#Beneath the Citadel
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Aro & Ace books: Dark YA high fantasy
(in this instance by dark I mean spooky or gothic vibes, dark aesthetic, supernatural elements related to death)
Beneath The Citadel - one of the 5 MC's is an ace girl
Vespertine - MC is word-of-god aroacespec (no romance in the story)
Beyond The Black Door - demi girl MC, ace boy LI, ace trans man SC (see also In The Ravenous Dark - major side character is ace & nonbinary)
Clariel - aroace coded girl MC
What We Devour - ace girl MC (f, m/f)
This Dark Descent - demidemi girl MC (m/f) and questioning aroacespec girl MC (latter only vague so far)
#aspec books / aspec database
#aspec books#asexual books#aroace books#beneath the citadel#beyond the black door#this dark descent#what we devour
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January 2023 📚
• I Kissed Shara Wheeler by Casey McQuiston
This is one of my favorite books of all time, as you can tell from my URL! It's so charming in every aspect, from the small town setting to the great characters to each of their individual dynamics. It's so delightfully queer and unique that I found it impossible not to love it. It did lose me a bit at the end, but it's far from enough to ruin the experience. 4,5/5.
• Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston
It wasn't as magical as it was when I first read it, but it's still everything it sets out to be: a larger-than-life rom-com that paints a beautiful picture for queer people. However, the characters didn't strike me as deeply as in the author's other works, but that's not to say it's bad! Just a bit overrated in comparison to its siblings. 3,75/5.
• Beneath the Citadel by Destiny Soria
This book was a bit more... dragged than I expected, if that's the right word. Its characters had an odd sense of charisma that wasn't quite there but wasn't lacking either. As for the world, I found it very fun and compelling. The mystery was good, and I liked the aspect of never knowing who to trust — even the protagonists, either because of memory magic or because they're hiding something from the reader. 3,75/5.
• Adrift in Starlight by Mindi Briar
Despite the interplanetary sci-fi setting, this book had a sense of reality so enthralling it was almost as if I was there. I especially liked its handling of Aisha's asexuality and Tai's gender identity, despite those not being the main focus. The romance was sweet and the characters fun, and though not the most memorable book of the month, I'm still glad I read it. 4/5.
• A Million to One by Adiba Jaigirdar
I was hoping to really, really fall in love with the cast — and I did to some extent, but I was sad that some relationships were not explored to their full potential. It is a stand-alone, though, and I think it serves its purpose well: each main girl has a compelling backstory and a motive to be here, and the main romance was very good. Despite knowing what happens on the Titanic, the ending was still heartbreaking. No further spoilers though! 4/5.
• Rumores da Cidade by Lucas Rocha
Hey, a brazilian book! Again, I don't know what it is with small towns but they are always so compelling to read about. The author's description of it and the colorful characters that live there make the atmosphere very realistic, like I could be friends with these people! It's the sort of book that gives you hope for the future, y'know? 4,25/5.
• Chain of Thorns by Cassandra Clare
I don't know how popular this opinion is, but this was definitely my favorite one out of the trilogy. Even the characters I used to hate are actually likeable now, but that's part of a bigger problem: many events and character traits that should've been a big deal were mostly cast aside, and it creates a big feeling of disconnect with the previous installments. The world and magic system are nothing worth noting if you're familiar with the author. 3,5/5.
2023 Reads: January | February | March | April
#nathan reads#nathan rambles#books#book reviews#january 2023 📚#2023 📚#I kissed shara wheeler#red white and royal blue#beneath the citadel#adrift in starlight#a million to one#rumores da cidade#chain of thorns
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EDIT: Now that the game I'm running has started in earnest, this post is officially off-limits to anyone in that game! You know who you are!!!
EDIT: Updated a few of the tokens that were bugging me c:
Been in a bit of an art slump recently. I found out about the Decked Out D&D module, Terrors Beneath Deepfrost Citadel, written by @capriciouswriter207 and have swiftly fallen in love. So as a challenge to myself I made some token markers! I left some that can potentially spoil the narrative of the module under the cut.
If you see this and are/want to run this game, please do because this module looks so so fun! I'm starting to ask around to run it myself! You're welcome to use these token markers if you do! :D
#Salaena's horn details are left over from when i misread her as a tiefling so they're part of a decorative headpiece now#Melena is there in case you wanna have a visual for speak with dead ^u^#decked out 2#mcyt#mcytblr#hermitcraft#terrors beneath deepfrost citadel#they got better the further I went so uh. sorry to a few of these little guys. Will probably fix them in a few days along with any mistakes#really like how the majority turned out though!
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duality of a dnd game
#terrors beneath deepfrost citadel#dnd#dungeons and dragons#dndecked out#(sylvee eldritch blasted scar* into oblivion despite all of our intentions to not kill anymore)#(but thankfully we could revive him and try to talk to him)#(leading to some devestating words that will circle my brain rent free)#(*not scar his name is soren but for the sake of clarity)#(big thanks to anna for allowing us to revive him he most definitely should be dead)#waveleoart#digital art#art
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Art of my DND character Ruven's death, drawn by the wonderful Bee @applestruda! This moment was so crazy in game.
Fic under the cut!
Ruven sighs in relief as Tarnish strikes the sculk thrall down. He pockets his wand, looking down at Lil Buddy, who winds around his legs purring loudly.
They're annoying, his familiar comments. Sorry I can't help more.
Ruven giggles at the sensation of Lil Buddy's long fur tickling his skin. It's alright. Just stay safe, okay?
I'm safer than you are, Lil Buddy responds.
Ruven rolls his eyes and scoops Lil Buddy up. “Whatever,” he says out loud. Looking around, he realizes Dragon isn't there– probably hiding somewhere. “Where's...?”
Before he can finish his sentence, Windsor's voice interrupts him. “Hey guys, you should come see this!”
Slowly, the party makes their way into the room Windsor had called from. Ruven sets Lil Buddy down to let him explore, his hand going back to his wand as he looks around.
The room overlooks an enormous cavern. Ruven takes a few steps forward as he gazes at the area, the rest of the party chatting quietly behind him as he descends the first few stairs, following Lil Buddy.
His familiar sniffs the ground before looking back up at Ruven. There are strange aberrations here. Be careful.
Ruven raises his gaze, doing a quick sweep of the cavern. His eyes land on a tall, spindly creature with bony, spider-like legs. He tenses up involuntarily– spiders have always scared him. One time, Rhel had bought a plastic spider and put it in his bed, scaring him so much he cast a fire spell on it.
Rhel...
Ruven bites his lower lip, clenching his fists. Pull yourself together, Ruven. Now's not the time.
He tries to focus on something other than the memory of his sister's body.
Lil Buddy looks concerned, which is a little strange for a cat. ...we should rejoin the rest of the party. I don't like this.
As Lil Buddy says that, Ruven hears Windsor's voice ring out over the cavern. “Delta, are you seeing this shit?”
The spindly sculk beast turns around slowly with a low, chittering, creaking noise. Ruven remembers the sounds he heard in his dream, ears twitching as he freezes up. His hand tightens around his wand.
Darkness descends upon the party. Ruven is once again reminded of his dream as the rest of the party yelps in shock. Even with his darkvision, Ruven can't see through– magical darkness, then.
He feels his breathing begin to pick up as his chest tightens. He's always hated the dark and it's all-encompassing nature. His darkvision made it easier to ignore his fear, but he can't do anything against magical darkness.
A low rumble emanates from the creature. Ruven can't move as it builds and builds in intensity, into a terrible otherworldly scream.
The only thing that Ruven can see through the darkness is a neon teal beam of concentrated energy as it pierces through his chest and shatters his eardrums simultaneously.
For a moment as he stumbles back, Ruven is in more pain than he thought was possible.He chokes on the blood bubbling up in his mouth as he raises a hand to his chest. There's a bloody hole where his skin should be, and the only mercy Ruven is given is dying before he can feel the full extent of his agonizing death.
And then...
Then...
He's floating.
Floating? How strange. He didn't... he didn't know he had Levitate.
He can't hear the rest of the party. Shouldn't they be fighting? What was happening? Did the creature manage to deafen him as well?
He can't feel his body.
Why...?
Why can't he feel his body? Where is everyone? Why can't he move?!
All his senses come back in an instant.
“What...?” He manages to get out, his entire body screaming in agony as he tries to move.
Dragon's face lights up with relief. “You're okay! Were you... were you dead?”
Ruven blinks. “Uhhh... I think so? Maybe? Yeah…” He suppresses a shudder. So that was death...
Vel turns and runs without a word, and Ruven remembers that they're in the middle of combat. He goes to stand up, but Dragon stops him. “You are not going back into combat like this.” He cuts Ruven off when he tries to protest. “Nope. No buts. You need to get out of here.”
Ruven sighs. “Okay, well–” He realizes that his head is lying in Dragon's lap, and he scrambles up with a yelp of shock. “Oh! Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!”
Windsor runs past the two. “CAN WE DO THIS LATER?!” they yell, eyes wide. “WE GOTTA GO!”
The next few moments are absolute chaos. The party begins to retreat, but to their horror the creature begins to follow. Before anyone else is able to attack, it lets out another scream.
Goodnight. Lil Buddy's voice echoes in Ruven's mind as the familiar disintegrates, the half-orc passing out for a moment before dragging himself back to consciousness.
He’s deafened again as he drags himself back to his feet, his ears ringing. Dragon glances over at him before dashing toward the sculk creature with his axe, managing to land a hit.
Ruven stumbles back as Tarnish hands him a potion, saying something he can't hear. Pain shakes his every step as he stumbles after Vel. The worst of the pain starts to fade as he quickly eats the berry Dragon gave him, washing it down with the health potion.
His ears still ringing, he collapses at the top of the staircase Vel had run to. He takes in deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. Emotions threaten to overwhelm him as he rubs his chest.
There's a soft pressure on his legs. Ruven looks down to see Miri standing there with her paws on him. The cat tilts her head, tail flicking back and forth. Ruven's breath hitches as he goes to reach out to pet Miri, before hesitating. Was it really alright for him to...?
Miri sniffs his hand before rubbing her head against him. Ruven can't help it; he begins to cry, his hands shaking as he gently pets the cat. “Thank you,” he whispers, though he can't hear himself say it. “Thank you.”
The rest of the party slowly gathers in the room after Delta finally kills the sculk beast– all looking worse for wear. This had been one of their hardest fights, being down a wizard from the start and half the party deafened by the screams of the enemy. Ruven doesn’t want to think about how close they all came to dying.
He summons his familiar back during the long rest. Lil Buddy says nothing, and climbs into Ruven’s lap.
Ruven closes his eyes and rests.
#my writing#character: ruven aeli#character: windsor ryfall#character: vel#character: delta#character: dragon#character: tarnish#dnd writing#terrors beneath deepfrost citadel#dndecked out#dungeons and dragons
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Dreams, what is “here” like exactly? I get that it’s dark, but why is it dark?
#answered#rainworld askblog#[dreams]#AREA REVEAL !#Dream is located in a underground city !#built beneath a mountain#it was once lit up by many lights resembling stars on the ceilling#but now the only light comes from the few holes that formed over time#imagine shaded citadel X metrolopis type deal
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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ? | senta
sun shining on your face
you're encouraging, brave in your kindness, and intentional about bringing healing to all those you love. your warmth is obvious, but commonly misunderstood. at first glance, people may take your positivity as naivety; it is the opposite. you have seen the cruelty of this world, and that's why you choose to be recklessly warm. you find comfort in nature and love random acts of kindness. you probably remember one specific stranger really well, even though you never saw them again. but they gave you a bit of warmth that you carry with you everywhere you go. i hope you know you are that stranger for others. the kindness you give out is helping others be kind in ways you may never see. i see you, and i'm proud of you. i hope you're proud of yourself too.
#senta aes.#// oh this makes me sad cause like. yes this is very accurate#// but more importantly. this is what senta is like under all the repression#// this is what they were like more easily and more freely back when they were a citadel guard before the calamity#// this is still there within her. it's just buried beneath the reserved expression she usually wears.#travel notes. queue.
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The Abyss Of Affection
Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader
Summary: Aemond discovers the book his sweet wife has been obsessed with and after reading one of the scenes, a plan begins to formulate (fluff)
This was inspired by a conversation I had with the wonderful Hannah @gwaynesprincess
House of the Dragon Masterlist
Taglist
Warnings: Allusions to smut
Word Count: 2308
Divider Credit: @saradika-graphics
Not entirely show canon as Jaehaerys is alive, Maelor exists and people are happy
Any likes, comments and reblogs are always always appreciated :)
His calculated footsteps echoed in the hallways of the keep’s royal chambers, following the elder of the King’s brothers - Prince Aemond Targaryen - back to his chambers after an incredibly taxing day filled with fulfilling duties that were not his own and patrolling the city atop his beloved Vhagar, the Queen of all Dragons. Many would argue a dragon fit for a true king, Aemond would agree. Finally rounding the corner, he greeted the familiar face of Ser Steffon giving a cordial nod as he made his way through the doors of his chambers, removing his cloak as he went.
The sight that greeted the prince was not surprising yet still brought a small, fond smile to his face. Laying on her side of the feather bed was his sweet wife curled up under the various blankets spread across the bed to combat the chill in the air as the citadel switched black ravens to white and summer turned to winter. Aemond made quick work of stripping out of his leathers and into a loose night shirt and breeches ready to join his wife in slumber.
Just as he was about to blow out the candles beside where they lay, he noticed a book beneath the blankets next to his sweet wife’s sleeping form. He picked it up ready to place it on the small table on her side of the bed before taking a look at the title and realising it was the book that had so often stolen her attention away from him during the nights they spent together before the fire. The prince’s insatiable curiosity, it seems, also extended to what on earth his sweet wife could be reading in the non-academic books she so loves.
Flipping over to one of the pages he remembers her completely raving about with her lady in waiting, he began to read and as he continued, a plan began to formulate.
She was met by a chorus of “good morrow, Princess” to which she responded with decidedly less vigour and an almost petulant expression as she discovered that her husband was in fact not in their shared chambers. This prompted the other ladies in the room to barely suppress their giggles knowing how not seeing her husband in the mornings can dampen her mood - not that the Prince fairs any better himself.
“Do any of you happen to know where my dear lord husband is at such an hour?” she discontentedly drawled.
The handmaidens exchanged uneasy glances with one another which, of course, did not escape her watchful gaze and she probed further with a single raise of an eyebrow. Silence ensued for a couple of very awkward, tension-filled seconds until the Princess’ lady in waiting - Elaena - stepped closer and stated that “we are not at liberty to say, Princess,” adding a slight curtsy at the end.
Again silence ensued only interrupted by her own chortle “what in the name of the seven do you mean ‘not at liberty’, forgive me but I am utterly confused.”
“I’m afraid Prince Aemond has forbidden us to speak of it Princess and he reminded us that if you demanded… well Princess he said for us to remember that his orders outrank yours,” Elaena hesitantly explained, shoulders visibly tense at her admission.
An even longer silence commenced, this one not so easily interrupted. Instead the Princess slightly nodded her head and proceeded to load some fresh fruits onto her plate before biting into a strawberry that was surprisingly ripe given the season. She sat with a contemplative look on her face, her ladies worried she was deeply hurt when really she was wondering what the best way to punish him would be, perhaps…
She was pulled from her musings by a knock on the chamber doors which one of the handmaidens - Lyla - was quick to answer. She carried a written message delivered by a page boy and with mild curiosity the Princess unravelled it and began to read.
She then very calmly got up, retreating to the sitting chambers with her beloved book and instructed her handmaidens to leave her, and on their way to “inform Prince Aemond that if he wishes to have an audience he may do so in our private chambers, I am not a dog to be called to heel and told to wait in the dragon pit until he finally chooses to descend from the sky”.
Suddenly Queen Helaena turned to look directly into the Princess’ eyes causing her to startle. Helaena grasped her arms in a gentle hold and decided that “you will be very happy with it,” and while not always understanding but being kind to Helaena’s ways, the Princess confidently nodded in affirmation.
“I’m certain I will be sister,” followed by a soft squeeze of the Queen’s hands she quickly let go to ensure she didn’t crowd the gentle soul beside her.
Turning her attention to Maelor, the youngest of the King and Queen’s children, she scooped him into her arms and brought him to her lap where she proceeded to grab the second less than perfect dragon (Daeron’s first attempt) and began to play with him. Entirely encompassed by the babe's soft giggles she failed to notice the shadow of her husband nor feel the piercing but fond gaze he stared at the two of them with - giving him a few ideas of his own.
Finally sensing his presence, his sweet wife turned towards him and pinned him with a markedly less than sweet gaze. After returning Maelor to his mother, the princess stood, brushed off her dress, said her goodbyes to the children with the promise of visiting again soon, squeezed Helaena’s hand and strode straight past her dear husband without so much as a look in his direction.
Aemond Targaryen, the incredibly formidable man that he is, immediately turned and followed (and after speaking with her lady in waiting) trailed a step behind knowing that if he got any closer he may well be subject to a more physical attack.
“Sweet wife - ,” his mouth slammed shut, the sound of his teeth clacking together audible as she turned around to face him and he thanked the seven that they’d at least made it to the hall outside their chambers to give a small amount of privacy.
“How can I be of service to my Prince? Shall I draw you a bath, change your linens, perhaps wash them too? After all, your commands should certainly be obeyed by all who rank lower than you lord husband!” and Aemond’s moment of stunned silence was all she needed to turn and push the door to their chambers open, her hair almost whipping Aemond in the face. After clearing his throat and righting his already perfectly placed doublet, the prince followed after his wife. This time the nod to Ser Steffon was slightly more stiff and definitely less cordial.
Upon entering their chambers, it became apparent that his sweet wife was just getting started on his torture as she began shedding her day clothes to ready herself for dinner that night as it had become customary for the royal family to dine together per the Dowager Queen Alicent’s request. As he walked in she turned to look at him, again raising a single eyebrow, a silent demand for him to explain himself and explain he did - after he managed to bring his eye back up to meet hers.
Aemond nervously began to describe how he had to go patrol the city earlier than expected that morrow and after his wife’s further probing he let out a sigh as he admitted that he was hiding something from her but he insisted she could not know. Instead he decided to avert her attention by apologising for his blunt and insensitive instructions, insisting his mind was incredibly preoccupied and he meant none of it.
After a beat, his sweet wife looked back up at him and simply agreed that it was foolish of him before continuing to prepare herself for dinner. With the guilt still weighing down on him, Aemond tried once more to draw a further reaction from her and informed her that “we will not be dining with the family tonight, my heart, it shall just be the two of us so please do not feel obligated to wear something that will placate my mother”. The huff of air Aemond let out could have rivalled Vhagar’s as his Princess finally met his eye and gave a smile of her own.
The Princess very quickly decided that she would never again allow her husband to guide her through the gardens, at dusk, alone with no idea of where on earth he was going. She marvelled at how her Prince had spent the entirety of his life growing up within the walls of the keep while she had only moved here three years past when their betrothal was finalised and yet she knew the gardens a lot better than he did. They walked in silence with the occasional mumble of “I’m sure it was this way”, “perhaps it’s actually that way” and what she is sure sounded like a “seven hells this is so embarrassing”.
Eventually, the Princess abruptly stopped walking causing Aemond to turn back to look at her with wide eyes as though he was expecting her to end the night and head back into the castle (which definitely seems tempting) but instead she drew herself closer to him tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb and sweetly asked him to tell her where he wanted to go and she would lead the way. Confusion clouded her eyes when she saw her husband’s gaze darken with disappointment at not being able to keep the location secret before giving a rather reluctant nod and mumbling the area of the gardens.
This again caused her to still, as not long before setting off on their adventure she’d gotten to her favourite scene in the romance novel she was currently re-reading which described the relationship between two lovers from flea bottom snook into the castle’s garden and had a picnic beneath a section where two trees intertwined to look like a heart. She let out a small laugh at the coincidence before leading him in the direction of the garden’s that she learned the trees actually existed in when she went searching after her first time reading the book.
As they stepped through the clearing, fingers interlocked, Aemond’s sweet wife stopped dead in her tracks. The scene before her bringing an onslaught of tears to her eyes and Aemond’s own eye drank in her reaction feeling his chest expand with pride. The scene was exactly as described in the books - granted the royalty version - with a table in the middle of the clearing, the heart trees standing right before it. A small fire was lit as the air was cool and biting and she thanked the gods for giving her a husband intelligent enough to organise for a canopy to be set up over the table. Even the food was some of the meats and fresh fruit described in her book.
After taking it all in, the princess - now thankful for there being no escort - fisted her husband’s nicest leathers and brought him down for a bruising kiss, whispering thank you’s and I love you’s in between.
Aemond’s own heart was beating out of his chest as they finally pulled away from one another and he helped her into her seat before taking his own next to her, never letting go of her hand - not even when they began to eat, opting to do it with his left hand instead, and certainly not as his sweet wife moved from her own seat into his lap, playing with his hair and telling him just how wonderfully he had done.
If you asked anyone who crossed paths with the Prince and Princess that night, they’d tell you that never before had they ever encountered two individuals looking so shamelessly in love. They’d express their shock as they witnessed their Prince, the fierce rider of Vhagar, laugh freely with his lady wife with his arm firmly wrapped around her waist and the Princess’ hand rubbing up and down his back.
As the Prince once again encountered Ser Steffon, he greeted the guard with a slightly more reserved smile than his wife received and instructed him to have a good night while he ushered his giggling wife inside. Once they were out of sight Ser Steffon let out a small chuckle of his own before walking a few paces down the hall, away from the door.
As the very smitten couple climbed into bed the Prince once again asked his sweet wife if everything met her standards to which she simply pulled herself up and decided on showing him how pleased she was instead - but not before ensuring the punishment she decided on earlier was carried out.
#in my fluff era (it probably won’t last long)#angst will always call me back I fear#if anyone sees any typos no you didn't 😭#darktrashsoulbear writes#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#ewan mitchell
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The Northern Winds (pt. 3)
PART 1 & PART 2
Summary: Lady Y/N is pregnant again after suffering a miscarriage. Winter is coming and with it spring and the news of Prince Jacaerys coming to Winterfell.
Warnings: pregnancy and its symptoms, childbirth, mention of postnatal depression, mention of rape, mature NSFW content (18+), SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF THE DRAGON/FIRE AND BLOOD (both what has happened and what will happen in the end!!!)
A/N: Let me just say that I cried writing the ending of this story
Taglist: @nixtape-foryou @accountforreading123 @melsunshine @lovemesomevesey @goldenxshine @beebeechaos @mckennah123
@blonde-scandinav1an @letaliabane @answer-the-sirens @lilyed777 @travelingmypassion
***
Before long the Lady of Winterfell was high into her pregnancy and with it arrived a white raven from the archmaesters of the Citadel announcing the winter was upon them. If anyone knew of winter, it was the Northerners. A third of the crops of every harvest had been stored for winter ever since the first white raven arrived sending word of the summer’s end. The winter town beneath the walls of Winterfell filled eagerly once more, its houses, markets, and taverns bustling with life. Fire burned ceaselessly in every hearth making the view from the towers of Winterfell seem like the night sky with stars not of silver but of gold.
The Lady of Winterfell stood atop of one of Winterfell’s watchtowers, observing the smallfolk rushing among the houses and the passageways, taking care of the final errands before the day’s light would be consumed by darkness. Even as the night set in, Lady Y/N could still see them hurrying about because of their torches and lanterns to light the way.
Lady Y/N pulled her heavy cloak closer, supporting her great belly beneath it. If everything was as it was supposed to be, childbirth was not far away. The thought of it filled Y/N with equal measures of joy as well as worry.
The first few moons with child were not easy. Lady Y/N was abed for most of it, sick with nausea and barely keeping anything down. She did not care for food other than salt beef and rusk bread. Even oranges that were once her favourite she could no longer stand. And simply the smell of ale would make Lady Y/N sick immediately. Although it was Cregan’s preferred drink, he ordered it not be served at feasts any longer if the Lady Stark was strong enough to attend. As for him, he would drink wine instead or hippocras when the winter truly set in and the cold was strong enough to bite off your fingers.
Maester Bennard too was with Lady Stark most every day, brewing remedies for her nausea but with very little effect. Yet as the babe grew stronger, the sickness disappeared almost overnight. Lady Y/N regained her strength and her love for oranges and resumed her duties as the Lady of Winterfell with much eagerness although always beneath the watchful eye of Lord Stark. His hard, grey eyes would not leave his wife during council meetings, lingering either on her or her slowly growing belly. As someone who always wielded power, even as a child for Cregan was his father’s heir, Lord Stark came to know complete powerlessness for the first time in his life when his wife fell with child. Whilst he could command his men and wield his great longsword, Cregan could do little when it came to his yet unborn child. Whilst Lady Y/N was abed with sickness, Lord Stark would often leave the leading of the council meetings to his maester and his other trusted advisors. If anything were to go wrong again and Cregan would not be there for his wife, he would never be able to forgive himself.
Lady Y/N too was worried, especially during the first half of her being with child. She could not sleep for fear of waking coated in blood. She had nightmares and was sometimes so tired, not only from sickness but from fear, that she could only leave the bed to use the privy. Yet this time, Cregan was there by her side, watching over her and making sure that his wife had everything she could want and need. When Lady Ellyn was away to get some rest as she tended to Lady Stark at all times, the Lord of Winterfell would stay by his wife’s side, keeping a watchful eye even when Lady Y/N slept. But as the pregnancy neared the end, both the Lord and the Lady of Winterfell quickly forgot about the worries of the past and had no choice but focus on the present.
“If you are trying to freeze to death, there are easier ways than standing atop of a tower,” said the Lord of Winterfell as he joined his wife. Lady Y/N turned around, meeting her husband’s warm smile with her one of her own.
“The cold air does me good,” said Lady Y/N as Cregan wrapped his arms around her, his nose buried in the fragrant skin of her neck.
“Of course,” murmured Cregan, “You are carrying a northern child.” He kissed the part of Y/N’s neck not shielded by the red fox fur of her blue cloak. Goosebumps rose of Lady Y/N’s arms as she placed her hands on his that were supporting her belly. The babe kicked and although the sensation was uncomfortable for Y/N, it always filled her heart with warmth at the proof of new life.
Lord Stark could not help but smile when he felt his child move beneath his touch. But then his excitement faded some. “Does it hurt you when he does that?” asked Cregan his wife. Lady Y/N was surprised by his question, yet she should not have been for Cregan’s curiosity never ceased and his questions never remained only in his thoughts.
“It is uncomfortable but not painful,” said Lady Y/N before she could actually comprehend what Cregan said.
“He?” asked Lady Y/N, a grin growing on her lips. She turned around to look at Cregan. If it were not for the darkness of the coming night, Y/N would be able to see the heat creep into her husband’s cheeks.
“Or she,” said Cregan quickly, his eyes shifting between his wife and their unborn child. “Either one will do,” said the Lord of Winterfell as he knelt before his wife and kissed her great belly, leaning his forehead gently against it. Lady Y/N ran her gloved fingers through Lord Stark’s hair, secretly wishing their child, be it a boy or a girl, to have their father’s eyes.
Lady Stark placed her hand on Cregan’s cheek when he got up, her thumb smoothing across his wind-lashed skin.
“I too think it is a boy,” confessed Lady Y/N in a gentle voice. Cregan’s grey eyes had never before seemed so big and childlike to her as in that moment when his lips were parted but his mouth at a loss for words.
Lady Y/N stepped on the tips of her toes before Cregan cupped her cheeks and guided her closer. He kissed her ardently again and again, unable to detach himself from her love.
***
A snowstorm raged outside that morrow when the Lord and Lady of Winterfell broke their fast on fried eggs and boiled ham before they would attend the council meeting. Yet as Lady Y/N climbed the stairs of Rodrick’s Tower, a terrible pain spread from her back to her abdomen. A loud gasp escaped her lungs as Lord Stark turned around hastily, Lady Y/N’s hand grabbing onto his arm.
“What is it?” hurried Lord Stark.
Y/N gasped again at another wave of pain, followed by a strange sensation and a small gush of fluid trickling down her leg. A striking pain shot through her abdomen alone this time. Lady Y/N cried out in pain and would have fallen to her knees if not for Cregan holding her.
“The babe … It’s coming,” breathed Lady Y/N, her nails digging into her husband’s forearm.
Cregan did not hesitate and wrapped his arms around his wife, picking her up with easily yet with great care. “Hold onto me,” said Lord Stark and carried Lady Y/N to the birthing chambers. He shouted to the servants to get the maester and the midwife as his wife cried out in pain. Her breathing grew even faster when Cregan laid her into their bed. Y/N caught his hand, begging him with her eyes not to leave her side. Tears gathered in her vision as all of her fears and worries returned to her. She was not much afraid of the pain but for the babe. She would not be able to bear losing it.
“You will be alright, my love,” said Cregan and kissed Y/N’s brow. He brushed away the hair that stuck to her forehead before loosening the strings on her dress. A small sob escaped Lady Y/N’s lips as she paced her breathing whilst they waited for the maester and the midwife.
“I’m not going anywhere,” assured Cregan, holding his wife’s palm with one hand and caressing her cheek with the other. “I promise, my love.”
Lady Y/N nodded just as Maester Bennard, midwife Othella and her ladies-in-waiting arrived.
The maester asked Lord Stark to leave as was customary but Cregan would not be moved from his wife’s side. It was unheard of and yet not a soul dared to say a word of protest.
Lady Y/N remembered her mother’s letters of her own time with child and how Lord Jonos was never remotely interested in the babe until it was born. Lady Whytefort was supposed to visit before Lady Y/N went into labour but the snowstorm must have kept her in a lesser lord’s castle somewhere. Y/N had hoped her mother would be there when the babe would arrive yet she was grateful Cregan was there at least.
Lady Othella, the midwife who assisted the Lady of Winterfell in childbed, was no highborn lady at all but the smallfolk and the noble alike addressed her as lady for the many children she helped deliver and save when the labour was difficult. Lady Othella was a short woman of petite stature yet her hands possessed the strength that could wield a sword. She wore her hair in a coif of deep blue but her tawny locks more oft than not slipped onto her pale, heart-shaped face.
“Breathe, my lady,” instructed Lady Othella as the servants made the bed more comfortable for Lady Y/N. They placed pillows behind her head and beneath her hips, relieving some of the soreness in her back.
Lady Y/N nodded and paced her breathing. Her pains were still very far apart yet no less painful.
The labour lasted through the day and well into the night although there was no telling the time as the snowstorm raged on outside the windows of Winterfell. Near the hour of the ghosts, Lady Stark’s labour pains grew stronger and more frequent, now only moments apart.
Lady Othella announced it was time under the careful supervision of Maester Bennard.
Y/N let go of Cregan’s hand as she was sure she was going to crush all the bones in his hand. She gripped onto the linens instead but the Lord of Winterfell made her take his hand once again.
Lady Y/N pushed and pushed and prayed that the baby would come and come healthy.
“You are almost there, my lady,” encouraged Lady Othella, giving Lady Stark the last bit of strength she needed to push her baby into the world.
A sense of relief came over Y/N as the pressure was gone and the babe’s crying filled the room. Lady Y/N’s loud and fast breathing was scattered with the crying of happiness as Maester Bennard cut the navel string and the babe got wrapped up in clean linens.
“My congratulations, my lord, my lady,” said Lady Othella, a warm smile spreading across her lips. “You have a son.”
Lady Y/N fell the breath get knocked out of her for a moment, her big, pensive eyes wide with wonder as she stared at her son in the midwife’s hands. Lady Othella gave her the babe as Lady Y/N reached out with her hands and Lord Stark finally let go of his wife’s hand. Y/N pressed the babe to her chest instinctively, her mouth full of sobs as the babe’s crying eased. She looked at her husband whose grey eyes flickered between the child no larger than his two hands put together and his beautiful wife, his beautiful wife who just gave him a son.
Cregan’s vision became blurred. He could not remember the last time he cried for it was when he was still a child himself. Yet as Lord Stark saw his wife holding their son, his heart filled with joy indescribable to anyone and at the same time with fear so great he thought it would break him.
Lord Stark got up and kissed Y/N’s forehead, his hand barely touching the babe for fear of hurting him. The baby nuzzled into his mother’s chest, recognizing the warmth and the comfort of her body.
“We have a son,” Lady Y/N cried from happiness as she looked up at her husband.
“We do,” said the Lord of Winterfell in a quiet voice. “Rickon?” asked Cregan as he looked at his wife, his eyes were big and pure as a child’s.
“Rickon,” agreed Y/N and smiled at her babe.
***
After the long and tiresome labour, Lady Stark had time enough to rest and recover but would not let a wetnurse feed her son, not when she could do it herself. Maester Bennard advised against it and encouraged Lady Y/N to focus on recovering and to leave the babe to the wetnurse. Lady Othella did not share his opinion entirely, which was the cause of many quarrels between the maester and the midwife already during Lady Stark’s pregnancy.
Maester Bennard looked to Lord Stark for support, speaking of how the late Lady Gilliane Stark, Cregan’s mother, always entrusted her children into the care of a wetnurse as did the wife of Cregan’s uncle, who had three healthy sons.
Lord Stark stood by the small window of the birthing chamber, seeing how the terrible snowstorm was beginning to cease. The wind whistled and howled violently all the while as the Lady of Winterfell was in childbed.
Lord Stark turned to Maester Bennard when he felt his scholarly gaze on his back.
“You will do as my wife says, Maester Bennard,” said Lord Stark, his arms crossed pensively over his broad chest. His voice was as even and cold as steel.
“You are a maester of the Citadel and are highly valued in my household, Bennard – not only as a learned man but as a friend,” continued Lord Stark. “You are a maester of Oldtown yet you are neither a woman nor a mother and that is no fault of yours, so you will do as Lady Stark commands even if she chooses not to heed your advice.”
Maester Bennard lowered his gaze and bowed, “As my lord commands.”
The newborn babe suckled happily on his mother’s breast, who in equal measure could not be happier herself. Lady Y/N was not opposed to a wetnurse yet she wanted to care for her babe as much as she could on her own, particularly now when the babe had hardly been born.
Once Lady Othella and Maester Bennard retired, assuring Lady Stark was in as good health as she could be, Cregan allowed himself so sit beside his wife and his newborn son. Lady Y/N held the baby with one hand but reached for her husband’s palm with the other. She brought it to her lips and kissed it, her eyes closed as she did so.
“Thank you,” spoke Y/N gently, leaning her head tiredly against the pillow as she watched her husband.
“Whatever for?” asked Cregan, his sharp brows in their usual frown. He had done absolutely nothing whilst his wife did everything.
“Everything,” said Y/N nevertheless, gently holding onto Cregan’s hand. “Did I break all of your bones?” she smiled, brushing her thumb across the top of his palm.
“I think I still have a few of them left,” grinned Cregan as he looked down at his wife’s small hand in his. His heart weighed heavy in his chest but he did not know why. Perhaps he was so happy that some of his happiness had to turn into sadness or he would burst with joy.
“What is it?” frowned Y/N when she saw the melancholy in Cregan’s features.
I’m afraid, Cregan wanted to say. I’m afraid to lose you and I’m afraid to lose our son. Strange how new life so quickly reminds one of death.
“Cregan?” asked Y/N softly when he did not speak. Cregan only sat closer and kissed his lady wife, kissed her again and again, first on her lips then her nose and her cheeks and finally her brow. Cregan leaned his forehead against Y/N’s, his eyes shut tight.
“I love you,” promised Lord Stark and sealed it with another kiss.
“I love you,” said Y/N and caressed her husband’s cheek. The baby cooed when it was done feeding, now happily nuzzling against his mother’s warm chest.
“Do you wish to hold him?” asked Y/N with a smile. Lord Stark froze in place, his eyes round and his lips parted.
“I don’t know,” said Cregan and watched how the happiness dimmed in Lady Y/N’s bright eyes. “My hands … What if they are too rough for him?” said Cregan warily. “What if I hurt him?”
Lady Y/N’s smiled once again. “You won’t, I promise,” said Y/N as she sat up with Rickon resting securely in her hands. Cregan mimicked the shape of his wife’s arms and waited patiently for her to place his tiny, delicate son into his hands. The babe missed the comfort of his mother’s body and let out a cry and then another, each startling Cregan more than the other. But as soon as the babe found the warmth of his father’s chest he stopped his crying and sighed contently. Cregan felt his body tremble as he held his son, seeing how he blinked his small, storm-grey eyes.
When Lord Stark looked up once again, he saw how his wife had fallen asleep, her hand outstretched towards him. Cregan sat close beside her and listened to her soft breathing. As he watched his son, the Lord of Winterfell vowed to himself to destroy anyone who would ever think of harming them.
Come morning, Lady Stark awoke with her husband was sleeping beside her, his arm entwined with hers. She sat up quickly thinking of her son only to see him sound asleep in his bassinet. Lady Y/N laid back down, coming to realize how sore her body was. Every muscle in her body felt uncomfortable. She turned on her back, unable to supress a groan that woke Lord Stark from his light sleep.
“Will you please ask for Maester Bennard?” asked Y/N as she tried to sit up. Her body was something she did not recognize. A mess of pain and discomfort and unpredictability.
Cregan jumped to his feet and called the servants, who fetched Maester Bennard. In the meantime, Lord Stark returned to his wife’s side.
“Are you in pain, my love?” asked Cregan as he knelt beside the bed.
“Everything hurts,” confessed Lady Y/N but it was only normal to feel this way. She had been in labour for near a full day before the babe was delivered. Y/N needed help to use the privy and when she returned Maester Bennard was there with his assistants. He gave her instructions of recovery and some remedies for the pain.
“I would have a bath,” asked Lady Y/N, looking at her maester for advice.
“I believe it would do you good, my lady,” agreed Maester Bennard as he gathered his potions in his ornate, wooden box. “I would also advise warm cloth for your belly and your chest.”
The servants prepared a nice, warm bath whilst Lady Ellyn and Lady Jocelyn helped Y/N out of her clothes. Lifting her legs only slightly proved a greater challenge than Lady Stark could have foreseen. The warm water helped remedy the soreness of her body, however. Y/N allowed Lady Ellyn to help her wash as she could barely find the strength to move her aching limbs.
“You did so well, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn gently as she sat beside the bath, her thumb drawing circles into her friend’s hand. “You have the most beautiful son, you ought to be proud.”
Lady Y/N managed a smile but could not help but feel an unusual melancholy creep in. Lady Whytefort wrote to her of her own mother’s sadness after she gave birth to her. Lady Cerwyn – then Ryswell of the Rills before she widowed and remarried – was said to have locked herself in her chambers and refused to care for her daughter for near a moon’s turn. But afterwards when Lady Y/N’s grandmother recovered everything was as if nothing had happened. Even Y/N herself had not known of this prior to her lady mother’s letter although she was close to her maternal grandmother and stayed at the Rills many a summer’s moon.
Lady Y/N shared this story with Lady Ellyn.
“I am sure you have nothing to fear, my lady,” Lady Ellyn tried to reassure her friend although she had heard of similar experiences happening to other women. “Even if such a thing should occur, you have your ladies and a host of wetnurses who would die to serve House Stark. You would recover and all would be well, I am sure of it,” tried Lady Ellyn. What her friend spoke was true Y/N knew and yet she could not help but feel like a failure at just the thought of not wanting to care for her son. However, as sore and tired as Lady Y/N felt, she could and would not judge any woman who would feel the way her grandmother did upon birthing her daughter. Y/N could not even imagine how difficult it must have been for her own mother especially with a man like Lord Jonos. Lady Y/N loved her father dearly in spite of it all, but she could not stand the way he treated her mother. Especially not now when Y/N saw herself there were different ways of leading married life, good and gentle ways.
Lord Stark returned to Lady Y/N’s chambers. He had washed and shaved and had a change of garments. He seemed tired, a pensive expression hiding in his features.
“I would have a moment with my wife,” said Lord Stark to Lady Ellyn. She got up and curtsied. “If you are able,” said Lord Stark, now turning to his wife.
“I will get dressed,” nodded Lady Y/N.
Lady Stark was helped into a comfortable gown of cerulean blue and white Myrish lace with pearl embroidery whilst she had the servants braid her hair. The warm bath helped Lady Y/N with her pains, allowing her to walk with the support of her lady-in-waiting.
Whilst the Lady of Winterfell had a change of garments, the servants had brought food and drink aplenty for Lord and Lady Stark to break their fast on. They prepared a hearty broth rich with venison and grains for Lady Y/N to recover her strength, offering congratulations left and right as she sat down. Lady Stark reserved a smile for each of them no matter how low- or highborn.
“Could you find any rest, my love?” asked Lady Y/N once the servants left the Lord and Lady of Winterfell to break their fast in peace. Y/N took Cregan’s hand, the warmth of his touch instantly reassuring her. Cregan had dark circles beneath his eyes and his skin appeared ashen. He had not left his wife’s side not for a moment since she went into labour and stayed awake for as long as he could even after Lady Y/N had already fallen asleep.
Lord Stark rose his pensive, grey eyes to Y/N. “How can you ask me that when you have just given birth to our son?” said Cregan gently as he squeezed his wife’s hand in his.
“I could not have done it if you had not been there by my side,” said Lady Y/N genuinely. She paused.
“Are you happy?” asked Y/N anxiously. Cregan’s brows furrowed into an incredulous frown.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Only … You seem distant,” said Lady Y/N, watching her husband’s eyes for any trace of doubt.
“Forgive me,” said Cregan heavily yet his voice quietened some as he looked towards the window.
“Tell me,” asked Lady Y/N, not ungently, and squeezed her husband’s hand reassuringly.
“I …” began Cregan. “I had a brother,” said Cregan, his grey eyes returning to his wife. Y/N stared at him, her mouth parted. “He died aged only two when I was ten-and-one.”
“You cannot remember him from your time here at Winterfell. You could not even if you stayed for a full moon and not a day. My mother did not like him leaving his chambers. He was sickly … He had been since he was born,” said Cregan. “I … I barely knew him …”
“I am so sorry,” said Y/N, not knowing what else to say. She reached out to him, enfolding his calloused palm between her hands. They had been wed for more than a year and yet Y/N had never heard Cregan nor anyone else for that matter mention Lord Stark having had a brother.
“What happened?” asked Y/N gently.
“Fever took him,” said Cregan, his gaze focused on his wife’s hands clasped around his own. “First it took my mother, then Benjen not even three nights after,” told Cregan, his voice deep and sombre. “He was named after my grandsire.”
“I am so sorry, my love,” spoke Y/N gently.
Lord Stark got up from the table and stood by the window, his gaze reaching out beyond the walls of his strong castle.
“At least my mother did not have to see him die,” said Cregan to himself more than to his wife. “At least the Gods spared her as much.”
Y/N stared at her husband’s back, coming to realize where Cregan’s melancholy and pensiveness came from. The birth of their son agitated old wounds and disturbed the present. Cregan did not so much feel the loss of his brother when he held his newborn son; rather, he came to understand his mother’s worry and fear at the prospect of having to bury her child.
Lady Y/N gathered what strength she could and got up from the table on her own. Lord Stark turned around but Y/N was already by his side. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, Cregan’s hands instinctively wrapping around Y/N’s waist as he buried his nose in the warmth of her neck. Cregan let out a breath he did not know he was holding.
*** 2 YEARS LATER ***
As the cold and heavy winter went by leaving nothing but darkness and snow, a hope of spring returned when a white raven flew in from Oldtown bearing news of the winter’s end. Although the snow was never quite gone north of The Gift, the blizzards and snowstorms grew scarcer and were replaced by days of warm sunshine at Winterfell.
Despite the winter and Lord Stark’s frequent visits to the Wall before the snow became too tall to travel, there was always some form of joy and merriment in the castle walls of Winterfell. As little Rickon Stark, the firstborn son of Lord Cregan and Lady Y/N Stark, grew older and bolder by the day, he kept his noble parents busy even when there were no lordly duties to attend to.
“Rickon tells me you are going to show him how to ride to-day,” spoke Cregan softly, his voice deep and husky in the hour of the nightingale. His fingers were tangled in his wife’s hair, their foreheads nearly touching as they savoured the last moments of peace before the castle would be bustling with errands and duties to attend to once again.
Y/N rose her big, sleepy eyes to her husband’s. “He will only sit ahorse,” said Lady Y/N quietly, tracing her fingers across the scars on Cregan’s chest. “Mayhaps I will let Ser Tybald lead him around the courtyard if Rickon will wish to,” considered Y/N aloud.
“Of course he will, he is your son,” laughed Cregan, secretly delighting in his wife’s soft touch.
“Is he not your son too?” said Y/N aghast as she grinned, leaning on her elbow. “I suppose you preferred learning the names and banners of Houses to spending time with swords and horses,” she teased.
Cregan smiled and pulled Y/N into a kiss, her arms resting on his strong chest. She moved even closer, deepening the kiss as she harboured a secret to tell her husband. But as his arms wrapped around Y/N’s hips eagerly, she forgot all about the news and straddled Cregan’s waist instead. He pulled off her nightgown, his hands reaching immediately for her soft breasts. Cregan sat up and kissed them as Y/N’s hands tangled in his dark hair. She moaned when he found her sweet spot, knowing her body better than sometimes she did.
“Mommy! Mommy!” called a small voice running around the hallways of Winterfell. Y/N gasped as her gaze darted towards the door.
“Gods,” muttered Y/N hastily and jumped off the bed where she picked up her nightgown and slipped it on just in time. Cregan laughed as he leaned against the bedframe, watching a deep blush flush his wife’s cheeks as Rickon burst into the room, wrapping his arms around her mother’s knees.
“Good morrow, little one,” said Y/N, her eyes locking with Cregan’s when she picked up her son and held him to her. “Should you not be abed?” Lady Stark asked of her son but made eyes at her all too amused husband.
“I wanted to see you,” said Rickon cheerfully although there was sleep in his eyes.
“Alright, little warrior,” said Cregan as he got up from the bed. “Your mother is right. Back to bed.” Cregan took his son from Y/N’s arms, the playful, teasing look in Cregan’s eyes making Y/N’s knees weak. A shivery breath escaped Y/N’s lips as she watched her husband’s bare back when he walked across their chambers.
Rickon’s wetnurse was already at the door of their rooms yet dared not come in.
“I’m so sorry, m’lord,” said the wetnurse as she took Rickon from Lord Stark’s arms.
“That’s alright,” said Lord Stark gently, running his hand through his son’s dark hair one last time before he returned to his private chambers.
Cregan slipped his arms beneath Y/N’s bum and lifted her up eagerly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to their bed. He sat down, his large hands squeezing his wife’s soft thighs. Cregan went for his breeches but Y/N stopped him.
“Let me do it,” she spoke softly, her voice laced with desire. She dropped to her knees and undid Cregan’s nightbreeches, pulling them off with haste. Cregan watched as his wife took him in her mouth, her tongue sliding skilfully along his length. Cregan threw his head back in pleasure, his fists balling around the linens of their bed to keep himself from climaxing immediately. As Cregan groaned in pleasure his eyes met Y/N’s. She stopped, teasing her husband.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” muttered Cregan and quickly pulled Y/N into his lap.
“Show me,” she breathed against his lips, her heart beating harshly against her chest.
Cregan took Y/N’s waist and turned her around, pulling off her loose nightgown yet again. His fingers found her breasts once more as he kissed her neck one last time before he took Y/N’s hips and entered her. Y/N moaned loudly as she clawed at the furs of their bed. Cregan’s thrusts were hard and even before he slowly escalated his pace. Y/N could not help but whimper in pleasure as her husband’s fingers tangled in her long hair, pulling on them gently. Cregan leaned down and kissed her from behind, his hips moving faster and then slower as he felt himself nearing his pleasure. He reached around Y/N’s waist with his hand, his fingers nestling between her thighs. Y/N winced in pleasure, leaned into his touch and only moments away from complete pleasure. Y/N whimpered halfway through a moan, climaxing sooner than she anticipated. She leaned her head against the bed as her eyes closed, Cregan’s fingers digging harshly into the soft curves of her hips. Cregan’s seed dripped down the inside of Y/N’s thigh before they both fell flat on the bed, their bodies tangled and exhausted from divine pleasure.
***
After breaking their fast in Benjen’s Hall, Lady Stark took her son Rickon to the stables as she promised. Ser Tybald provided a well-natured, chestnut pony with mane the colour of butter for Lord Stark’s firstborn son.
“Let him smell you,” said Lady Stark and lifted her son into her arms. “Like this,” she showed by placing her palm gently to the pony’s muzzle. Rickon reached out hesitantly but when the pony leaned her muzzle against his hand, he smiled with eyes as happy as ever.
“You have to name him now,” encouraged Lady Stark, “But you have to name him carefully for he will carry that name for many years.”
Rickon looked at her with big, round eyes, his mind whooshing with a thousand ideas. He looked at his horse again with his lips parted.
“Squire,” said Rickon determinedly.
Lady Y/N watched as her son reached for the pony’s muzzle once again, mesmerized by Rickon’s likeness to his father.
Y/N kissed her son’s temple and put him down, allowing the master-of-horse to show him how to properly saddle and ready a horse. She watched as he was sat into one of the saddles, first off horse and later on Squire. He beamed with joy when Ser Tybald asked him if he wanted to have a walk around the courtyard.
“Mother, may I?” called Rickon from atop of his butter-maned pony.
“You may,” allowed Lady Stark, her lips spreading into a smile at the sight of her boy content. “Only be careful and hold on tight.”
“I will,” promised Rickon, his little hands wrapping tightly around the horn of the saddle.
Lady Y/N pulled her cloak closer to her as a cold, spring breeze swept through the walls of Winterfell.
“What did he name the horse?” asked a voice behind Lady Stark. She turned around, her eyes finding those of her husband.
“Squire,” smiled Lady Y/N.
“Of course,” said Lord Stark, unable to disguise a grin off his lips.
Y/N wrapped her hand around Cregan’s elbow, pressing closer to him. “What did you name your first horse?” she wondered.
Cregan smiled, “Jester.”
Lady Y/N could not help but snort a laughter, finding the name so very fitting of Cregan as she imagined him as a young boy. He laughed with her, almost asking the same of Y/N but quickly remembered.
“Blackspur was my first,” said Lady Y/N all on her own, the smile on her lips turning into a melancholy one. Ser Tybald had to put her down soon after the beginning of the new year for she had grown sick. It was the kindest thing to do, knew Y/N, yet that acknowledgement made it hurt no less. Blackspur had a long and comfortable life, longer than many horses. Those were the only thoughts that could make Lady Stark’s grief less painful.
“I know,” spoke Cregan and kissed his wife’s temple.
Suddenly echoed an approaching sound of hooves against the cobblestones. Lady Stark stood up straight, detaching herself hesitantly from Cregan’s warm body to welcome unexpected guests. Yet only two riders crossed the Hunter’s Gate into the castle, leading a beautiful filly tied to one of their saddles. She had long muscular legs, her coat of raw umber brown. She shook her head, her mane alike in colour, as the horsemen dismounted and one of them took her into Winterfell’s stables.
“Wait for me,” asked Cregan of his lady wife before he met with the other horseman, who bowed their heads before the Lord of Winterfell. They spoke briefly and even shook hands. Lady Stark’s gaze drifted to her son across the yard when his pony neighed, her heart leaping out of her chest for a moment. Rickon laughed however, savouring every moment before he would have to listen to Maester Bennard’s lessons on Houses great and small.
“Come,” Lady Y/N heard her husband call. She turned her attention to him but saw the riders leave through the Hunger’s Gate. They were gone as quickly as they arrived.
“What is it? Is their horse injured?” asked Y/N once at her husband’s side. Knights and lords, especially of smaller Houses, often brought their mounts to Winterfell if the animal was ill or injured for Winterfell had one of the best stables in the North.
“She is in perfect health,” said Cregan as he led his wife into the stables. The ash brown filly paced restlessly, her elegant head turning towards the strangers coming to see her. She was young, only just old enough to saddle.
“Why did they bring her then?” asked Y/N, admiring the magnificent animal and wondering if per chance they wanted Ser Tybalt to break her in and have her ready for riding.
“She is yours if you want her,” said Lord Stark, his gaze shifting between his wife’s eyes and the filly he chose for her.
“What?” gasped Lady Y/N, looking up at her husband’s expecting eyes. She was at a loss for words.
“I know she cannot replace Blackspur but—”
“Thank you,” Y/N cut Cregan off before he could finish. She took his hand and stepped on the tips of her toes to kiss him. He leaned down for her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist. Y/N pulled away slowly, looking around to make sure they were alone. Ser Tybald was still leading Rickon on Squire and informing him all about caring for horses.
“I have to tell you something, husband,” said Lady Y/N, biting her lip as she could not help but smile. She looked down at her Cregan’s chest and the silver direwolf emblem resting between his collarbones.
“What is it?” asked Cregan, his brows quickly jumping into a gentle frown.
“I am with child again,” whispered Y/N as she looked up into her husband’s eyes. The emotions in the greyness of his irises swirled like a great summer storm.
“Say it again,” breathed Lord Stark incredulous.
“I am with child,” repeated Lady Y/N, her smile as bright as ever as she observed her lord husband’s reaction. Cregan pulled her into his arms eagerly, his hands cupping her cheeks as he kissed her deeply. Y/N’s palms rested against her husband’s chest as she could not help but smile into the kiss.
“Mommy!” called Rickon’s small voice as he came running into the stables. Ser Tybald followed him with Squire.
“Can I ride again in the after-noon?” begged Rickon, his eyes as big as stars. The boy knew the answer would be ‘no’ but with his mother at least he stood a chance.
“Ask your father,” smiled Lady Y/N, her hand creeping into her husband’s palm.
“Father, may I?” asked Rickon carefully, his arms locked behind his back as he swayed left and right ever so slightly, his eyes resting on his father’s boots. He knew the answer this time too.
“Tomorrow,” said Lord Stark. “Come, Maester Bennard must be waiting for you.”
Speaking of which, as soon as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell returned inside the castle they were met with Maester Bennard. He was out of breath, his normally pale cheeks flushed with fever.
“My lord,” Maester Bennard gasped for breath, “My lord, urgent news from Dragonstone.” He handed Lord Stark a scroll of parchment with a broken seal of a red, three-headed dragon.
Cregan placed Rickon into his wetnurse’s care before he unrolled the raven scroll. “It’s Prince Jacaerys,” told Lord Stark aloud as he turned to his wife. “He is coming to Winterfell.”
***
As they lay in bed that night and Cregan’s hand rested gently on the barely visible bump of Y/N’s belly, neither the Lord nor the Lady of Winterfell could fall asleep. The night was bright and the moon shone invasively through the windows of their private chambers.
“What do you think he wants?” whispered Y/N quietly in case Cregan managed to fall asleep. She need not have asked for she knew, she only did not want to accept it.
“I do not know,” spoke Cregan gravely. “But I do now my father swore an oath … I swore an oath.”
News of trouble and strife in House Targaryen had long been flying north to Winterfell. The ravens more oft than not came from outside the walls of the Red Keep, coming from the Riverlands and the Vale and even from the Reach. The matter of succession seemed to be settled when King Viserys the Peaceful declared his daughter as his heir and future queen. Yet upon his death, appeared to have formed two camps that the smallfolk and the great alike called the Greens and the Blacks. The first supported Prince Aegon’s claim to the throne as he was King Viserys’ eldest son and the latter the claim of Princess Rhaenyra. If the North was to get involved in the war within House Targaryen, Winterfell would declare for Princess Rhaenyra as it did when King Viserys was still alive.
Y/N’s heart grew heavy in her chest. She placed her hand atop Cregan’s that was resting on her belly and squeezed it tightly. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she stared at the ceiling, knowing full well she will not find any sleep tonight.
“Hey,” whispered Cregan and leaned on his elbow. He caressed Y/N’s cheeks, making her look at him. “We will not know until he is here,” Cregan tried to reassure her some. He could not tell if it was the moonlight glistening in Y/N’s eyes or whether they were tears he saw, but Y/N nodded nevertheless if only to give her husband some peace.
The following eve came word from New Castle. Prince Jacaerys spent the night in White Harbor with his dragon Vermax and would fly for Winterfell in the morn.
The castle was up in preparation for the welcoming of the royal prince. Lady Stark ordered the kitchens to prepare the finest dishes of roast boar and pheasant in a sauce of almonds. The best casks of ale and wine were to be brought from the cellars of Winterfell and the Great Hall arranged appropriately. Only the highest and noblest of councillors were to attend the feast upon Prince Jacaerys’ arrival alongside Lord Stark and Lady Y/N.
After only just bearing through the winter, neither the Lord nor the Lady of Winterfell were too pleased to prepare a dozen sheep and goats for the prince’s dragon to feast on yet they had little choice in the matter.
Lady Stark chose a gown of ash green and pale white in the colours of Winterfell with a belt of white gold with the emblem of two direwolves’ heads baring their fangs at one another in its centre. She wore a necklace and earrings of emerald stones encrusted with diamonds that Cregan had gifted her upon the birth of their son.
The Lady of Winterfell paced around the Great Hall, making sure everything was perfect for the feast. Although she had put tremendous effort into the evening, both she and Cregan decided to keep the spirit of things much alike they would for any other highborn lord or lady coming to visit. Even though House Stark bent the knee to House Targaryen many years ago, the sense in the North was still that of House Stark’s rule.
Lady Y/N did not truly consider the prince’s dragon until she heard it screeching and roaring above the castle walls. Her heart sank as her eyes grew big coming face to face with her husband.
“Come,” said Cregan, holding out his hand. “He is here.”
The Lord and Lady of Winterfell gathered outside, greeted by the early spring snows. Lady Stark wore a heavy cloak of cloth-of-silver and wool, with fur of the grey wolf. She held her hands locked together before her, her breath coming out in clouds. It was nightfall already as she gazed into the sky. Her mouth went dry at the sight of an enormous, bat-like figure dancing in the sky. The beast screeched, irate with the cold and the snow.
The prince descended into the courtyard of Winterfell’s castle, the force of the dragon’s leathery wings sending snowflakes back into the sky. Prince Jacaerys dismounted and spoke to his beast in High Valeryan before meeting the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.
Lord Stark bowed his head and Lady Y/N curtsied gracefully before the crown prince.
“My prince,” said Lord Stark first, his words echoed by his wife.
“Lord Stark,” greeted Prince Jacaerys. “My lady,” he said, kissing the top of Lady Stark’s gloved hand. She offered a small smile but could not help but notice the prince’s youth although there were not many years of difference between them nor between him and Cregan for that matter. It was true what they said, however. The crown prince looked little like a Targaryen ought to with his head of brown locks and eyes of green. In truth, Prince Jacaerys looked much more like her own brother, thought Lady Stark, save for the prince’s fox face and slender frame true of House Targaryen.
“Welcome to Winterfell,” said Cregan as he accepted the prince’s hand in his. Lord Stark towered over the prince although he towered over most any man and Prince Jacaerys was no different.
The Lord and Lady of Winterfell welcomed the prince into the Great Hall where the noble councillors of Winterfell awaited, bowing and showing their respects to Princess Rhaenyra’s heir and messenger as he would name himself.
Prince Jacaerys was seated to the right of Lord Stark whilst Lady Y/N sat to his left. She nodded to the servants to bring the food and serve the drink whilst the singers sang and played their music. There was no talk of succession nor war or politics until the feast had ended. Although the Lord of Winterfell offered the prince to rest for the night before they talk, both Prince Jacaerys as well as Lord Stark were of a mind to speak now.
They walked the walls of Winterfell to ensure privacy, accompanied only by the cold and the snow. Prince Jacaerys looked toward the winter town, seeing but a few of the lights that warmed its houses during the past two years.
“I see winter is still true in the North although they say elsewise at the Citadel,” spoke the crown prince.
Lord Stark smiled although he wished to laugh. “These are only the spring snows, my prince. During winter, all that you see was covered in snow and all memory of warmth was neigh forgotten.”
Prince Jacaerys turned to his mother’s sworn vassal. Cregan Stark was a man hardened by cold and winter, a man seasoned in battle and in swordplay, whose reputation as one of the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms preceded him. Lord Stark was only a few years his senior and yet he had seen and lived the life of a man.
Prince Jacaerys looked at Lord Stark with both envy as well as admiration. He was a royal prince and yet he had not lived or done as half as Lord Stark.
“I confess I wished to see the Wall,” said Prince Jacaerys, stirring his thoughts in another direction. “It would have pleased me to meet with you in the place where our ancestors treated.”
“Indeed,” said the Lord of Winterfell, the fur on his heavy coat ruffled by the cold winds. “At least you have the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon.” Lord Stark’s words cut a uncomfortable silence between the two young men.
“Surely the great Torren Stark would have sooner died than bent the knee. Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”
“You are right in that,” agreed Lord Stark as they walked along the walls of his castle.
“That unity is now threatened,” urged Prince Jacaerys. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if the men do not remember their oath sworn to King Viserys. And to his rightful heir.”
Lord Stark stopped. “Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince,” said Cregan sombrely. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between north and south. In the winter, my duty to the North and to the Wall is even more dire than what I owe to King’s Landing,” spoke the Lord of Winterfell as they continued walking. “I need my men here.”
This time, Prince Jacaerys held his step. He frowned at his mother’s vassal, his temper as quick as any Targaryen’s. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne.”
Lord Stark did not heed the haste of Prince Jacaerys’ words and climbed into the northmost watchtower.
“If my mother is to defend her claim, to hold the realm united,” said Prince Jacaerys, following him into the nest, “She needs an army. War is coming – to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wager without the support of the North …” spoke the prince, his words losing breath as the vastness of the North opened before his eyes. An endless sea of white spread before him, disturbed only by shadows of trees and moving clouds of snow.
“My father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall. His grace watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it,” told Lord Stark as the prince found his breath.
“Do you think my ancestors built a seven-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” said Cregan, looking the crown prince dead in the eye.
The young prince stared at him pensively. “What does it keep out?” he asked.
Lord Stark eyes darkened. “Death.”
The Lord of Winterfell walked Prince Jacaerys inside the castle. He felt the weight of his father’s oath, the oath that was his own.
“I have thousands of greybeards who have already seen too many winters,” said Lord Stark. “They are … well-honed.”
“So they are old?” asked Prince Jacaerys, his brows raising slightly. They had reached the chambers prepared for him.
Lord Stark nodded solemnly but the North needed its best men to remain.
“I can ready them to march at once,” promised the Lord of Winterfell.
Prince Jacaerys smiled, grateful for Lord Stark’s dislike of pretence.
“If your greybeards can fight, the Queen will have them,” agreed Prince Jacaerys.
A smirk crept into the line of Cregan’s mouth. “They will fight hard, like Northerners.”
***
Y/N could not even find it in her to sit down, much less fall asleep until Cregan returned to their chambers. The hour was late yet Y/N was as awake as it were mid-day. She stared at her husband expectantly when he returned, a great tiredness set in his features.
“He wants our men to fight for his mother’s claim,” confirmed Lord Stark.
And what of you? Does he want you? Y/N wanted to ask but could not make herself speak.
“I told him my men need to stay in the North. The Wall must needs be protected,” said Cregan. Y/N’s chest dropped with an exhale of relief yet only for a moment.
“I offered him my greybeards,” spoke Cregan before he walked over to one of the chests with his belongings. “I will go south as soon as they are ready to march.”
Cregan’s words knocked the wind out of Y/N as her heart dropped to her stomach. She grew sick with nausea.
“I thought to save this for another occasion,” said Cregan as he took a large package wrapped in cloth of silk from one of the painted chests.
Y/N stared at him astounded but took the parcel that he offered. She laid it carefully on the bed, pulling apart the silken wrapping. A coat as white as snow lay underneath, trimmed in fur without a single hair of colour. Y/N’s lips parted as her fingers glided through the fur as soft as butter. She frowned for she knew it came from a beast as rare as any. No wolf or mink could ever produce such a soft and white coat.
“Winter fox?” Y/N thought out loud, her big round eyes rising to her husband’s.
“To keep you warm if I do not return before the next winter,” said Cregan with a small smile although he could not hide the guilt and melancholy in his grey eyes.
Y/N looked at him thunderstruck. She did not care for the coat no matter how magnificent; all she wanted was her husband.
“Before the next winter?” gasped Y/N. “But … That could be years. That will be years.”
“I swore an oath, Y/N,” said Cregan with a heavy heart. “I cannot send my men south with no one to lead them.”
You swore an oath to me too, Y/N wanted to say but was glad she did not; the last thing she wanted was to argue. She understood that the realm was more important even if she herself would have let it burn to the ground if it meant her husband would remain by her side.
Y/N looked down at Cregan’s chest as her eyes welled with tears so hot they felt as cold as ice.
Cregan did not have the words to comfort her. He only pulled her into his arms, holding her head to his chest as she wept quietly.
*** ANOTHER 2 YEARS GONE BY ***
Many moons went by, then a year and then another during which Cregan’s letters maintained Lady Stark’s sanity. If not for her children and her ever faithful friend Lady Ellyn, Y/N would be sure to lose her mind. However, with one child running around and another at her hip - a daughter born in the late spring that she named Sarra - time went by quickly for the Lady of Winterfell after the first few moons without Cregan.
The council held news of the progress of the Targaryen war in the south. It received reports of the little prince Jaehaerys’ assassination, the death of Princess Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys at Rook’s Rest, King’s Landing changing rulers faster than the wind changes in the North, and even news of Prince Aemond’s death met at the hands of Prince Daemon at God’s Eye, where the lake swallowed both Targaryen princes as well as their mighty beasts.
All the while the news of war arrived from the capital and its surrounding Houses, the Lady of Winterfell prayed in the Godswood for her husband’s safety, that neither he nor his army be met with dragonfire, and that he returns safely to her, to Winterfell, to see his son grow and meet his daughter.
Lady Stark taught her children the ways of the Old Gods and spoke often of their father. Sarra was but a near a babe still yet Rickon had known and loved his father well. He cried many a night after Lord Stark marched south, and Lady Stark cried too. However, as time passed by, Cregan’s absence became easier to bear and life forced everyone to continue living. Seed needed to be planted for the first crops and people were beginning to leave the winter town abandoned to return to their farms and fields. The castle needed mending after the harsh winter as did the Wall, and lords from all over North came to House Stark for help.
In the meanwhile, Lady Y/N grew great with child and her lady mother came to stay until the babe was born. Lady Y/N had it easier with Sarra than she had with Rickon both in terms of early sickness as well as her time in childbed. Her daughter was born in the early hours of the morning, the labour lasting only a few hours. Sarra was a small, fragile babe but quickly grew stronger as the spring turned brighter and warmer. Although Rickon looked much like his father when he was born, he had grown more and more into the character of both his mother and father. He loved climbing and riding and pestered Ser Harwyn every waking moment to train him at swordplay. Sarra, however, was silent and calm. She looked like her mother with eyes that were exactly like those of Lady Stark.
The summer neared when a raven arrived bearing Lord Stark’s grey direwolf. Lady Y/N sat with the letter in her husband’s solar and read.
Beloved wife,
I encountered no war to speak of when my greybeards entered the red city. King’s Landing has long yielded to the many deaths of its kings and queens. I held court for six days to seek punishment for those who ended the life of King Aegon II, for no king should die of poison but on the battlefield with honour. I sought punishment for those too who conspired against the rightful heir. Many decided to take the black and join the Night’s Watch than to die at the blade of my sword. Those are the ones who will return north with me whilst many of my greybeards decide to remain in the south and in the Riverlands to attend the Widow Fairs.
I was offered a place in the king’s service that I could not accept. I long to return to you and our children, to see the towers of Winterfell rising before my eyes. When they place the crown on the boy king Aegon’s head, I will gather my men and we will march home.
Cregan
Lady Y/N reread the letter over and over again until it was engraved in her memory. Her heart beat harshly against her throat as her eyes watered yet she did not weep. She folded the letter and held it to her chest, closing her eyes as she leaned back in her husband’s chair. A ride from Winterfell to King’s Landing took a moon’s turn at the least, more with an army marching with you. Yet it did not matter. He was coming back. Cregan was returning home.
***
Lady Stark took to the Wolfswood with Ser Harwyn and an escort of knights following not far behind. She rode her mare neigh every day, the ash brown filly her husband gifted her after the passing of her beloved Blackspur. Lady Y/N named the beast Tempest for her temper and the ashen colour of her coat. Although Blackspurt had been wary of strangers but warmed up to them eventually, Tempest did not care for them. If she disliked any of them, she would show it by stomping her hooves or kicking, her teeth snapping at many a stableboy’s hand. But she was different with Lady Stark. There was a bond between the temperamental mare and the Lady of Winterfell no one could quite understand. Even in her pregnancy, Tempest sensed the change in her mistress, and whilst the horse did not care for her caretakers, she never lashed at children.
One evening Rickon resented his mother for not being to tell him when his father would return from the march. It has been close to two years since Lord Stark left for the south with his greybeards. The boy disappeared from his rooms in the night with no one being able to find him.
Lady Y/N’s first instinct was to check the stables and Squire but the boy was not there and the pony was in his stall. Whilst the castle was up in the search of Winterfell’s heir, young Rickon was hiding right where they first searched for him – in the stables. He meant to go to Squire, his beloved pony, yet as he stepped into he stable, the noise aroused Tempest.
Rickon tread carefully towards her, knowing of her temper but could not help himself. His curiosity was too great. He looked at the ashen brown mare in her stall, her breath coming out in clouds in the cold night. Rickon approached the iron bars of her door, carefully raising his hand to her muzzle. Tempest snorted, frightening little Rickon so much he fell to his butt. He did not understand why but he picked himself up and tried again. He brought his hand up to Tempest’s muzzle once again and let her smell him. Her muzzle was warm and wet against his touch, causing a smile to spread across Rickon’s lips. He carefully pushed open the door to her stall and met her, standing twice his size. His heart was thumping in his chest with excitement but he was not afraid.
They found the boy in the morning when one of the stableboys brought Tempest her grain and came to clean her stall. The mare was lying in the hay, staring warily at the stableboy whilst little Rickon slept against her belly.
Cold northern winds whooshed through the forest, rocking the tall trees of Wolfswood. Lady Stark’s gaze rose to their swaying crowns as she took in the fresh air after being cooped up in council meetings and hearing of the issues of the smallfolk. She had to condemn two thieves and a rapist – the thieves lost the same amount of fingers as the chickens they stole whilst the rapist chose death over taking the black and Lady Stark was glad for it.
Every time the Lady of Winterfell had to condemn a rapist she remembered the bandits who attacked her many years ago right there in the Wolfswood. She could not forgive herself for not taking an escort that time. If she had, the knights would have cut down the delinquents and they would never have had the chance to despoil that peasant girl. Lady Stark often rode past her father’s farm to see how they were living. When the girl wed last year, Lady Y/N then found a way to pass by her husband’s carpentry shop, making sure the girl and her family had everything they needed. It pained Lady Y/N to see the girl bow her head to her and curtsy clumsily when Y/N passed by on Tempest when she was the one who wanted to drop to her knees and beg the girl forgiveness.
“Have there been any more news from King’s Landing?” asked Ser Harwyn, the master-of-arms at Winterfell, waking Lady Stark from her thoughts.
“Not since Rhaenyra’s boy was crowned,” said Lady Y/N, leading her mare up a gentle slope.
It has been more than two moon's since the youngest son of Queen Rhaenyra was crowned Aegon III Targaryen although the smallfolk had already named him Aegon the Unlucky.
“Mayhaps Lord Stark took rest at Riverrun,” suggested Ser Harwyn, following his lady up the slope on his tall red gelding.
Lady Stark did not say anything. She would not allow herself to think of Cregan’s return for she found it consumed her thoughts and she could not find the will to do any of her duties if she did so. When Cregan left to fight the wildlings shortly after they were wed, Y/N felt almost as if she were greeting a stranger when he returned; and they have been parted for only four moons. It has been more than two years since they last saw each other now. Y/N could not bear to think of her husband finding company in another woman’s arms, of his love for her blowing away like the leaves off a dying tree.
“I would return to the castle though Stone Creek,” said Lady Stark to keep her thoughts from drifting.
“Past the girl Alys’s house?” asked Ser Harwyn although he already knew the answer. He as well as any who were there that day when the bandits were tried and condemned by Lord Cregan Stark knew the wroth of the Lord of Winterfell and the justice of his lady wife.
It was Ser Harwyn too who found the girl for Lady Stark and told her of her name and where she lived. Alys wed a carpenter, a boy her age with yellow hair and eyes the colour of the sky.
As Lady Stark commanded, they passed though Stone Creek on the way back to the castle. It was a small village of some half a dozen farms and their respective fields. The smallfolk stopped their work when the Lady of Winterfell passed on her tall mare and bowed their heads with respect. The Lady Stark wore a gown of pale poppy red with hems and bodice embroidered in the string-of-gold. It has been more than five years since Lady Y/N of Whytefort became their Lady of Winterfell yet none of her beauty faded in that time. She only grew further into her womanhood although ruling Winterfell made Lady Y/N harder. It strengthened her back in her saddle and firmed her slender yet womanly body with authority.
Lady Stark passed by the girl Alys’s house. She saw her in her garden surrounded by blooming herbs as she fed the chickens, her newborn baby crying softly in its woven bassinet. It has been a while since Y/N passed through Stone Creek for the last time she saw Alys was when the girl was still great with child.
Lady Stark smiled to herself and spurred Tempest on. The escort of knights followed as their hooves thumped through the small village. Winterfell already rose in the distance when the sky turned grey, its menacing clouds foretelling rain.
The company spurred their mounts to a leisurely gallop as they crossed the fields and meadows back to the safety of the castle. A drop of rain fell here and there but Lady Stark hoped to reach Winterfell before the downpour. The air was thick with humidity in the face of the summer. Y/N thought she heard thunder in the distance yet her eyes fell upon a darkness beneath the walls of Winterfell.
Lady Stark reined Tempest to an abrupt halt at the sight of the massive host of warriors beneath her castle. Ser Harwyn and the knights pulled up their mounts to a sudden stop as well, their horses neighing and pacing anxiously.
The sound of Y/N’s heart echoed through her mind as hot fever crept up her neck. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Gods,” gasped Lady Stark soundlessly as more raindrops began to fall but her gaze was set on the horizon.
Y/N's heels nudged Tempest’s belly as she urged her on with haste. They fell into a gallop so swift that Lady Stark’s hair escaped her pearl-embroidered net and floated freely in the wind. The castle approached quickly yet not nearly quickly enough. Tempest’s long muscular legs outran the other mounts who carried knights clad in heavy armour. Lady Y/N passed through the winter town, nearly knocking down a man and his flour cart in her haste. The sound of Tempest’s horseshoes against the cobblestones of the castle echoed in Y/N’s ears along with the wild beating of her own heart.
Lady Stark reached the innermost courtyard as thick raindrops began to fall in the thousands. As Y/N reined Tempest in, the young mare nearly rose to her hind legs. Tempest paced restlessly and snorted loudly as her breathless mistress sat frozen in her saddle. Y/N’s eyes found her husband standing beneath the stone canopy of the castle’s entrance, his formidable grey eyes awaiting the sight of the approaching rider.
Y/N’s breathing was loud and laboured as heavy rain fell down her face. Thunder echoed through the sky as Lord Stark came out to her. A stableboy rushed in and took the reins of Lady Stark’s mount. Cregan’s arms went to his wife’s waist as he lifted her from her saddle and helped her down. Y/N’s hands gripped onto Cregan’s arms, holding him tightly. To her, he looked the same as the day he left her. Her eyes welled with hot tears as heavy rain poured on the both of them.
“Is it really you?” asked Y/N, tears falling down her cheeks. Her body trembled. “Are you … Are you really back?”
Cregan watched her beautiful eyes, deep like pools with hope and longing. “It’s me,” he spoke as his large sword-calloused hand caressed her cheek, the tip of his thumb brushing across her lips. Cregan leaned in and kissed her desperately, having dreamed of this moment for what seemed to him a hundred years. His arms locked around Y/N’s waist, her feet no longer touching the floor. Even as they reached for air, their lips returned to one another’s, not being able to let go of each other’s bodies.
“Father,” said a small, breathless voice yet it was the only voice that could make the Lord and Lady of Winterfell tear away from each other.
Rickon stood beneath the stone canopy, not being able to believe his eyes either.
“Father!” called Rickon and ran out into the summer rain, his arms wrapping around his father’s neck. Cregan picked up his son and held the boy close to him, his heart aching with the time he had missed fighting for a crown he did not care for.
“Did you look after your mother, son?” asked Cregan against his son’s hair. Rickon pulled away, his big grey eyes meeting his father’s as he smiled.
“I did,” said Rickon proudly, “And I looked after Sarra too.”
Cregan turned to Y/N with Rickon securely in his arms. His grey eyes were drenched with guilt and love so profound he did not know how he was able to contain it in his chest.
“I would meet her,” asked Cregan, his voice soft as he stole another kiss from his wife. She took his hand and nodded as they got away from the rain.
Sarra was down for an afternoon sleep when Y/N showed Cregan to her nursery. The wetnurse stood up and bowed, startled as she saw the Lord of Winterfell had returned.
"Leave us please," Lady Stark gave her a small smile. The wetnurse bowed again and left the Lord and Lady of Winterfell with their daughter.
Cregan knelt beside Sarra’s small bed, his heart ripping into a thousand small pieces. A shaky breath escaped his lungs as he caressed his daughter’s soft hair from her face.
“She is so beautiful,” whispered Cregan, unable to take his eyes off Sarra. “She looks just like you.”
Y/N ran her hand across Cregan’s broad shoulders as she stood beside him, her heart filled with so much happiness it brought tears to her eyes. The Gods listened to her prayers.
Cregan took Y/N’s palm and kissed it as rain dripped off her long hair. He looked up at her. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered.
“I missed you, my love,” said Cregan as he stood up, his hands cupping Y/N’s cheeks. “I always dreamed of you.” He caressed Y/N's face gently with his thumbs, his gaze memorizing her beautiful eyes. Cregan kissed his wife tenderly.
#house of the dragon#game of thrones#hotd#house of the dragon fanfic#cregan stark#cregan stark x reader#hotd cregan#cregan stark x y/n#winterfell#house stark#the wolf of the north#cregan fanfiction
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fantasy setting prompts ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🕊️ ꒱
¹⁾ a darkened apothecary illuminated only by the light somehow being emitted by the many bottles and jars lining the walls
²⁾ the banquet hall of a nobleman’s sprawling estate, in the throes of a lavish ball attended by everyone in the townland
³⁾ at a healer’s cabin in the dead of night, overwhelmed by adrenaline and the scent of countless tinctures and remedies as they’re applied
⁴⁾ the last imperial guardpost before crossing into enemy lands
⁵⁾ a run-down inn in the middle of nowhere, half reclaimed by the woodlands around it
⁶⁾ a lake set deep into the mountains with something sinister lurking beneath the surface
⁷⁾ the first port in a new land after weeks at sea trying to get there
⁸⁾ the highest turret in the royal family’s castle on a wintery morning
⁹⁾ the war council’s planning room, the morning after a bloody defeat
¹⁰⁾ an alchemist’s workshop
¹¹⁾ the stables just before daybreak
¹²⁾ the impromptu camp that the leader of the journey had to be begged into allowing after everyone else grew exhausted from being on the road all day
¹³⁾ the army barracks before a battle
¹⁴⁾ the last altar of a dying god’s religion
¹⁵⁾ the empress’s chambers, trussed up in nothing more than silken bedsheets and the morning sunshine
¹⁶⁾ the bedside of an old mentor, right before the end
¹⁷⁾ on the wrong end of a traitor’s sword
¹⁸⁾ a beast’s underground lair, alone and unarmed
¹⁹⁾ the thick of the enemy’s encampment, shackled and unrepentant
²⁰⁾ the mage’s quarters, having seen something there’s no worldly explanation for
²¹⁾ the armoury in the late hours of the night, stinking of polish and tears
²²⁾ in the throne room of the imperial citadel with an ulterior motive
²³⁾ by the scholar’s side in the library, eager for a little more than knowledge
²⁴⁾ an alehouse in the dead countryside, hoping not to be found
²⁵⁾ the executioner’s platform seeking for just one face in the crowd
#my dear sweet nonnie i hope this is even halfway useful to you!!#prompts#fantasy setting prompts#fantasy settings#fantasy prompts#fantasy writing prompts#prompt list#writing prompts#writing exercise#rp meme#fantasy rp meme#alternate universe prompts#fantasy!au prompts
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. ˚◞♡ 𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒅! 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 ( 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍'𝒔 𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒔 )◞ ₊˚
. ˚◞ ꒰ verse 9948e rishen x male reader ꒱ angel x reader cw: smutty, semi-public sex, rough sex⊹ ۪ ࣪
being a new god and catching the attention of the famed golden boy angel of the divine realms came with many exciting doors opening. . . after all he's such a loyal whore
imagine being a newly ascended god - one of war, and coincidentally catching the eye of the ‘golden-boy’ angel amongst the divine realms - rishen aryielus.
you’d keep to yourself at first, of course. he has worked with you a few times due the nature of your position. but the tension between you grew. the small glances he’d give you - the less than professional looks. the way he would accidentally brush up against you. those sweet, drawled words that would linger in your ears.
this is wrong, is it not? you’re a god now. not a mortal. you couldn’t give into these desires.
especially not with an angel.
right?
and yet when he bounced on your cock in your grand halls like a good little slut, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. when he whines and gasps out shaky - “m-my lord - please, feel s’good” and - “forgive my depravity I - angh - I-I need you, I need you so bad.” . . . there wasn’t a thing in any of the realms that would make you want to stop him.
the way his tight little hole keeps trying to take more of you. how his gold eyes roll back when you snatch his waist and make him take more. fucking up into him with rough snaps of your hips that make him splutter and drool out your title - it was all too much.
the golden-boy of the gods became your personal little whore; and no one would come to know about it. even if there were a few close calls.
like after a meeting when you bent him over one of the grand tables and pounded his tight little ass while he bit into your arm. until he was crying and squirting all over.
like the time your servants almost caught him down on his knees, serving you as he should. taking you down his throat with your hand buried into his brown curls. fucking his mouth and creaming it until his eyes rolled back.
seems like the angel became addicted to your dick. addicted to you. and would find each and every opportunity to squirm beneath you.
your favourite times are surprising him in his citadel. taking him in his sleep and watching as he claws at the pillows. whines out into the air, if only to take whatever appendage you wrap around his mouth. he adores when you take him in your godly form.
he always looks at you with such reverence.
despite the tears in his eyes. despite the way you pump him full of your divine cum.
“p-please my lord - please please can I cum for you? please - I-I’ll be - angh - good,”
#⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ daydreams — rishen 9948e ꒱#top male reader#monster fucker#teratophillia#male reader#smut#monster x reader#monster smut#terato#angel x reader#angel oc#rishen 9948e#asterism
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Merlin’s hair is unremarkable.
Short. Dark. Unworthy of note.
It is also thick and strangely soft. Arthur knows this because he has touched said hair on quite a few misguided occasions. One does not always think before engaging in laddish horseplay, and some rough instances of unguarded familiarity have devolved into getting closely acquainted with said shock of hair. So Arthur is cognisant of the fact that it is thick, dark and deceptively soft. Soft in the way that a wild animal’s pelt can be smooth and deep and precious. Thick and dark in a way that speaks of untold strength and stubborn impulse.
Anyway, it’s unremarkable.
Merlin keeps it rather short, like most commoners. Probably to stave off headlice. Not that his hair is dirty or unkempt. It is always scrupulously clean though at times tousled, and Arthur usually recognises a hint of lavender soap amidst the more noticeable whiffs of cold stone and fire smoke that pervades everything within the citadel walls. More damningly, underneath it all, Arthur knows he can also recognise the smell of Merlin himself. He can’t help but think it slightly unbecoming that he should have such precise knowledge of his manservant’s personal scent. As a matter of fact, he’d rather fall on his own sword than admit to the sweet, unsteady flutter that the scent never fails to send through his belly. Intimate and somewhat incriminating. It is a very unremarkable scent at that. Merlin smells of the forest and earth and horse tack and honest masculine sweat. And Arthur really doesn’t know why he’s dwelling on any of this.
It’s just hair. Familiar hair.
It slides between Arthur’s fingers with a gentle sensuousness that disarms him. He should have kept his gloves on, he realises belatedly. Beneath him, Merlin comes to with a gruff ‘ouch’ that is both reassuring and ridiculous considering he’s just taken an axe to the head. Granted, it was only an accidental swipe of an axe that just grazed his scalp, but Arthur’s heart stopped ominously in his chest all the same as he witnessed the near miss.
Arthur breathes again as Merlin grunts and blinks up at him. Feeling oddly vacant with relief, he tries to quash a fond smile while reminding his manservant that he’s supposed to dodge swinging implements of death.
Practice has been called to a halt, and Arthur plans ahead. Merlin is going to be escorted back to Gaius’. Arthur is going to wipe the wet smear of dear blood gracing his palm onto his shirt. Sir Godric is going to regret getting out of bed this morning.
But for the moment – for one more moment of baffling, tender closeness – Arthur is cradling the back of Merlin’s head, fingers lost in the short, dark, thick, soft hair. And as he flounders in an emotional and sensuous mire of his own making, the base of his thumb brushes Merlin’s ear and his heart stutters at the naked feel of it.
The rest of the world fades into insignificance.
There’s just something about Merlin’s ears.
[Many thanks for the reblogs, likes and comments! I truly appreciate the love. ❤️ Let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged for the next instalments. Only 2 or 3 to go, I think. 🤔]
Tagged: @miyriu @neptunesyellowsands @gd-dollopole
Merlin's eyes
Merlin's lips
Merlin's hands
Merlin's throat
#merthur#merlin#bbc merlin#arthur pendragon#merlin x arthur#merthur ficlet#anatomy of a manservant#ficlet
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shenanigans in dnd
#dnd#dungeons and dragons#d&d#dnd oc#dnd character#dnd rouge#dnd bard#dnd warlock#dnd paladin#dndecked out#terrors beneath deepfrost citadel#dragon#windsor ryfall#tarnish#delta#art#digital art#waveleoart
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Suvi's alone now.
Not in the sense that she has no allies (despite what they have done to earn her righteous anger it was never in question that Eursolon and Ame believe themselves to be in Suvi's corner)
But in the sense that she is the last wizard surrounded by monsters. The witches for all their judgement of the citadel are vicious and unrepentant in that viciousness.
Morrow bound a great spirit beneath the waves and 180 deaths was the price paid.
Grimore murdered a young woman who's great crime was that she ran when she was scared. What is the price of a human's life?
Suvi alone is concerned with the price of human suffering.
Ame cares, sure, but her concern has never been that people suffer. People suffering is a price she paid without hesitation. Not gladly; but without hesitation.
Suvi alone stands in the world of Umora as an advocate for humanity.
Suvi alone balks at the cruelty of witches.
She sent the wizards, her people, away to save them from the monsters that surrounded them: and now she is alone because she is not a witch. She is a wizard, and she has resolved herself to victory or death and the destruction of Grimora because who else will deliver justice for a wizard?
Who else is concerned for the suffering of people?
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Kiss Me Again - Mattheo Riddle
Request: heyy oh my God I seriously love your work, could you do one where they are best friends but like each other and won't confess but one day they both realise they are in love wc: 4.2k warnings: fluff, kissing, swearing Summary: you and Mattheo have been friends since the beginning of school, the two of you like each other but neither wants to admit it, scared that it would damage your relationship. The two of you decide to take a break from studying and sneak around Hogwarts and then one thing leads to another...
Mattheo Riddle, he had been your best friend for pretty much as long as you can remember. You grew up together, helped eachother threw everything, stuck by each others sides. You were fortunate to have most of your classes together, and even outside of class the two of you hung out.
You had the same friends, got pretty much the same grades and had very similar hobbies... it was rare to see one without the other.
The Hogwarts library stood as a citadel of tranquility, a bastion of wisdom and knowledge amidst the bustling halls of Hogwarts. Right now, you and Mattheo Riddle found yourselves engrossed in your studies, the air thick with the scent of parchment and the soft murmur of whispered incantations.
Seated side by side at a wooden table tucked amidst towering shelves, you and Mattheo immersed yourselves in textbooks and scrolls, the task at hand a mere facade for the unspoken emotions that danced between you.
Mattheo’s voice cut through the silence, "You alright, you've been pretty quiet for a while?"
You shot him a playful glare, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Well we are in the library Mattheo, we're meant to be quiet."
Mattheo rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging on his lips, "yeah well you practically never shut up," a small laugh falling from his lips. This of course earnt him an eye roll, which he caught onto, yet he somehow managed to miss the little sparkle that glinted in your eye as you looked at his smiling face.
You sat there for a while, occasionally bickering or leaning over to ask for help when getting stuck on something, but due to exams coming up in only a few days, the two of you understood that you had to try your best to stay on task. Textbooks sprawled open, parchment filled with notes, and a shared determination to conquer the complexities of magical theory.
"Have you seen this spell?" you queried, pointing to a particularly intricate incantation in your book. You had been looking at it for the past 10 minutes or so, waving your wand around trying to get the right movement, but it seemed no matter how hard you tried, it just wasnt working how you wanted it to.
Mattheo leaned closer, his presence enveloping you in a warmth that sparked an indescribable sensation. You felt the hairs on your arm stick up, a warm feeling flushing in your chest as he leaned over your shoulder. "Ah, that one’s tricky. Let me show you a more efficient way to cast it."
His nearness sent a flutter through your senses, a magnetic pull that threatened to unravel the careful veil hiding the unspoken desires within. He reached over, his hand landing on top of yours and guiding your hand smoothly, "there you are, easy peasy."
"Thanks..." you murmured out, finally taking a breath as he leant back away from you.
As the sun dipped lower, signaling the arrival of evening, you and Mattheo began to gather your belongings. The unspoken feelings simmered beneath the layers of laughter and stolen glances, a silent understanding that bound your hearts in a dance of friendship and concealed affection.
Mattheo broke the tranquil silence, his voice softer than usual. "The library is closing soon, we should continue this in my dorm. You should head back to your dorm and get in something more comfy then come over"
You nodded, a faint smile gracing your lips. "Yeah, ok are the boys in the dorm?"
"Nah Jasper and Theodore are over in Lorenzo's dorm and Draco is with Blaise," Mattheo replied, his gaze holding a depth that hinted at more than mere friendship as he packed his books, "so it'll be just us."
"Cool, see ya soon," you grinned widely, brushing your hair behind your ear unconciously.
*
After getting changed into something more comfortablein your dorm and a fresh spritz of purfume on you began your walk back to Mattheo's dorm (I'm trying my best to make it so it doesnt matter what house you are in so sorry if it's a little confusing). You couldnt help it as your mind trailed off to Mattheo. You knew you shouldnt be feeling this way, but you couldnt help it... this is wrong, he's my best friend.
He was more than that though, he was an important aspect in your life, and you couldnt imagine life without him.He’s always had your back and stood up for you. He's defended you against teachers and students, he's protected you from the dark horrors that come with being born to Bellatrix Lestrange and Tom Riddle, growing up in Malfoy Manor.
You were well aware of the fact that you've liked him for a while now, just a small girl crush... but lately its only seemed to get worse. You’ve caught yourself staring at him frequently, admiring his brown curls and earthy eyes, you've tried to ignore the overwhelming feeling of butterflies that you get every time he laughs, or the tingling sting that you get whenever your skin comes in contact with his.
In the embrace of his hug, you find solace, pressed snugly against the contours of his toned chest. The rhythmic thud of his heartbeat against your skin forms an intimate symphony, a melody that soothes your very core, making you feel inexplicably safe.
His gentle touch, brushing away a stray tendril of hair from your face, sends a wave of warmth coursing through you. It's a tender gesture that beckons you to close your eyes and surrender to the comforting sensation of his fingers against your skin.
As his hand encircles your waist, drawing you nearer, an undeniable sense of belonging washes over you. In that moment, with Mattheos’s touch securing you, it feels like the perfect fit—your bodies in sync, entwined in a moment that feels destined.
The yearning for more intensifies, an undeniable craving for closeness, for the electrifying sensation of his touch. It's a desire that lingers, urging you to lean into the embrace, to savor every shared moment with Mattheo, wishing for an eternity in his arms
Shit I sound crazy you rolled your eyes at yourself, shaking the thoughts off and continuing your walk.
What you didnt know was that Mattheo had felt the same way. You didnt notice how he had started sitting even closer to you now, or the fact that he was constantly trying to come up with ways to inconspicuously touch you. You didnt notice the way he would put his hand on your back and lead you threw the halls when there were lots of people, or how if you were ever close to hitting your head on the corner of a cupboard or desk he would reach over and cover the surface with his hand.
Once you finally get to the door of his dorm, you knock a few times before pushing the door open, walking in to find Mattheo on the bed. "Hey Theo," you grumbled, dropping your bag to the ground and then jumping on the bed next to him with a tired sigh.
"Hey love."
*
“come on, you've got it, just try it a few more times and it'll be perfect”, Mattheo says from his desk, his chair rolling around to face you where you were lying on his bed, books laying around you.
“I cant do it Theo”, you sigh loudly, throwing your head back dramatically, “it's a stupid spell and I probably wont even use it after we leave school so why the hell do we even have to learn it.”
“Quit whining”, Mattheo replies, laughing whilst shaking his head, "it's not even that hard."
“It's not fair, why does an idiot like you get to be so smart without even trying”, you pout softly, pulling yourself up in a sitting position.
Mattheo's insistence on revisiting the notes for the umpteenth time made you almost desperate. You were tired and this was beginning to get frustrating, you hated it when you werent good at something. You took a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak up. "Please, Theo. I understand that good grades mean everything to you and how pressured you are with all of this, but I'm seriously starting to go out of my mind. I have hardly slept and this is giving me a really bad headache."
His silence made you nervous; you hadn't intended to come across so harshly. Mattheo seemed absorbed in his thoughts, clearly thinking about what to say or do. He understood that you were tired, the two of you, along with much of your grade had been waking up early and going to sleep late for the last few weeks in order to study for the exams. But this was all important, the two of you planned to become Aurors together when you left school, and you needed really good grades for that.
You bit your lip, grappling with your impatience. "Matth-"
A frustrated sigh escaped Mattheo's lips. You felt guilty, you knew why he tried so hard for his grades. He didnt want to turn out like his mother and father and the people around him at home, he wanted to do good. He needed good grades to help him escape.
Meeting his gaze, you found his intense brown eyes locked onto yours. "I apologize. You're right," he admitted, raking his hand through his brunette curls, your eyes went wide in shock, you hadnt actually expected him to agree with you, and you definietly didnt think that the next words would fall out of his lips, "hell it might even be a good idea for me to have a break, i'm tired too-"
Mattheo stood up, shutting his books and then stumbling over to the bed, a goofy smile on his face as he stuck his hand out in your direction. You looked up at him with furrowed brows, not exactly sure where he was going with this. When you said that the two of you needed to take a break, you just thought that the two of you would just chill and talk for a while, maybe lay down for a bit.
"Up ya hop," he beckoned, making a grabby motion with his hands a few times before sticking his open palm closer to your face, "move it or lose it mate," he continues. You raise your brows at him, hesitating before carefully reaching out to take his hand
Should I grab his hand?
"Merlin," Mattheo groaned, rolling his eyes before just grabbing her hand and then tugging her off the bed
"Hey asshole!" you complained, glaring up at him as he tugged you towards the door of his dorm, grabbing a jumper that was hanging over the back of his desk chair.
"Dont blame me, if we sat around here waiting for you to make up your mind then we'd be waiting till christmas," Mattheo complained sarcastically, pulling her down the hall and towards the main part of the common room.
As Mattheo dragged you along, you stumbled to keep up with his brisk pace, shooting him an annoyed glare. "Seriously, where are we going?" you demanded, trying to slow his progress by digging your heels into the floor.
But Mattheo seemed determined, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Just trust me," he said with a smirk, not offering any further explanation.
You let out an exasperated sigh but relented, deciding to go along with whatever crazy idea he had in mind. You allowed him to tug you through the common room and out into the crisp evening air of the halls of the castle. It was late at night and since they were in the dungeons, it was freezing. There were no students anywhere, and the teachers were also more than likely in bed.
"Wait, Mattheo, it's freezing out here!" you protested, shivering as a gust of wind swept by, making you regret not grabbing a jacket.
He chuckled, seemingly unfazed by the cold. "Don't worry, I've got you covered," he assured, reaching for the jumper he had grabbed earlier. With a grin, he draped it over your shoulders, the warmth of the fabric immediately comforting.
"Thanks," you mumbled, feeling a bit guilty for calling him an asshole just moments ago.
Without missing a beat, Mattheo resumed his course, leading you through the halls. Mattheo glanced around the halls, noticing the dimly lit corners and hidden alcoves. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he leaned in and whispered, "I've heard rumors about secret passages hidden within the castle. Wanna go on a little exploration?"
Your curiosity piqued at the mention of secret passages. Nodding eagerly, you followed Mattheo as he led the way, navigating through the deserted corridors of the castle. Shadows danced on the walls, and the quiet of the night added an eerie yet thrilling atmosphere to your adventure.
Stopping in front of an intricately designed tapestry depicting a hunting scene, Mattheo grinned. "This is it," he whispered excitedly, pulling on a loose thread near the edge of the tapestry.
To your amazement, the tapestry shifted, revealing a concealed entrance behind it. Mattheo gestured for you to follow as he stepped through the hidden doorway. The passage was dimly lit by flickering torches, the air cool and musty.
You trailed behind Mattheo as you ventured deeper into the hidden corridors. The passages twisted and turned, leading you through a labyrinthine network beneath the castle. Dusty tomes and forgotten artifacts lined shelves carved into the stone walls, hinting at the secrets hidden within.
Occasionally, you stumbled upon locked doors or dead ends, but Mattheo's enthusiasm never waned. He seemed to have a natural talent for navigating the hidden passages, leading you further into the mysterious depths of the castle.
After what felt like an exhilarating journey through time and history, you stumbled upon a chamber bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. In the center stood an ancient-looking pedestal with a book resting upon it, emitting a faint shimmer.
"Is that...?" you started, your voice barely a whisper as you glanced at Mattheo, both of you captivated by the enigmatic sight before you.
Mattheo nodded in awe, his eyes reflecting the soft light. "I heard that there used to be this Ancient magic around Hogwarts that only a select few could see and use... apparently a goblin called Ranrok or something tried to gain control of that power but was stopped by a Hogwarts student who could see and use the magic, this is supposed to be her diary or something, there could be some cool stuff in there," he murmured, approaching the pedestal with caution.
You joined him, the book's pages radiating an otherworldly aura. As you reached out to touch it, a distant sound echoed through the chamber—a faint rattling followed by the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps.
Startled, you exchanged a quick glance with Mattheo before hastily retreating back into the hidden passages, leaving the mysterious book untouched. Heart pounding with excitement and adrenaline, you navigated the twisting corridors, making your way back to the safety of the castle's main corridors.
Breathless and exhilarated, you both burst into laughter as you emerged from the hidden entrance, relieved to have escaped without detection.
Caught up in the thrill of your secret exploration, you and Mattheo leaned against the castle wall, trying to catch your breath. The rush of adrenaline and the shared excitement created a bond between you that felt unbreakable.
As you exchanged a knowing glance, the unspoken promise of more adventures lingered in the air, filling you both with a sense of anticipation for the mysteries yet to be unraveled within the castle's hidden passages.
"Students out of bed!" They suddenly hear, their eyes widening at the familiar voice or Filch. They turned their heads to look down the corridor, a small hint of light making its way closer from one of the corners further down
"Oh shit!" Mattheo whispered, grabbing your hand and then yanking you through the halls once again.
"You can run but you cant hide!"
"Ouch Mattheo! You're gonna rip my fucking arm off you pri-"
Mattheo had grabbed you around the waist and thrown you over his shoulder. A small 'hmph' falling from your lips at the rough impact of his shoulder digging into your stomach. "Theo that hurts!" you whisper yell, smaking him softly on the back as he continues to run, Filch on your tail.
Mattheo quickly turns the corner and then pulls you both into a cupboard, slamming the door shut behind you both and putting you on the ground in front of him, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath, a few small beads of sweat trickling down his forhead.
Mattheo let out an annoyed groan, "Fuck that was cl-"
You slap your hand over his mouth with one hand, using your free hand to put your finger up to your lips, telling him to shush before leaning your head against the door, trying to listen to whatever was going on outside, praying to god that Filch wasnt going to find you.
The footsteps outside grew louder, the sound of keys jingling and muttering becoming clearer. Filch's voice pierced through the silence, his grumbling indicating his frustration at not finding the mischievous students.
Mattheo's chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to control his breathing, his eyes wide with anticipation and a hint of nervous excitement. You pressed against the door, your heart racing in sync with the rapid beat of footsteps passing by the cupboard's hiding spot.
Silence descended upon the corridor, broken only by the distant echoes of Filch's fading voice as he continued his search elsewhere. Mattheo let out a relieved exhale, his shoulders slumping as he leaned back against the cupboard.
"Phew," he whispered, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
You shot him a playful glare, still catching your breath from being carried over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Warn me before you decide to play hero next time," you teased, trying to suppress a giggle.
Mattheo chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Sorry about that, had to think fast. You know how Filch is, always lurking around looking for cool kids like me."
"I think you mean dumbasses," you shot back jokingly
"Well you're out here too arent you?" he fired, a raised eyebrow paired with a smirk on his handsome face
"Hush," you grinned.
"Merlin im buggered," Mattheo yawned. Mattheo flashed you a grin, his eyes alight with excitement. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?"
You couldn't help but laugh, the thrill of the chase mixing with the shared relief at narrowly avoiding getting caught. "Definitely an adventure I won't forget anytime soon," you replied, still catching your breath.
You nodded in agreement, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the near encounter. The adrenaline rush began to fade, you went to open the door, pushing on it, but it didnt seem to budge.
“It won’t open.” You mumbled out, trying to push the door again
“What?” Mattheo asked, his breathing starting to go back to normal
“It won’t open.” you repeated with a frown as you pushed against the door yet again, but the hardwood didn’t budge.
"Yeah right," Mattheo muttered out, going to push the door thinking that maybe you just werent pushing it hard enough, "what the hell..."
“It’s…not so bad. It is probably just jammed or something — do you have your wand?.”
The realization that the door wouldn't budge sent a jolt of unease through both of you. Mattheo reached into his pocket, rummaging around for his wand, but his expression turned to one of dismay.
"Damn it, I left it back in the dorm room," he muttered, a tinge of worry edging into his voice. "But don't worry, its only a few more hours till everyone is up so someone will find us soon, and until then we can just chill or try and get the door open"
"This isn't good," you murmured, trying to keep your tone steady despite the rising worry in your chest.
*
The night was not supposed to go like this.
Heat sweltered between them, and not only because of the walls encasing them on every side, and the small space plus their added body heat, but the fact that they were so close together.
“Stop moving.” Mattheo mumbled as he looked up at the ceiling, his cheeks pink as he forced himself to look away from her, trying his best to stay calm and not freak out from the close proximity
"Sorry," you muttered, but once again shuffled unconsciously, the nerves taking over you as you grew more and more anxious, you didnt do well with small spaces, you were tired, and you were chest to chest with the boy you cared for more than anyone else
"Y/n." Mattheo grumbled sternly
“I can’t help it!” You responded anxiously. “Im tired and my legs are so sore, theres rat shit on the ground so I cant sit down, and I'm fucking cold Mattheo,” She pounded on the door, no longer caring if they got in trouble from the teachers, she just wanted to get out of there
“Hey, hey, you've just gotta stay calm okay, its alright!” Mattheo said softly, realising just how much she was beginning to freak out.
The cramped space amplified the tension between you, a mix of frustration, anxiety, and the unspoken feelings lingering in the air. Mattheo's attempts to keep the atmosphere calm were admirable, but the situation tested both your patience and composure.
"I know, I know," you muttered, attempting to steady your breathing. "I'm just... I'm not good with this. It's too much."
Mattheo's eyes softened with understanding, his usual mischievous demeanor giving way to a more caring expression. He reached out and gently placed a hand on your shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze.
"It's okay. We'll get through this," he said, his voice calming, though the unease lingered in his own words, "im here okay, you're okay."
You looked up at him, gazing into his brown eyes. He gave you a small smile
Damn it, theres that stupid feeling again.
His smile was then replaced with an unreadable expression. "You okay?" you muttered, confused by his atttitude change
Mattheo's eyes lingered on you, an unspoken question reflecting in their depths. "You know, I've been thinking..."
Your heart raced, sensing the weight of his unspoken words. "About what?"
"I uh... nah its stupid," he muttered, shaking his head, looking annoyed with himself
"It isnt stupid Theo, you can tell me, I wont judge you," you smiled softly, giving him a small nod.
He hesitated, "well its about..." his usual confidence faltering as he looked away, his words carrying a raw vulnerability. "About us... about our friendship."
You swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart beating a frantic rhythm. "What about it?"
"We've been dancing around something," Mattheo confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, "something we've both been too scared to acknowledge."
Your breath hitched, the gravity of the moment sinking in as your gazes met, an unspoken understanding passing between you.
"I've been... feeling things," Mattheo admitted, his voice trembling slightly, "things that I've been too afraid to voice."
Your eyes softened, your vulnerability mirroring his own. "I know. Me too."
Even the cupboard seemed to hold its breath, the weight of your shared revelations hanging in the air. In that moment of quiet confession, the unspoken words that had lingered between you for so long found their voice, weaving a tapestry of emotions that had been hidden away.
With hearts laid bare and emotions laid bare, the unspoken became spoken, and the unacknowledged became understood. Love, so long restrained by the fear of losing a cherished friendship, now flowed freely between you, binding you in a bond deeper than friendship.
Your eyes widened slightly as you felt his arms wrap around your waist, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. "Mattheo..."
Are we moving too fast?
"Can I kiss you?" Mattheo asked softly, a pleading tone in his voice as he anxiously knibbled on the inside of his cheek. His anxiety wasnt soothed as you stared at him with wide eyes, shocked that all of this was actually happening.
He went to pull away, his cheeks flushing in embarassment, "I uh, you know... joking... just jo-"
You cut him off, pushing your lips against his, catching him by surprise. His eyes widened, his breath getting caught in his throat but he quickly regained composure, pulling you against his chest firmly as he kissed you deeper.
The two of you pulls away for a second, wide, giddy grins on your faces as you looked into eachothers eyes for a few seconds before leaning forwards again, your lips moulding together perfectly. The kiss became heated, your hands wrapping around his neck and his hands cupping your face, his thumbs rubbing against your skin softly. You stood up on your tippy toes, leaning into him even more.
You were the first one to pull away, looking up at Mattheo whose eyes remained closed for a few more moments, basking in the taste and feel of your soft lips. You smile widely, his smile matching yours as his eyes flutter open. His left thumb moves from your cheek to your lip, rubbing it softly.
You look up into his eyes and you see it.
Love.
"Kiss me again?" he whispered
"Only if you say please," you joke, leaning forward once more.
Credit to adiraargent. Please do not copy or repost anywhere. Hope you enjoyed, and feel free to leave a request :p
Wattpad: adira_argent
#fluff#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle fluff#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle#mattheoxreader#mattheo x you#mattheo x y/n#adiraargent#harry potter imagines#slytherin imagines#slytherin x yn#slytherin x reader#slytherin prompts#slytherin boys#slytherin#hogwarts#quidditch#request#reqs open#fluff imagine#harry potter#harry potter fandom#hp fanfic
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