convoys trying to reach the fortress, and the great harbor below Casterly Rock was blockaded by ships loyal to Jon Targaryen.

Robb knew this would not be quick.

The Lannisters had enough provisions to last months—maybe longer. But they would break eventually.

“They’ll try to send ravens,” Ser Wylis Manderly pointed out.

“We’ll hunt them down,” Robb said. “No raven leaves Casterly Rock.”

And so, the stalemate began.

Each day, Lannister soldiers watched from the walls as the northern army camped outside, cooking meals, drinking from their own endless supplies, while inside the Rock, their food stores began to dwindle.

The once-great Lannister fortress was slowly being choked.

Robb Stark watched and waited, knowing that soon—whether in weeks or months—the lions would break.

The siege of Casterly Rock dragged on, and with each passing day, the Northern army grew more restless. They had been fighting relentlessly for months—marching, battling, bleeding. Now, they sat idle, watching an enemy they could not reach, waiting for a castle that refused to fall.

The Northern soldiers were warriors, not jailers. They were raised to fight in the open fields, to meet their enemies with steel, not silence. But here they were—trapped in the slow, choking grip of a war with no movement.

Men who had once fought with discipline began to grow reckless, their tempers shortening.

One night, a band of Northmen, bored and eager for action, rode back into Lannisport. There was no great purpose behind their attack—only a need to spill blood, to break something, to remind themselves they were at war.

By the time Robb Stark received word of the massacre, it was too late. Entire households had been slaughtered, their bodies left in the streets. Some soldiers had looted, others had burned, and many had simply killed for the sake of killing.

The lion's share of the damage was done.

And Robb was furious.

At dawn, the offending soldiers were rounded up and brought before Robb’s tent. They stood in chains, their faces grim, knowing what was coming.

“You disobeyed my orders.” Robb’s voice was like ice. His grey eyes, once warm, now burned with disappointment and anger. “We are not butchers. We are not invaders. We came to end the Lannisters, not to slaughter civilians like cowards.”

The assembled lords stood in silence, watching. The North followed its own justice. And Robb was still their king, even if he did not yet wear a crown.

Some of the men dared to speak.

“My lord,” one of them, a soldier from House Dustin, tried to plead. “We’ve been sitting for weeks, doing nothing. You expect us to—”

“I expect you to act like men of the North,” Robb snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Not savages.”

The soldier bowed his head, knowing there was no excuse.

Robb turned to the gathered commanders—Howland Reed, Wylis Manderly, Smalljon Umber. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of an executioner’s sentence.

“Send them to the Wall.”

A murmur ran through the ranks. It was a merciful punishment—one that Eddard Stark would have chosen. A Lord of Winterfell did not kill his own men unless he had to.

But exile to the Wall was still a death sentence for many.

The men were dragged away, their protests turning to silence as they accepted their fate. They would never see their homes again.

That night, Robb sat in his war tent, staring at a map of Casterly Rock.

This siege is useless if we don’t know how much food they have, he thought. If they have enough to last a year, we’ll be sitting here like fools.

He needed information.

He needed a way inside the Rock.

And he needed it soon.

Robb Stark sat inside his command tent, the weight of the siege pressing down on his shoulders like a frozen chain. His army had been idle for too long, their spirits fraying, their patience wearing thin. Casterly Rock stood defiant, its walls unbroken, its defenders entrenched.

The North had tried everything—blockades, raids, even the slow choke of starvation—but the fortress held firm.

So Robb had resorted to a desperate gamble.

A promise.

A reward for any who could help break the Rock—land, a castle, a lordship in the North. The kind of prize that could tempt even the most loyal Lannister servant to betray their masters.

But deep inside, Robb never expected anyone to answer.

Yet, eight days later, someone did.

And it was not who he expected.

The guards escorted a woman into the tent, her cloak tattered, her face hidden beneath the hood. She moved with silent confidence, her eyes sharp and calculating.

Robb studied her as she lowered her hood, revealing dark brown curls and eyes filled with quiet determination. She was not noble, not dressed like a lady of Lannister blood.

But then, she spoke.

"My name is Tysha Lannister."

The words hung in the air, heavier than a war hammer.

Howland Reed stiffened at Robb’s side. Wylis Manderly frowned. Even Smalljon Umber—who cared little for political intrigue—looked intrigued.

Tysha? A Lannister?

Robb narrowed his eyes. “There is no Tysha Lannister.”

The woman’s jaw tightened, as if she had waited for this moment. “I was Tyrion Lannister’s wife.”

A murmur rippled through the assembled lords.

Robb leaned forward, resting his arms on the wooden war table. “Tyrion Lannister was never married.”

She smirked, but there was no humor in her expression. “That’s what his family wanted you to believe.”

And then she told her story.

She had been a girl of common birth, a simple daughter of a crofter. When she was young, she met Tyrion Lannister by chance. He saved her. He married her.

And then, Tywin Lannister found out.

Tywin had the marriage annulled, had her beaten, disgraced, and cast aside. Tyrion was made to believe she was a whore who had deceived him.

But Tysha had survived.

She had fled far from the West, beyond the reach of Tywin’s wrath. For years, she stayed in hiding, living as a ghost, watching from the shadows as House Lannister grew richer, bolder, crueler.

And now?

Now, the lions were bleeding.

“I’ve waited years to destroy them,” Tysha said, her voice calm, but her eyes burned with fire. “And I know a way into Casterly Rock.”

Robb’s grip tightened on the edge of the table. If she was lying, she would die for it. But there was something in her eyes, something that told him she had no love for her husband’s family.

And if she spoke the truth…

Then the Starks had just found their way in.

“There is a tunnel,” Tysha explained. “A passage that only the lowest of Lannister servants know about. It was built generations ago as an emergency escape route. The Lannisters think it was sealed decades ago, but it wasn’t.”

She reached for a piece of parchment and began to sketch.

“It leads from a hidden cave near the shoreline into the lower levels of the Rock. It was used for smuggling goods in and out during the early days of Lannisport.” She tapped the drawing. “If you take it, you’ll be inside before they know you’re coming.”

Silence followed her words.

Robb looked at the crude map, then at Howland Reed. The Lord of Greywater Watch was a master of moving unseen, a man who could spot deception in an instant.

“How do we know you aren’t leading us into a trap?” Howland asked.

Tysha’s expression darkened. “If I wanted to kill Starks, I wouldn’t have waited this long.”

The men in the tent exchanged glances.

Robb turned to her, his voice steady. “If you’re lying, I will kill you myself.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “If I’m lying, you won’t need to.”

Robb leaned forward, his grey eyes sharp. "You claim there’s a secret way into Casterly Rock. But how does a lowborn woman like you know about it?"

Tysha didn’t hesitate.

“Because Tyrion used it to bring me into the Rock.”

Murmurs ran through the tent. Howland Reed watched her carefully, looking for any sign of deception, but Tysha’s voice remained steady.

She glanced at the crude map she had drawn, running her fingers over the ink.

“It was Tyrion who told me the story of the tunnel—a path once used by smugglers, later forgotten by the high lords of the Rock. But Tyrion… he knew all the secret ways in and out of the fortress. And one night, he took me through it.”

Robb exhaled through his nose. If that were true, then she had been inside.

She had seen the halls, the guard posts, the blind spots.

She could be telling the truth.

But it still didn’t explain why.

Robb folded his arms. "You’ve carried this secret for years. Why now?"

Tysha’s face darkened, her fingers tightening into fists.

“I have a son,” she said quietly.

Silence fell over the tent.

Robb’s expression remained unreadable. “And?”

She lifted her head, her jaw tight. “He was conceived that night. The night they took me, after they told Tyrion I was nothing but a whore.”

The air in the tent grew cold.

No one needed her to explain further.

She was already told her story—how Tywin Lannister had his men rape her, tossing silver coins at her to pay her for her service. And how, in the end, Tyrion had been forced to join them—his own father’s lesson in cruelty.

Tysha let out a slow breath. “I have never used any of those coins. Not the silver. And not the gold Tyrion gave me last.”

She pulled something from a small leather pouch she had hidden beneath her cloak.

A single gold coin, its edges worn but still gleaming.

A Lannister coin.

“My son will never be a Lannister,” she said, her voice like stone. “But I want him to have his own name. His own future. His own castle.”

She looked at Robb, her eyes hard. “You promised land and a lordship to the one who could bring Casterly Rock to its knees.”

Robb understood now.

Tysha wanted the Rock for her son.

Not to rule in Lannister colors, but to erase every trace of the Lannister name from it.

She wasn’t just seeking vengeance.

She was reclaiming what was stolen from her.

Robb remained silent for a long moment.

Then, without looking away, he turned to Howland Reed.

“Take a team. Check the tunnel. If it’s real, if it gets us inside, we move.”

Howland nodded, already selecting a group of scouts.

Tysha’s face remained calm, but Robb saw the flicker of something else beneath her mask.

Hope.

Three days later, Howland returned.

“The tunnel is real,” he confirmed. “It leads deep into the Rock’s foundation. If we enter through it, we can reach the lower halls, the supply chambers, and even the dungeons before anyone knows we’re inside.”

Robb smiled grimly.

The siege was over.

The Rock was theirs.

And House Lannister would fall.