#Cregan stark x Fem!reader

[moonlightrafe]

Thawed Out

summary: Frustrated after losing a game to your brothers’ team, you let Cregan take his frustration out on you.

pairing: Modern!Cregan x Targtower!Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: Explicit smut, semi-public/rough sex, spit, p in v, creampie, 18+ MDNI

note: Sorry it’s been a month since I’ve posted!! Watch this flop asdfghkl

Your eyelids flutter as Sara lightly dabs glittery eyeshadow onto them with her ring finger.

“Try to hold still,” she tells you, just as your reflection catches her eye in the mirror that hangs on the back of her closet door.

“Oh no,” she frowns, making note of the jersey you’re wearing, “Cregan is not going to like that.”

The jersey — all black, has no distinctive feature of any team, but it does have the name “Targaryen” etched onto the back, and 01 on the front, which is your brother Aemond’s hockey number.

Cregan is number 13.

“Targaryen is my last name,” you remind her, “and besides, Cregan is the one who wants to hide me. If he wants me to wear his jersey to games, he will have to make me more than just a fuck buddy,” you shrug.

Her lips turn downward into a frown, but she nods her head in agreement with you.

Very few people are aware of your relationship with Cregan. He’s a good guy with a big heart, the complete opposite of a fuckboy or a player. The main, if not only, reason why the two of you decided to keep things a secret was so you wouldn’t have to deal with the backlash from your brothers.

Cool air whips against your face, and tensions are high with only a few minutes left remaining of the game.

You watch on eagerly as Aegon pulls a move that is supposedly illegal, but the ref’s don’t seem to count it. Resulting in your brothers’ team winning the game.

You can’t help but wince as you watch Cregan rip his helmet off and make a beeline toward Aegon on the ice.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Aww,” your eldest brother frowns in response, “Run home with your tail between your legs!” he calls. Cregan grunts in response while the rest of Aegon’s teammates, Aemond included, howl maniacally like wolves. Making a mockery of Cregan and the rest of his team.

You roll your eyes at the scene and push your way out of the stands and through the crowd.

You pick at your fingernails nervously as you wait outside the locker room, refusing to enter until the remainder of Cregan’s teammates pass you by.

The smell of sweat fills your senses as you enter the abandoned locker room.

“Cregan,” you call, “baby?”

The locker room is quiet and dim. The only audible sound in the room is the faint buzzing of one of the poorly lit fluorescent lights.

Cregan is sat on one of the benches, his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. You reach your arms around him.

“Hey,” you offer, “for what it’s worth, you did great.”

“I’m just so fucking pissed off!”

Cregan’s deep voice echoes through the locker room as he throws his stick to the floor. As mentioned earlier, Cregan’s a stand up guy, but his temper is a force to be reckoned with; and nothing sets it off quite like losing a hockey game.

“I know you’re upset baby,” you state empathetically as you dig the pads of your fingers into his shoulders. An attempt to massage the tense tissue, he all but grunts in response.

“You wanna take it out on me?”

“What?” He asks in a deadpan.

“Your frustration … you should just take it out on me.”

Cregan raises his eyebrows at this but he takes no time to react. He stands up quickly, his thick frame hovering over yours before he shoves you against the lockers abruptly. Gripping at your chin with force, he demands you to open your mouth. You oblige and he spits directly down your throat, you swallow obediently with a content mewl as wetness pools at your center.

A pathetic “please” is all you’re able to muster out to him as he stares at you hungrily.

He takes a seat on the bench, tugging his uniform pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles in one swift motion, exposing his cock.

His calloused hands lift you onto his lap with haste. A shiver runs through your body as he yanks down your leggings and underwear in a quick swoop, causing you to hiss as cool air fans your cunt. It isn’t long before Cregan’s warm hand is cupping you, his fingers playing in your slick.

You want to cry out when he removes his hand from you but once his hands are at your thighs again, spreading you open, you feel the throbbing head of his cock prodding against you.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, egging him on, “come on, I said, take it out on me.”

A growl erupts from his chest as he forcefully spears you down onto his cock, filling you to the hilt. Your eyes flutter shut and you try your best to suppress a moan as he begins to split you open.

He continues with unrelenting thrusts while his grip on your hips only tightens, taking full control.

“Fuckin. Targaryen’s,” he says through gritted teeth, harshly slapping the swell of your ass. Your head snaps up as you glare at him disapprovingly.

“Obviously not you baby,” he coo’s reassuringly, running his fingers along the red handprint that’s forming, soothing the pain before kneading at the tender flesh.

“It’s just— Gods, do they fuckin’ rile me up,” he mumbles as both his hands make their way to your waist again, helping him thrust into you even harder.

“I know, baby, I know” you whimper, pressing your forehead to his as he continues to fuck into you at an unrelenting pace.

“But you know just how to make me feel better, don’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out as he perfectly angles his cock against your cervix.

“Yeah you do, this sweet little pussy is all I need.”

You can feel the tension building in your body at his words, your breath coming out in short gasps as he expertly moves inside of you.

His fingers trail down from your hips to your cunt again, sending hot waves of electricity through you.

His intense, grey, gaze never leaves yours. With each thrust, you feel yourself on the brink of insanity. Each drag of his length has you closer and closer to the edge.

Cregan moves with determination, his body pressed hard against yours as he takes you to new heights of pleasure. His digits finally find the apex of your thighs and pinch at your throbbing bud, causing you to gasp and arch your back.

Urging him on as he expertly works his fingers over your most sensitive spot. Each touch sends waves of pleasure through you. With one final pinch and a flick of his thumb, you’re cumming around him — gasping and trembling as the walls of your cunt tighten around his length.

His breathing comes labored and heavy, his eyes squeezed shut as he chases his own release. His own hips stuttered as he felt you continue to pulse around him. Unable to keep his composure any longer, he lets out a loud groan and spills himself inside of you, painting your walls with his seed.

“Fuckin’ Targaryen’s,” he drawls, this time his tone is filled with appreciation.

[vivalarevolution]

𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓞𝓴𝓪𝔂 𝓣𝓸 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓶 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓱

Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen Reader x Cregan Stark

Summary: War emerged from the shadows like an old friend, but apart from the war, there were also matters from the past that created new, unknown and dangerous affairs for her, so sinful and so forbidden. And this time she couldn't escape, getting trapped in between seahorse and a wolf.

A/N: A refreshed version of the story , that I really think is one of the better ones I've ever written. I hope you will like it , enjoy it and find it worth reading.

Please remember that english is not my native language, I do not use it on a daily basis, so mistakes can or will happen.

The work contains smut, so minors do not interact with it.

The north was cold, full of ice and snow, and the northern people were even colder. Their eyes gave the shivers, and the low and rough tone of voice made silence the only thing that escaped from the lips of strangers.

But he, Lord of Winterfell, though he seemed to be the same, was the opposite of it all.

Cregan Stark was a wolf in human skin. A man who could bend thousands with just a single glance of his gray irises. He was like fire itself, dangerous and burning under her fingers. He was vicious and wild, devouring her flesh every night, never being satisfied, always wanting more and more until there was nothing left to give.

-Cregan - she moaned into his neck, her nails creating patterns on his back that covered the old ones, not yet healed.

-Feels good, princess? - he purred into her ear, sucking on its lobe, only to kiss it after , feeling her soft skin become covered with goosebumps.

-Oh Cregan - she whimpered, unable to say anything else, repeating his name like a prayer.

The man grabbed her thighs in response, lifting her legs up, letting her ankles rest on his shoulders, gliding his lips over the flesh of her calves, moving his loins deeply and slowly, taking her breath away as she felt the head of his member kissing her cervix again and again ,mixing pain and pleasure together.

-It's so sweet...addictive when you say my name like a prayer - he murmured, lowering his face over hers, rubbing his lips against her full , soft and red, almost swollen ones - It only makes me want to devour you like a hungry wolf and make you mine forever.

-Yes, yes ... only yours - she whispered ,tangling her fingers in the man's brown hair, pulling them again and again, trying to touch his lips, even for a moment - Oh Cregan, please, please! - she moaned directly into his mouth, her lavender irises covered with a robe of crystal tears, threatening to flow out.

-How can I say no to you ,my little dragon? - Cregan asked, moving his hips so brutally and animalistic, contrasting with the controlled movements of his hands that pinned her to the bed, commanding her to take everything, not letting her escape - Take everything I give you, that's right, good girl - he growled like a hungry enraged wolf, making her fall apart before his eyes.

Woman felt as if something had crept into her veins and made her body a shell filled with lust and desire, nothing more. Her muscles went limp, almost non-existent, and her eyes closed embraced in a soothing darkness.

The man's hands were still moving, marking her skin with an electrifying sensation that made her open her eyes, to open her mouth and let his tongue out, to let the wolf prey.

-Cregan - she said quietly so that the only one who could've heard her was the man she mentioned - Kiss me, kiss me again.

Brunet bowed his head, brushing her soft, delicate lips with his, fulfilling her wish.

-You make me a hungry man. Never wanting to stop, never going to stop - he murmured, tasting her again and again, mixing their breaths together.

-No... don't say that - she moaned, feeling his hands on her sensitive breasts, trying to recapture the bit of consciousness that began to ebb away with each movement of his fingers and each kiss of his hot lips.

-That's the truth. I could never lie to you, I can only tell you the truth when I look at you - he panted, attacking her once flawless neck, which was now full of red marks and bites - You have bewitched me, my body and mind and I can't lie. No matter how much you want to hear a lie from my lips.

You have bewitched me. My body and mind.

Those words, she's heard those words before. They echoed in her head, only to sink to the bottom of her stomach, creating a knot so unbearable and painful that she wanted to scream and cry in pain.

-We are enemies...out there, we are enemies to each other - she remarked listlessly, focusing her violet eyes on the snowy window.

-Yet here we're lovers. In my arms you are my beloved, not my enemy - he replied directly to her ear, tenderly kissing the left side of her face.

-When I return to King's Landing and announce the decision of Lord of Winterfell...you will become ... only an enemy - she confessed, after a moment leveling her eyes with him.

Cregan stared intently into her pupils, black as the abyss, drawing him in.

-You are the bane of my existence. And the object of all my desires. Night and day, I dream of you - the man announced and the woman knew every word was sincere, every blink of his grey eyes ,every breath taken during his confession - So when you come back I'll be on the other side fighting to tear you away from the clutches you were born into but didn't want to live. You will be my lover my princess, never my enemy.

Days later, their conversation seemed non-existent. However, in truth, she was forgotten and hidden deep in the darkness by a woman who did not want to remember it, preferring to live in the bliss of unconsciousness. But life was cruel and was not about to let Y/n Targaryen rest, stabbing the princess's heart with long thorns of memories that flooded her like a flood as her eyes saw a familiar figure and heard a voice she once adored.

-I came here as a messenger, not a warrior - he announced and the woman didn't even know who these words were addressed to, for what purpose they were uttered but she didn't care, all she wanted to know was whether it was an illusion.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

It seemed to her that he was standing so close to her, even though in truth he was so far away, but his brown eyes still spotted her in the darkness that surrounded her, no matter how much she tried to hide in it , no matter how she was trying to escape him. He caught her anyway ,right under the noses of the old gods.

-Let go of me - she said as his arms wrapped around her, trapping her inside of them.

-What are you doing here Y/n? Why are you here? - he asked, looking at her, his hands tightening on her body as soon as she moved harder than before.

-I'm delivering a message from my brother. Just as you doing with the message from your mother, my sister - she confessed, looking at him.

Jacaerys released her as if her words were burning, but he didn't let her go. Caging her in the form of his eyesight and body that blocked out everything but him, forcing her to focus only on the young man before her.

-Why? - he asked calmly, sounding almost hurt.

-Why? - she repeated his question, not understanding the meaning of his words, not when they were both now standing on opposite sides of the barricade as enemies - We are at war Jacaerys. There is too late to ask questions , too late to think what if.

They both fell quiet abruptly, letting the silence creep in between them, devouring them from the inside out , and none of them said anything, only staring into the eyes of the other.

-I know this war is real but I don't want to believe that in this war you chose your brother... instead of me - he confessed surprisingly quietly, surprisingly coldly.

-What was between us... it was just an illusion we lived in - Y/n replied, feeling the lump in her throat grow as her heart throbs with pain and her veins flood with anger.

-We decided to love each other - said the brunette, getting closer to the girl, more and more - It was a choice, our choice - he whispered, running his fingers along her cheekbone.

-But it was your choice to make me a woman you could love in the dark but never in the light of day. You've made promises to me before, and like a fool, I believed them. I won't be your fool again - she said firmly, pushing his hand away from her face.

-It was never my intention - he confessed quietly, trying to match her gaze, but she ran away every time - I wanted you, only you.

The white-haired woman shook her head, not believing any of his words and not wanting to listen further.

-Yet you swore to marry Baela. In front of my eyes you chose her over me - Y/n gritted her teeth, voice as cold as ice - Where was your love then, where is it now? There's a woman waiting for you, a woman who have feelings for you, and you're chasing the one you can't have.

Instead of answering, Jacaerys unexpectedly pinned her to a tree behind them, his body clinging to her like a puzzle piece, and his own hands wrapped around the hers.

-I'll always choose you - he announced, inches from her face, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers.

-Don't say that - she whispered, finally leveling her gaze with him - Don't say that. Don't say that, becasue I didn't ask for it. I didn't ask to be plagued by these feelings.

Y/n felt her heart being torn in half, allowing the memories to creep in. But then she remembered the gray irises that soothed her soul, gave her the longed-for oblivion, the hands that protected her and the voice that put her to sleep in the middle of the night.

And yet, she was no longer able to keep everything Jacaerys had once been to her, who he still was - a lover, a rock, a soulmate.

So she let it all in, let the pain tear her from inside, making her throat burn from how much she was forcing herself not to cry, and her eyes glazed almost like glass.

Brunet wanted to touch her, comfort her, but he let her escape from his embrace, letting her disappear into the depths of Godswood. Unaware that Lord Winterfell had been watching their close interaction, revealing a secret he was never meant to discover.

The night came quickly, and in the night came coldness that attacked every bone in her body. But the truth was that it wasn't the cold that was causing it but the feelings that hadn't left her for hours, taunting her.

Her lavender-colored eyes stared at the wildly dancing flames that warmed her face, giving it an orange glow, while one hand lazily glided between the fires until the door to her chamber swung open, causing her to be plucked from the ocean of thoughts, returning to the surface ,to the reality.

Cregan watched her like a wild wolf, wild as well as great, towering over the passage, blocking her only escape route.

With a look that said he knew. He knew something.

-The past can be painful - she said, her face was emotionless, but her eyes hid all the secrets that were in her - Love comes and goes like a gust of wind or a wave on the sea. I believe you know it, you loved and you lost... - she noticed reminding him of the woman who once held his heart, now she was its owner.

-We both loved and lost - he said, approaching her agonizingly slowly - And we both found love where we didn't want to look, in the arms of another - he added, kneeling in front of her, cupping her chin with his hand, stroking the smooth skin of her face with his thumb - But you my dragon , you have the opportunity to regain something that was once taken from you. I will never have that opportunity.

She wished meaning behind his words was unknown to her, but when her eyes saw Jacaerys standing by the door, hidden in the shadows just like she had been so long ago, looking at her as intensely, as passionately as he had during their affair, she knew her secret ceased to be a secret and became the truth that came to light.

-What if I don't want to? - she asked, looking straight at her nephew, wanting to see how he would react to her words - What if choosing the past makes me lose you? - she remarked more quietly, shifting her violet eyes to Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan looked at the younger brunet but it was only a moment, as if there was no need to talk between them, as if everything that was happening was planned.

-I saw your pain. I don't want to see it ever again - he announced, stroking the skin on her cheek, but her eyes still expressed uncertainty, hesitation - It's okay to love something you can't explain, it's okay to love us both princess.

-Just say the word - Jacaerys whispered right into her ear, and she turned her face towards him to almost meet his full lips in a kiss, surprised that he was right behind her ,without her knowing.

Y/n felt like she couldn't breathe, like something had crushed her lungs, preventing her from taking a breath, but as soon as she let out the first words, everything let go, the ropes were cut and the walls fell down.

-Never leave me again - she said to the boy before connecting their lips in a deep, longing kiss, tangling her slender fingers in his thick, dark curls.

She could feel the closeness of Cregan on her spine as he slid the white fabric of her nightgown off her shoulders, brushing her hair from her neck to kiss the skin in the hollow of it. His mouth was hot and possessive, completely different from Jacaerys's soft ones.

The northerner's hand slid down her body, engulfing her womanhood hidden behind the thin material of her underwear, making her whimper into her second lover's mouth as Cregan's rough fingers slid between her legs.

Y/n tried to focus on her breathing as two pairs of hands freed her from her clothes, soon to be kneeling naked between them, feeling vulnerable as their gaze devoured her.

-So wet - Lord of Winterfell muttered, playing with her puffy folds, coating his fingers in the juices that spilled from inside of her.

-So sweet , just for us - Jace said, sliding his hand down her neck, resting his lips on her jaw, planting sensual kisses there.

-Just for you ,both of you - she whispered, feeling herself falling into a state of blissful erotic drunkenness.

-You'll gonna feel us for weeks in your little pussy - Cregan added, slipping his finger into her center , rubbing against her bum.

The younger man kissed her again, his hand still on her neck, squeezing it every time she took a breath into her lungs, while the northerner continued to assault flower of her womanhood, making her leak on her inner thighs. Her abdomen burned with lust.

-You'll be good to us, won't you? - Jacaerys panted heavily into her mouth.

Girl nodded, no longer able to find her voice. Her toes curled from how close she was , how close she was to be pushed over the edge, but just as she was about to fall, all movements stopped.

-You won't cum until we say - Cregan said with a trace of malice in his voice, licking her juices from his fingers - You've been hiding your affairs form both of us. You deserve a punishment.

Both men stood up as she sat on her knees, naked before their eyes, letting them savor the sight of her fair skin.

Her attention was focused on Cregan while Rhaenyra's son was busy with his pants.

Her hand slid up and down his erection, squeezing him here and there , while her thumb stroked the vein on the side of his thick member and  the head, smearing his precum to use as lubricant.

-Aren't you forgetting something little dragon? - Lord of Winterfell asked with a low growl, forcing her to turn to Jacaerys. His manhood, erected, pointed directly at her red lips, waiting. Its top shone with a transparent substance and Y/n leaned closer to lick it while her small hand continued to run along Cregan's shaft.

Taking Jace into her mouth, she pressed her tongue against his member as he slid down her throat. His long fingers tangled between her white curls, pulling at the roots just enough to make her whimper softly, and the vibrations traveled through his shaft to his spine, causing his head to drop with a groan.

-Just like that, good girl - Cregan murmured, her stomach jumping at his words and her chest spread with warmth.

Her thumb traced slow, enticing circles around the northern man's head before she slipped the other lover's member out of her mouth, focusing now on the wolf, kissing the tip of his manhood and licking it from the base. She felt his body twitch under her fingers as she swallowed him, running her hand over the part she couldn't reach.

-You're doing so well my love - Jacaerys praised her, pressing her head into Cregan's member until she choked.

When the young woman felt she was no longer controlled by the hand on her head, she pulled away from both men, taking in air into her lungs, panting breathlessly.

-Come on princess, let the wolf get a taste - the older brunette said, reaching out to pull her up and then kiss her as she stood in front of them.

The kiss was messy, wild, making her cheeks covered in saliva and precum.

-On the bed - Jace broke the kiss abruptly, grabbing the nape of her neck to make her look at him, slapping her left asscheek and striking it again as he felt her soft body tremble at his touch.

-Spread your legs, little dragon - Cregan said, standing beside the prince while she lay down on the furs in front of them - Show us what is ours.

Y/n propped her legs up on the bed, opening herself up.

-Play with yourself - sounded the next command and the girl didn't even know who said it, being clouded with desire.

A finger glided up and down her wet and swollen folds with ease, and her body quickly began to tremble as she ran it over her clit, circling the sensitive nub.

-Put those pretty fingers inside your pussy - came the next words, in a low and menacing tone that sounded almost animal-like.

Moving her hand down to her center, she did as she was told. Her hips met the movements of her hand as she moved, trying to find her sweet spot, meowing miserably every time when she failed.

-Faster - Cregan said - Come on, show us how pretty you look when you cum.

Playing with her like this, telling her what to do with her burning womanhood made her cum with tears in her eyes, and a feeling of her legs shake intensely. And before her senses could have return to her, Jacaerys laid down next to her, pulling Y/n against his warm, muscular body for her to wrap her legs around his waist in response, pressing her breasts against his chest as his big member rubbed against her puffy clitoris.

-I need to feel you around me - he murmured, grabbing her hips, rubbing her against his manhood, watching her release drip onto his shaft.

At the thought, the young woman could feel her walls tightening and her heart involuntarily jumping into her throat. And when he entered her, stretching her walls that he almost tearing her apart, it made her moan loudly, burying her face in his neck.

Cregan, however, gave her no time to adjust to her other lover, unable to help himself as her femininity struggled to take the prince all inside her, leaving a ring of white ,creamy substance behind.

Y/n felt the bed sink behind her, and soon the northernman's member entered her wet ,tight canal, leaving her breathless. Mixing pleasure with pain.

-You're doing so well , my good girl - said Lord of Winterfell, kissing her bare shoulder blades, covering them with bites and red marks - You taking us both so good ,aren't you? Your sweet pussy was made for us - his voice, though low and dangerous, trembled here and there as her walls tightened around the two members.

Her face was wet with tears and saliva as they mercilessly pounded her cervix. Their hands were all over her body, holding her in place as they feasted on her body, and all she could do was moan and mewl, taking everything they were giving her.

-She's so drunk on the feeling - Jacaerys said, watching her expression , when his lips weren't attacking her skin.

-It's so easy to break our little dragon - the older brunette added, pushing his hips out, grabbing her bum - But she looks so beautiful when she's broken, making me never want to stop.

Woman felt her body flooded with a wave of hot flames, which made her walls tighten, stopping their movements almost completely, making both of them, unable to stop themselves, and cumming deep inside her, filling her to the full, while a pleasant familiar warmth flooded her lower body, flowing from her after a while, which made her tremble, falling helplessly onto Jacaerys' torso.

The smell of sex filled the air like an intoxicant that possessed their minds that were already clouded with lust.

And so the seahorse and the wolf feasted on the white-haired dragon. Over and over and again , never wanting to stop.

[darkficlord69]

Cregan Stark x Fem!Wife!Reader

Title: Northern Duties

Summary: Set during the harsh winter months in Winterfell, you find yourself caught between your growing affection for Cregan Stark and the responsibilities that bind him to his people. The snow might be cold, but the warmth of your bond with the Warden of the North is undeniable. Yet, even love has its challenges in the unforgiving North.

Warnings: 18+ implied, fluff, angst

Word Count: 3k

***

The winds howled outside Winterfell’s thick stone walls, sending icy drafts through the narrow corridors. You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself as you made your way through the dimly lit hallways, the torchlight casting flickering shadows against the rough-hewn walls. It was always cold in the North, but this winter was different—harsher, more unforgiving.

It was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and refused to leave, no matter how many layers of furs you piled on. But the cold was the least of your worries. What concerned you more was the way Cregan Stark had been distancing himself, his attention consumed by the growing responsibilities of ruling the North.

You had come to Winterfell months ago, part of an alliance forged between your family and House Stark. The marriage had been arranged, but that didn’t mean it was without affection. Cregan was a man of honour, kind in his own way, and though he was often reserved, you had grown to love him. His quiet strength, his dedication to his people, and the way he would steal glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking—it all endeared him to you. That, along with his muscled form, his big heaving chest and his even larger…forms.

But lately, the distance between you had grown, like an icy ravine that neither of you seemed able to cross.

You found him in the Great Hall, hunched over a table laden with maps and letters. His dark brown hair was tousled, a few stray strands falling into his eyes as he studied the documents before him. The fire crackled in the hearth, but its warmth seemed not to reach him.

“Cregan?” you called softly, stepping into the room.

He looked up, and for a moment, the hardness in his gaze softened. “Y/N,” he acknowledged, though his voice was tired. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

You offered a small smile, crossing the room to stand beside him. “You’ve been here all night.”

“There’s much to do,” he replied, his eyes flicking back to the map of the North spread out before him. “The winter is harsh this year, and there are reports of wildling activity near the Wall. I need to ensure that the North is prepared.”

You nodded, understanding his concerns. “I know the North is your priority, but you can’t neglect yourself in the process. You need rest, Cregan.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll rest when there’s time.”

“There’s never time,” you countered gently. “Not if you don’t make it.”

He finally looked at you, really looked at you, and you saw the exhaustion etched into his features. His grey Stark eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were dulled by sleepless nights and the weight of his responsibilities.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, reaching out to take your hand. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the chill in the air. “I’ve been distant.”

You squeezed his hand, the simple gesture conveying all the words you didn’t need to say. “I know you have responsibilities, Cregan. I just… I miss you.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a rare moment of vulnerability. His embrace was firm, reassuring, and you let yourself melt into it, savoring the warmth and the sense of safety it brought.

“I’m here now,” he said quietly, his breath warm against your ear. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

***

The next few days were a blur of preparation and planning. Winterfell was abuzz with activity as Cregan and his bannermen worked tirelessly to ensure the safety of the North. The long nights you had spent alone were now filled with strategy meetings, and the brief moments you did manage to steal with Cregan were often interrupted by matters of state.

It was frustrating, watching the man you loved slip further and further away, consumed by the weight of his duties. You understood that Cregan was doing what he needed to do, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

One evening, after yet another day spent in solitude, you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. Wrapping your cloak around you, you ventured out into the courtyard, seeking the comfort of the Godswood. The heart tree stood tall and ancient in the center of the grove, its red leaves stark against the snow-covered ground. You knelt before it, hoping the Old Gods might offer you some clarity.

The wind rustled through the branches, carrying with it the faint sound of footsteps. You turned to see Cregan approaching, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” he said softly, coming to stand beside you.

“This is where I come to think,” you replied, turning your gaze back to the heart tree. “When everything else feels too overwhelming.”

Cregan was silent for a moment, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. “I’ve failed you,” he said finally, his voice heavy with regret.

You looked at him in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been so focused on my duties, on protecting the North, that I’ve neglected you,” he admitted, his eyes fixed on the heart tree. “You deserve better than that.”

You shook your head, reaching out to take his hand. “Cregan, you’ve been doing what you need to do. I understand that. But we’re supposed to be in this together. You don’t have to bear this burden alone.”

He turned to face you, his expression conflicted. “I don’t want to burden you with my worries.”

“I want to share them,” you insisted. “Isn’t that what marriage is supposed to be? A partnership?”

Cregan’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, you saw just how deeply his responsibilities weighed on him. “I never wanted to drag you into the hardships of the North. I wanted to keep you safe.”

You stepped closer, cupping his cheek in your hand. “I chose to be with you, Cregan. That means accepting everything that comes with it, even the hardships. I want to be by your side, no matter what.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned into your touch, his hand coming up to cover yours. “I don’t deserve you.”

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Then it’s a good thing I get to decide that, isn’t it?”

Cregan let out a soft chuckle, the sound easing some of the tension between you. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if you were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “We’ll get through this, Cregan. Together.”

You kissed him then, and all the snow in the North could have melted underneath your blazing passion.

***

Winter continued its relentless grip on the North, but things between you and Cregan began to change. He made more of an effort to spend time with you, to include you in his plans and decisions. It wasn’t always easy, and there were still moments when the weight of his responsibilities threatened to pull him away, but you faced those challenges together.

The nights were the hardest. When the cold seemed to seep into every corner of Winterfell, it was easy to feel isolated and alone. But Cregan was always there, his presence a steady reassurance in the darkness.

One particularly cold night, you found yourselves curled up together in front of the fire in your chambers. The flames crackled and popped, casting a warm glow over the room as you nestled against Cregan’s side. He had his big arm around you, holding you close as you shared the warmth of the fire.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” you asked, your voice soft in the quiet of the room.

Cregan smiled, a rare, genuine smile that lit up his usually serious features. “Of course I do. You were so nervous, you could barely look me in the eye.”

You laughed, the memory bringing a warmth to your heart that the fire couldn’t match. “I was terrified. You were so… intimidating.”

“And now?” he asked, his tone teasing.

“Now you’re just my big cuddly bear,” you teased back, earning a mock-scowl from him.

“I am not!” he protested, but there was no real heat in his words.

You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. “Perhaps…”

Cregan’s expression softened, and he leaned down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. It was slow, tender, and full of the love that had grown between you over the months. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the space between you.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, the words like a warm breath against your cold heart.

“I love you too, Cregan,” you whispered back, your voice full of the emotion you felt.

For a moment, there was nothing but the two of you, wrapped up in each other and the warmth of the fire. It was in these moments that you felt most connected, when the world outside seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you and the love that had blossomed despite the hardships you faced.

But like all fleeting moments of peace, this one was interrupted by the harsh realities of your lives.

A sharp knock echoed through the chamber door, and before you could respond, the door creaked open. One of Cregan's most trusted bannermen, Lord Karl Umber, stepped inside, his face drawn with concern.

"My lord," he began, his eyes flickering briefly to you before returning to Cregan, "There are urgent reports from the Wall. A large band of wildlings have been sighted moving south. The Night's Watch fears they might be preparing for an attack."

Cregan stiffened beside you, the tension returning to his body in an instant. The warmth between you evaporated, replaced by the cold reality of his duties.

"I'll be there shortly," Cregan said, his voice hardening with resolve.

Karl nodded, sparing you another brief glance before retreating from the room. The door shut behind him with a heavy thud, leaving you and Cregan in silence once more.

He didn’t move immediately, his arm still draped around your shoulders, but you could sense the turmoil inside him, the pull of duty warring with the desire to stay by your side.

"You have to go," you said quietly, breaking the silence. It wasn't a question, just a simple statement of fact.

Cregan exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your hair. "I don't want to leave you."

You smiled sadly, your hand coming up to rest on his chest. "I know. But you have to."

His jaw clenched, and he pulled you tighter against him as if he could somehow keep you safe by sheer force of will. But you both knew the truth. The North needed him. The Wall needed him. His people needed him.

And as much as it hurt, you understood that.

"I'll come back to you," he promised, his voice low and fierce. "I swear it."

You nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. "I know you will. Just… be careful."

He leaned down to kiss you again, this time with more urgency, more desperation. It was a kiss that spoke of all the things he couldn’t say, all the fears and hopes and unspoken promises that lingered between you.

When he finally pulled away, you saw the determination in his eyes, the strength that had first drawn you to him. This was the man you loved, the man you had chosen to stand beside, no matter how difficult the road ahead might be.

"I'll be waiting," you whispered as he stood, already feeling the cold settle in as he moved away.

Cregan paused at the door, his hand resting on the frame as he looked back at you. There was a weight in his gaze, a depth of emotion that he rarely let show.

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed through the room.

You sat there for a long time, staring at the door, the warmth of the fire slowly fading as the reality of his departure settled in. The silence was deafening, the emptiness of the room a stark contrast to the moments of warmth you had just shared.

It was always like this, the fleeting moments of happiness overshadowed by the looming specter of duty. But that was the life you had chosen when you married Cregan Stark, Warden of the North. You knew the challenges that came with it, the sacrifices that had to be made.

And you would face them, because you loved him. Even if it meant spending more nights alone, waiting for him to return to you.

***

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no word from Cregan. The cold seemed to grow harsher with each passing day, the snow piling up against the walls of Winterfell as the winter deepened.

You threw yourself into the tasks that needed to be done, helping where you could, overseeing the stores of food and supplies, and ensuring that the people of Winterfell were cared for. It was the only way to keep the worry at bay, to keep yourself from imagining the worst.

But at night, when the castle was quiet and the cold crept in through the cracks in the stone, you couldn’t help but think of him. You wondered where he was, if he was safe, if he was thinking of you. The loneliness gnawed at you, a constant ache that refused to fade.

One particularly brutal night, when the wind howled like a wounded animal and the snow fell in thick, suffocating waves, you found yourself in the Godswood once more. The heart tree stood silent and ancient before you, its red leaves stark against the white of the snow. You knelt before it, your breath visible in the frigid air as you silently prayed for Cregan’s safe return.

The Old Gods didn’t answer, but the peace of the Godswood offered some small comfort. You stayed there for a long time, until the cold seeped into your bones and forced you back inside.

When you finally returned to your chambers, you found that sleep wouldn’t come. The bed was too empty, too cold without Cregan beside you. So, you sat by the fire, staring into the flames as they danced and flickered, your mind drifting to memories of him.

It was in the early hours of the morning, when the fire had burned down to embers, that you heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor. At first, you thought it was just another servant, but there was something about the tread that caught your attention. Something familiar.

Your heart leapt in your chest as you hurried to the door, flinging it open just in time to see Cregan striding toward you, snow clinging to his cloak and boots. He looked exhausted, his face gaunt from the cold and the weight of his responsibilities, but he was alive.

"Cregan," you breathed, relief washing over you in a wave so powerful it nearly brought you to your knees.

He didn't say a word as he reached you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him, of leather and smoke and the biting cold of the North.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. There was nothing to say that could truly capture the depth of your relief, the joy and fear and love that warred within you.

Finally, Cregan pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "I'm home," he said simply, his voice rough with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded, unable to find the words. You leaned into his touch, your heart swelling with the sheer joy of having him back, of knowing that he was safe.

Without another word, he kissed you, a fierce, possessive kiss that spoke of all the things he couldn’t say. It was a kiss that promised he would never leave you again, even if you both knew that wasn’t a promise he could truly keep.

When you finally broke apart, you rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling in the cold air between you.

"I was so worried," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"I know," he murmured, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. "I'm sorry. I never meant to make you worry."

"You can’t help that," you replied, your hand resting on his chest where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. "Just… don’t leave me for so long again."

"I won’t," he vowed, his voice full of the promise he couldn’t make. But you believed him, because you had to. Because that was the only way to keep going.

You spent the rest of the night curled up together in front of the fire, talking quietly as the flames warmed the room. Cregan told you of the battles he had fought, the wildlings they had faced, and the toll it had taken on him. And you listened, offering what comfort you could, even as your heart ached for the burdens he had to bear.

But he was home now, and that was all that mattered.

As the first light of dawn crept through the window, you finally allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that Cregan was there beside you. The North was harsh, and the winter was long, but with Cregan by your side, you knew you could face whatever came your way.

Together.

---

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[jacaeryssworld]

sea salt and snow

pairing(s): cregan stark x fem!manderly!reader

genre: fluff

word count: no clue, just started writing on here & couldn’t bother to transfer it to a google doc/document

warning(s): arranged marriage, heavy on the childhood friends to lovers trope, cregan being a lovesick fool for reader (as he should!), short but sweet! (lowkey hate this & might rewrite it later)

note(s): i need this man so bad 😫

Your Mother loved to remind you that your blood ran thick with sea salt and sand. How the very turbulent ocean outside the castle walls was apart of your very being. Seeped into your system when you were still just a babe in her womb. She continuously reminded you to be proud of the house you came from, of the surname you carry. And you were, very much. Except that was doing nothing for you at the moment as you shivered and shuttered at the numbing cold Winterfell always had. Being of sea and sand brought you no warmth while in the halls of the most freezing castle you’ve ever been in.

The Stark family was a close friend of yours, the history going back since the establishment of Winterfell. So, it wasn’t anything new—the cold that is. Yet every time you went back, you found yourself chittering in your boots and quivering from the cold. But that was something you needed to get used to as you’d be staying in Winterfell for the foreseeable future.

“You’re practically shaking like a leave, darling,” a deep voice chuckled out, scaring you out of your stupor as you jumped.

“Gods, Cregan! You nearly scared the soul out of me!” You exclaimed, hand over your racing heart as you tried to slow it down from the fright.

Cregan Stark laughed, gently apologizing as he took the hand over your heart up to his lips, placing a barely there kiss on the chilled skin.

“Why don’t we go to somewhere more warmer, my lady” he suggested, wrapping your hand around his bicep, gently dragging you down the corridors to the library where he knew new kindle had been added to the burning fire in the fireplace.

You rolled your eyes in kind, huffing as you spoke: “There is no need. I must get used to the cold anyway if I am to stay here for the remainder of my life”.

Cregan and you had been betrothed since you were both ten and three, being friends way before that, frequently traveling to each other’s home to strengthen the bond. But just recently had it been decided that you were to stay there permanently as the wedding was just a few moon cycles away.

“I would like to marry you before you turn into an icicle. Plus, you’ll have time to get used to the snow and cold over time. You do not need to put yourself through this in order to get a head start. You could possibly get hurt,” Cregan responded, rubbing his thumb on the hand that rested on his bicep.

A small smile crept onto your lips, blushing at the fact that he said he’d like to marry you. “Well,” you started, “we must hurry then. I’m afraid if I stay in this cold any longer I will certainly freeze”.

Cregan grinned widely as he tightened his grip on your hand ever to slightly, chuckling at your words before speeding up his pace.

“We can’t have that now can we?” He mused.

“No, we can’t. Plus, I’d haunt the halls of Winterfell for eternity if I froze to death on your watch”.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, my Lady”.

And with that, a woman from salt and sea felt her entire body warm at the man from snow so carefully guided her into the heated library, love ever present in both of their expressions.

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part iii)

a/n: on today's episode of Stark Fluff, resident kook Claere visits the Wall and witnesses Northern justice, and lovestruck Cregan tries to learn Valyrian and gets jealous of the Crows

Summer snow in the heart of the North was a season of unyielding cold, where the land itself seemed to freeze beneath a heavy mantle of snow. The sky hung low and grey, reluctant to grant even a sliver of sun, while the wind howled through the stone walls of Winterfell, a biting reminder that the North held no mercy. Amidst the deepening frost, something warmer had begun to take root between Cregan and Claere Stark—an affection borne not of grand gestures, but of small, intimate exchanges that spoke louder than words.

For all her quietude and mystery, the Lady of Winterfell was in no way lacking in depth when it came to reciprocating care for her husband. She offered him a token of her trust, a fragment of her homeland—an elegant Valyrian steel dagger, its hilt wrapped in dragonhide, studded in jade, smelted from the ancient jewellery passed down from her grandsire, the king. She placed it into his hands one evening, her eyes averted, as though the act was more personal than she could bear.

"For your protection," she had said to him.

Concealing his astonishment, Cregan weighed the weapon between his hands and gave the dagger a twirl, deliberately exaggerated, flipping it neatly in the air and catching it with ease.

"A fine gift, princess. For my protection, is it?" Cregan asked, letting his tone take on a mischievous lilt. “But what if I prick my finger on it? Will that not cut me down faster than any enemy blade?"

Her eyes barely twitched, the ghost of a smile, though she quickly composed herself. "'Tis a poor fate to befell the Warden of the North."

Cregan grinned, clearly not deterred. "Ah, but think of it, princess. The songs they’d sing. The tales they'd spread. ‘Here lies Cregan Stark—felled not by sword or spear, but by his own sweet wife’s kindness.’"

He flourished the dagger once more, this time pretending to struggle with the spin, catching it just before it slipped from his hand. Claere’s eyes flickered, the faintest hint of something like amusement crossing her face, though it vanished almost as quickly as it came.

Cregan's grin widened as he gave the dagger one final twirl, his eyes sparkling with mischief. In a sudden, fluid motion, using her distraction as his upper hand, he reached out, grabbing Claere by the waist. Before she could react, he spun her around with stunning grace, pulling her close and setting the blade gently against her side.

Claere's violet eyes widened, not in fear, but in something far more difficult to decipher—curiosity, perhaps, or a faint tremor of excitement. The blade hovered against her ribs, cool and sharp, though Cregan wielded it with such care it felt more like a caress than a threat. The space between them had all but disappeared, the heat of his body pressing against hers.

“If anyone here requires protection,” he teasingly murmured, his breath warm against her ear, “it’s you. Not me.”

Her gaze stayed steady, unfazed, though the faintest flutter in her breath betrayed her. He never realized that her silvern hair was perfumed, a sweetness he could not pinpoint, maddening. Her posture remained unmoving and composed, slender hands grasping at his blade-bearing forearm.

“You think me vulnerable when I command the greatest strength in Westeros,” she finally said, her voice as calm as ever, though there was a hint of challenge beneath her tone.

He leaned in closer, the edge of the dagger still digging into her snug bodice. “Unless you mean to run to your dragon like a scalded little cat, princess. You cannot always hide behind your beast.”

Her lips parted as if to speak, but the words seemed to catch in her throat, her breath shallowing in the shared tension of the moment. The fire crackled softly in the background, the room growing still as Cregan’s grip on her waist tightened ever so slightly. How he was sorely tempted to close the last of the stretch between hem, to let his lips brush against the softness of hers until the cold North cannot separate them.

“And what of you, my lord?” she asked.

"What of me?" he breathed out.

"Can I run to you instead?"

His breath caught, and for a moment, the bravado melted away. He lifted the dagger, its hilt resting gently beneath her chin as he tilted her face to meet his gaze. His eyes, so often hard and stern, softened as he took in the sight of her, so close, so strangely unknowable.

“Always,” he promised, his voice barely audible.

It was said that the dagger gleamed proudly upon his sword belt the very next day, brandishing his gilded Valyrian glory like the dragonlords themselves had left their mark on him—no less intriguing than the woman he had married. It was a turn for the better in the northern lord. A man once shaped by duty and honour, hardened by the unforgiving land he ruled, Cregan knew how to lead, how to fight, how to protect. But Claere, with her violet eyes and sweet secrets, had changed him in ways not easily seen. She hadn’t softened him or drawn him from his duties—no, she had subtly unravelled him, like a thread pulled from tightly woven cloth.

Where once his thoughts had been consumed by Winterfell and its people, now they often lingered on her. And in thinking of her, he had begun to find a balance—between the weight of his responsibilities and the stirrings of something far more dangerous: the pull of his heart.

One cold morning, Cregan was in the yard, overseeing the training of new recruits, the frost-covered ground crunching underfoot, when the call came from a council member.

"A raven from Castle Black, my lord," the maester said, holding out the sealed scroll.

His brows were drawn in concern, and that alone set Cregan’s teeth on edge. Taking the letter, he broke the black wax seal with the direwolf sigil, his eyes scanning the missive. He read swiftly, his face hardening with each line.

"A matter concerning the Lord Commander?" He folded the letter and faced the concerned maester. "A dispute among the men, perhaps. He says something is amiss."

"Might you take Lady Stark with you to the Wall?" the maester suggested, hesitant.

"To the Wall..." he muttered, his thoughts reeling.

The idea of taking Claere to such a desolate, dangerous place—so far removed from Winterfell, from everything familiar—felt like madness. He couldn't picture her, with her quiet reserve and mysterious nature, fitting in among the men of the Night's Watch.

His jaw tensed further. His tone was sharp, almost defensive. "What use would she have there?"

But the maester held firm. "Lady Stark has already decided to fly her dragon beyond the Wall to hunt," he said, his voice measured, though a hint of concern lingered. "It may be wise for you to accompany her. The timing is fortuitous, my lord."

Cregan sighed, his chest tight. He had known for days now that this moment was coming, that Claere’s choice was set in stone. That beast had been restless for weeks. And Claere herself was determined to venture north, beyond the Wall, to hunt in the frozen wastes.

"It is inevitable," Cregan said quietly, more to himself than the maester.

His eyes darkened as the dragon's immense shadow soared above their heads just then, buffeting out a terrible gust over the castle, Claere riding high on Luna's back, disappearing into the clouds. He didn’t have a choice. This was unavoidable.

"Then we shall go together," he relented at last, his voice low.

X

The wind was biting as they rode north on their harrowing three-week journey to the Wall, their hot breaths visible in the morning air. Cregan rode beside Claere, their horses galloping in sync while the guards followed at a deferent distance. She had abandoned any appeals to ride in the warmth of a wheelhouse or even take to the skies on her dragon and fly ahead, preferring instead the unforgiving saddle at his side, in the cold. Though no one had questioned it, Cregan alone understood the motive behind her choice.

She wanted to be here—with him. The stillness between them was comfortable, the cold air nipping at their faces, only broken by the rhythmic sound of hooves crunching through the frozen ground. Cregan’s heart warmed beneath his layers of fur, his eyes briefly catching hers before returning to the path ahead. She wouldn’t ask for more, but in choosing the saddle, she had said enough.

It was not something Claere would ever say aloud, nor would she offer explanations, but he knew. Subtly her gaze lingered on him longer than necessary or the way she matched his horse's trot, never too far ahead or behind—there was charming purpose.

Claere tilted her head, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "You’re pronouncing it wrong again," she murmured, her tone soft but teasing.

"It was practically an echo," he defended.

"Say it again."

Cregan huffed, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth as he tried to repeat the phrase she had just taught him. Never in his life did he imagine he’d be learning High Valyrian on the way to Castle Black.

"Ānogar hen... zouldrīzes," he said, his Northern accent weighing down the syllables.

"Gentler. High Valyrian is spoken like silk, not iron. Here—" Her voice dipped into that fluid, irresistible cadence as she repeated the word. "Zaldrīzes."

He looked at her, taking in the way her wind-tousled hair framed her face, the subtle curve of her lips as they formed words from a language older than his line. She was still a mystery to him, but moments like this—when her guard was down, and they shared something as simple as language—felt like a step closer to understanding her.

"Ānogar hen zaldrīzes," he repeated, mimicking her softer tone this time, coming closer to her lilting precision.

"Much better," she nodded, her lips curving ever so slightly, the closest thing to a laugh he had coaxed from her in days. She had a way of teaching him that made it feel like time slowed, patient and unhurried, as though there were no wars, no winters to come.

Cregan shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. "What the hell am I even saying?"

"Blood of the dragon," she replied simply.

He leaned in closer, his breath fogging in the cold air. "Go on. Teach me something more than that, something to certainly impress my fussy lady wife."

Claere’s cheeks pinkened slightly, though whether from his words or the cold he couldn’t tell. Her gaze lingered on his, the briefest flicker of mischief in those violet eyes as she seemed to consider his request.

"Sōnar māzis," she said at last.

"Sōnar māzis," he repeated, his Northern tongue struggling with the softer syllables, but he managed it with a proud grin. "And what might that mean, then? Did you just tell me to fuck off?"

Her faint smile deepened, her eyes glinting as she glanced at him beneath her hood. "Winter is coming."

Cregan raised an eyebrow, a hearty laugh bubbling out of him. "Impudence. So you’re teaching me my own words now?"

Her lips twitched, her gaze betraying a rare hint of humour. "I am only fulfilling my lord husband’s request."

"Well, your lord valzȳrys appreciates your patience," he said, the High Valyrian word for ‘husband’ falling from his lips with surprising ease.

Claere’s eyes twinkled with quiet amusement as she looked down, biting the inside of her cheek, though the smile lingered.

Cregan couldn't help but feel lighter. Even in the gruelling cold, the relentless wind cutting at their faces, there was a gaiety to these moments with her that made the journey easier to bear.

The road stretched endlessly before them, each night colder than the last. They stayed in small inns along the way as shelter—meagre tents were no place for a princess to stay in—tough dwellings where the air reeked of smoke and old ale, where the beds were too hard, and the cold seemed to seep into the shallow bones despite the hearths. Cregan had taken to having his men lock their chambers from the outside, an order issued firmly. It was not the home Claere knew, not Winterfell, not the strange, lonely halls where she roamed at night without restraint, eyes glazed, her body moving with a will of its own as if pulled by unseen strings.

And tonight was no different.

Cregan awoke to the soft thud of her knuckles rapping against the door, over and over again. The sound was soft at first, a gentle request. Please. He opened his eyes to the dim glow of the dying fire in the hearth, the familiar chill pressing against his skin despite the furs piled atop him. Please go. The knocking continued, persistent but hollow, as if she was beckoning something beyond the wood.

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. Claere stood at the door, her silver hair tangled and tousled, her form almost wraithlike in the half-light of the room. She knocked again, her hand trembling. Please.

“Claere,” Cregan’s voice was hoarse from sleep as he swung his legs out of bed and rose to his feet. Again, and again, he thought in exhaustion.

She didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge him. She was lost in a dream. Her other hand rested on the door, her body swaying slightly as she mumbled something beneath her breath. It was a strange, disjointed whisper—words too faint for him to catch fully but they held an omen, a warning. He heard fragments.

The long night… shadows in the woods… they're coming...

His heart clenched, pity creeping up his spine. He hated to see her like this, trapped in some half-waking nightmare, her mind far away from him, from this place.

“Claere, come back to bed,” he called again, his voice softer as he crossed the room. When he reached her, he gently took hold of her hand, guiding it away from the door. She didn’t resist, but her eyes never fully opened, her lips still moving with broken words.

“It's coming for us, the cold dark,” she hummed a dire tune beneath her breath. “There is no light to flee to, no light.” Her voice trailed off, then her head lolled against his shoulder. "I need to see..."

Cregan’s grip on her tightened, his breath catching in his throat. There was always a touch of the uncanny about her, her Valyrian blood threading through her dreams like unclear rivers. The North held many ancient stories, and none of them were comforting. He feared these dreams were more than just the ramblings of a disturbed mind, feared she spoke of things deeper, older than he could understand. But he couldn’t let her drift further into the dream’s grip. Not here. Not now.

“Come, love,” he murmured, pulling her gently from the door and leading her back to the bed. His voice was calm, though his heart was pounding. “You’re safe here. There's no darkness. You're with me."

She didn’t oppose but obeyed him, her feet dragging slightly on the wooden floor as he guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. Her hands still trembled, her gaze distant as she continued to hum to herself.

“Winter takes them all. Ice… shadows in the snow… a frozen fire…”

Cregan sat beside her, his hands brushing the wild hair from her face. He forced a smile, blowing into her cold hands to warm them up between his. “The Long Night is far from us. You’ll see no shadows here. Only me.”

She was still caught in the web of her dreams, but his voice seemed to calm her. Slowly, her murmurs quieted, her head dipping forward into his chest as fatigue took hold. Cregan coaxed her softly, laying her back against the furs, tucking her in as if she were a child, her slender body looking far too fragile against the rails of the hard bed.

He sat there for a moment longer, watching her sleep, her breathing finally steadying. The firelight flickered nearby, casting long shadows over her pale face. His mind was far from at ease. Claere was no stranger to abnormal dreams, \but the words words she had spoken rattled him, more than he wanted to admit. It was as if the North itself whispered through her, the gravity of ancient things pressing down on her small frame.

Cregan ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. He despised this; containing her whims. But this was not home, these were unfamiliar lands, and the cold could swallow her whole if she were not mindful.

“Dreamy girl,” he whispered through a grin, though she was fast asleep. Wielding her languor, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, feeling the coldness of her smooth skin seep into his lips. He didn't want to pull away.

As they pressed on toward Castle Black, the weather only worsened—snow thickening, the path harder to tread. Their cloaks grew heavy with frost, and the icy air stung their skin. Yet through it all, Luna soared overhead, a silver cloud against the wintry sky, watchful and protective of her rider, as though even the beast understood that this journey required more than just fire and flight.

They rode side by side, close enough that their knees sometimes brushed, the subtle connection grounding Cregan as the world grew ever colder around them. Claere’s quiet presence had a way of making the stinging chill seem less wild, the wind less cruel.

At long last, after what felt like an eternity of braving the elements, the morbid outline of the Wall's ghost castles loomed ahead, the long gears of steel clanks running along the centre of the Wall that gleamed blue and crystalline in the sunlight. The miles-long, forbidding structure stood in stark contrast to the frozen wilderness, and Cregan felt a sense of grim duty settling over him once more. This was truly the edge of the world, and the sharp air seemed to echo that truth.

As they entered the courtyard through the hoisted gates, the Lord Commander, a grizzled, weathered man with a face lined by years of winter and duty, stepped off the barracks to greet them. His eyes landed on Cregan first, but they quickly shifted to Claere, widening in surprise. He had not expected to see her here. A Targaryen princess at the Wall was a rare enough sight, one they had not welcomed for ages, let alone the Lady of Winterfell. The presence of a woman, especially one so reserved and strange, stirred an undercurrent of whispers among the black-clad men watching from the shadows of the courtyard.

"Lord Stark," the Lord Commander greeted, his voice rough with age and the weight of command. His eyes darted again to Claere, his brows furrowing. "Princess… a surprise, indeed. Welcome to Castle Black."

"It's Lady Stark," Cregan corrected forthwith.

Claere remained the epitome of composure, her expression abstruse as ever, her violet eyes scanning the walls, the men, and the bleak surroundings. She was more out of place here than at Winterfell—there were no other women, and the Night’s Watch had not hosted nobility in quite some time, especially not one so mysterious, so… unflinchingly Targaryen.

Cregan alighted his horse, extending his hands to her waist in support, though Claere barely needed it. Her movements were nimble and deliberate. She landed beside him in a sweep of skirts, her gaze lingering on the Lord Commander for a moment before she offered him a slight curtsey.

"She is here to hunt beyond the Wall," Cregan explained, his tone casual though there was an unmistakable note of pride in his voice. "Her dragon will keep us company until our stay has ended."

The Lord Commander's lips tightened, his gaze flicking uneasily from Claere to the sky, where Luna circled like a silvern omen, roaring out deafening growls.

His gruff voice followed soon. "Aye, quite the companion. But, Lord Stark..." He hesitated, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, careful to keep out of Claere's earshot. "Taking a lady beyond the Wall, especially one unversed in the perils—it’s no place for her. Even my rangers can’t ensure her safety, with or without us. The risk is too great."

Cregan caught the underlying doubt, the old-fashioned notion that a woman, no matter her bloodline, had no business in the wilds. His jaw tightened, his grey eyes hard.

"My lady wife's mount is the White Dread," Cregan said evenly. "A dragon nigh as fierce as the one who scorched Harrenhal. Tell me again if you think she needs your rangers to protect her."

He stepped closer, his voice low and steady, but with the authority of the King in the North. "The decision is made. The Night's Watch may govern its own, but remember—these are Stark lands. These are my people. And my house honours the strength of all its kin."

The Lord Commander bristled but said nothing, merely nodding curtly. He understood the threatening significance of Cregan’s words—that the authority of House Stark in the North was conclusive, and any further protest would be taken as a challenge.

Cregan held his steely gaze for a beat longer before turning back to Claere, his hand relaxing protectively on the hilt of his sword. Luna’s shadow passed overhead again, a loud reminder of the strength she came bearing.

Claere remained silent, her attention focused elsewhere, though she could feel the stares around her. Cregan moved closer to her, his hand brushing her tensed spine in a modest gesture of reassurance, and though she didn’t react outwardly, he sensed that she took some comfort in it.

"Come along," he murmured to her.

As they made their way through the courtyard, the Night’s Watchmen continued to steal glances at Claere, awed and sceptical. But she walked beside Cregan with her peace, head held high as if she were oblivious to their scrutiny. He was accustomed to seeing this, it was the armoured expression she bore at home as well.

For all the severity of the journey and the stony welcome of the Wall, their moments only worsened. The Lord Commander had led them through the frozen courtyard, past the rookery, into another training square, towards a group of scruffy, tired men bound at the wrists. The air hung uneasily with tension as the three accused were lined up, their heads bowed beneath the weight of their crimes.

“They were caught plotting desertion into the wildling lands,” the Lord Commander grumbled to Cregan, his breath clouding in the cold air. “The punishment is death. We serve justice swiftly here, my lord, as you know.”

Cregan nodded, though his thoughts immediately drifted to Claere, who stood quietly by his side, her gaze already fixed on the bound men in the yard. She was observant, her violet eyes missing nothing, but Cregan wondered how she would react to what was about to unfold. Being a Targaryen, she was no stranger to violence—King’s Landing had certainly shown her enough of that—but this was different. The North demanded a harsher brand of justice, one that came without the pomp and ceremony of the South. Here, the punishment was raw and prompt.

His stomach tightened at the thought of her watching him carry out a beheading, especially so soon after arriving. But this was the North, and this was the way of things.

The Lord Commander’s eyes slid toward Claere, his tone lowering, a trace of something biting in his words. “You ought to carry it out soon enough. Thought it wise to inform you, seeing as you’ve brought your lady wife.”

There was an edge to his voice that didn’t go unnoticed by Cregan. The man was testing him—his pride clearly still stung from their earlier exchange—and now he was trying to make a point as if to say, You think she’s up to the task? Let her see the real cruelties of the world you boast of.

Cregan’s jaw tightened. He wouldn’t allow Claere to be disgraced in this way, nor would he let her be forced into witnessing something she wasn’t prepared for. But now that the challenge had been laid out, she could not very well step aside. It was a calculated slight, designed to unsettle them both.

Claere, however, made no indication that she had picked up on the tension. Her composure remained unshaken, her eyes briefly meeting Cregan’s before flicking back to the prisoners.

“The sentence will be carried out. We will see justice here tonight,” Cregan announced firmly, his voice collected, though a flicker of dread ran through him.

He glanced at Claere once more, his heart hammering beneath his furs. The Lord Commander might have forced his hand, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t protect her where he could.

The men to be executed were brought forth, their faces hollow with fear and resignation. The bound prisoners knelt before the chopping block, their breaths coming in fast, ragged puffs. The yard was eerily silent, all their dreading regards turning to Cregan as he stepped toward them.

But before he took his place to offer the verdict, Cregan turned back to Claere. There was a moment of hesitation in his gaze as he approached her, brushing a gloved hand across her arm in a subtle gesture. She turned her head slightly, her violet eyes meeting his in quiet question.

Without a word, he nodded toward his men, issuing a silent command. They understood him immediately. Two of his loyal lads stepped forward, their movements discreet, and gently led Claere a few paces away. Not far, but enough that her line of sight would be slightly obscured.

She didn’t protest, but she didn’t look away either. Her gaze remained focused, though Cregan could sense her tense scrutiny. She wasn’t afraid, that much was certain, but he wondered what she truly thought of the disparity between the judicious world of her ancestors and the brutal pragmatism of the North.

With one final glance toward her, Cregan turned his attention back to the condemned men, snivelling out pleas of mercy. Of words to be sent to their families.

His voice rang out over the yard, presiding over the murmuring men of the Night's Watch, commanding and final.

“Let it be known that your brothers have been found guilty of desertion and treason. By the laws of the North, and by the vows they swore, their lives are forfeit.” He inhaled a sharp breath, addressing the doomed men now. "I, Cregan of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

The greatsword, Ice, glinted in the faint light of the yard, ready to deliver the mandate. Cregan lifted it high, the significance of the act pressing on him as it always did. He had done this plenty of times before. This was justice, and justice had to be done, but knowing that Claere was nearby, even out of his sight, made it feel different this time. He couldn’t explain why, but the feeling sat with him, solemn as Ice in his hands.

With a swift, practised stroke, the sword came down three times—with no leave—and the courtyard returned to its stern silence. Blood had strewed a good foot onto the frost, lifeless heads toppling and rolling off the blocks.

Cregan exhaled a long one, the tension slowly bleeding from his shoulders. He would have to shrug it off once again, take it like a king. Soon, the men's lopped bodies were gathered up to be torched in a lonesome procession.

When he looked up, he saw Claere watching him. Though she had been pulled back, her violet eyes lingered on him, as if mulling over what she had seen. He couldn’t tell if she approved or not, but in her inscrutable way, she didn’t seem disturbed. She simply was—a stillness in the storm.

After a moment, she gave him a slight, affirming nod, a gesture so small yet somehow momentous. Whatever had transpired between them, it had not shocked her.

But Cregan’s thoughts dimmed as he glimpsed the Lord Commander, who gave him a thin-lipped smirk of approval. He had gotten what he wanted, though it left a bitter taste in Cregan’s mouth.

As he sheathed Ice, his fingers brushed the Valyrian dagger Claere had gifted him. Soon her own gentle touch replaced it, having come to his side, sensing his apprehension.

"I apologize for what you had to bear witness," he said, cautious and quiet. "Did you look away?"

She shook her head in a silent response. A miserable sigh escaped him, proven right.

Yet when she risked a glance up at him, her gaze was calm, not a trace of concern there. "Your apologies go in vain, my lord. Justice is the same, no matter where it is served."

He hovered his hand near her cheek, aching to touch her, to find solace in her presence. But just as quickly, he fisted and dropped it. His hands, stained with blood and burdened with the affliction of the life taken, had no right to reach for her. Not now. Not when the bloodstained steel still lingered in his grip.

"Go," he muttered, stepping aside to make room for her. "Get warm. The captain will see you to your lodging."

Claere lingered for a heartbeat, her gaze fixed on him, wariness flickering in her eyes. But without a word, she complied, turning away and heading towards the wooden barracks, her form disappearing into the shadows of the dimming day.

X

The morning was bitterly cold, the early rays of sun barely cutting through the thick frost clinging to the stone walls. Inside the mess hall, Cregan sat at a long wooden table, surrounded by his guard and the timeworn members of the Night’s Watch. Plates of thick, greasy meat and stale bread were passed around, the clink of mugs and the low murmur of conversation filling the room.

Cregan stared at his plate, sleepless thoughts drifting back to the bloodshed of the night before. After that, Claere had been inconsolable, more jittery than usual, her sleep broken by quiet mumbles that filled their chamber, moaning and somnambulating once again, striking at the bolted door.

The Wall—its archaic, frozen weight bearing down on them—seemed to beckon her. It ground at her spirit, pulled at her, leaving him helpless beside her. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the cold, endless stretch beyond was reaching for her, trying to draw her into its depths. All he could do was watch.

He had watched over her, lain awake, unable to rest. Every time she cringed and whimpered, he reached out, touched her face, and soothed her back to silence. But it was no use. Even in sleep, she was not at peace. All his strength meant nothing before her, not when the battle was in her mind.

The meal before him—charred meat, stale bread—was untouched. He speared a piece absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on the door. The hall grew quieter as Claere entered as if answered upon his call, her presence commanding the room in a way only royalty could.

She moved with an effortless grace, her dragonrider’s leathers of red and gold clinging to her like a second skin, a vivid flame against the bleakness of Castle Black. She was a fire in the heart of ice, a sight too bright for this grey, cold place.

It gnawed at him, the way they looked at her. Vows or not, they were still men—tempted, starving. He saw it in their eyes, the way they shifted, attempting not to stare but failing. Claere was unlike anything they had ever seen, no Northman’s daughter draped in modest furs or woollen layers. She was a dragon, forged in fire and blood, a queen among crows.

He hated it. Hated how they dared to want what was his. A furious wish flickered in him then. Let them see her as she truly was, as he sometimes did—the unnatural, quiet woman who spoke to shadows and sang her cruel songs. Let them think this radiant, untouchable creature mad. Better that than desire. Better fear than the thought they could ever have her.

He turned back to his plate, though the food had lost all appeal. His hands itched with the urge to reach for her, to pull her closer, claim her in a way that would leave no doubt in their minds. But he restrained himself.

She approached Cregan, her path instinctual. Without a word, she sat beside him, her hand reaching for a piece of bread—the only food she could stomach amongst the heavy, greasy fare. As she tore a small piece, a slight grimace creased at her brows. It drove all those farcical feelings of envy right out of his mind.

"Luna causing you too much trouble?" he asked, trying to make his tone light. He carefully unhusked a boiled egg and placed it beside her bread, pushing his little glass of goat's milk before her.

She poked her knife at the egg, as though she was too drained to even slice the egg herself. "I was too wearied to ride her this morning."

Cregan’s eyes flicked over Claere, her words lingering as they sat in the dim hall. He could feel her taut exhaustion, even if she masked it beneath her calm demeanour.

He felt a knot twist tighter in his chest. "You barely slept last night, and neither did I."

"Unfamiliar country," she reasoned.

He sighed, grazing his hand over her warm cheek and hair. Her sleeplessness was clear in the pallor of her cheeks, the faint circles under her eyes.

"I admire your resolve endlessly. There's no need to compel yourself, princess; and certainly no need to go chasing shadows and omens. It's not worth it."

Her eyes flickered—barely—but the ghost of a smile touched her lips, fleeting and strange. "You sound like her."

"Who?"

"My delirious mother."

He exhaled hard, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. "I fear losing you to whatever it is that rips at your mind. Past here, is a vast unknown. The world is dangerous enough without stepping into places best left forgotten."

Claere looked at him, her violet eyes undisturbed but faint. She was quiet for a moment as if considering her response carefully before she cut into the untouched egg on her plate.

"I am quite fine with danger, my lord. I have faced plenty under the guise of my uncles." Her words were barely louder than a breath, but there was a firmness there.

He would not have one bit of this. Cregan’s grip tightened on her hand, trying to ground her to the moment, to bring her back from whatever obscure force she felt. His gaze searched her face, looking for a way to persuade her otherwise.

"Please," he said; almost pleading. Would that not be a sight to behold, a begging Stark.

Her gaze lowered briefly, her fingers brushing his knuckles in a small, almost tentative movement.

“I know I’m not strong, not like you are,” she murmured, her voice meek, but unyielding. "But I must see what lies beyond. I feel it too keenly to ignore. It will not let me rest."

X

Cregan loomed atop the Wall, the winds cutting through his furs and coat of plates, but his intentions never wavered. His grey gaze tracked as Luna, immense and white against the grey sky, ascended higher and higher from the snowbound plains beyond Moletown.

He followed them, unblinking as Luna triumphantly soared overhead, without putting up much of a fight. The sheer size of her—vast leathery wings cutting through the air—was enough to make the ground beneath him tremble with an almost deafening rush of wind. He could almost sense her fire on his skin, a living furnace against the winter. Her wings stretched wide, casting a shadow that nearly engulfed this portion of the Wall whole, even the cold, old skeleton was dwarfed by her presence. The men around him were silent, awestruck, but Cregan’s focus was fixed solely on Claere. All he could think of was her—Claere, commanding that immense beast, a mere speck on its back, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, flying into the unknown, facing it all.

Until they became no more than a shadow against the vast expanse of the wilderness beyond. His jaw clenched, eyes squinting against the wind, every muscle tense.

"Perhaps it is best if we leave the vigil to the scouts, my lord," the captain suggested.

He tossed him a vague smile. "Aye, it would be."

The hours crawled on, the cold biting deeper as Cregan remained rooted to the lookout post, eyes fixed on the horizon. The guard and the Watchmen lingered nearby, wild and tense, but none dared to speak. The only sound was the occasional distant roar of Luna, carried on the wind like an augury. It was a sound that rattled through the Wall, but it gave no answers. Was she hunting? Fighting? In peril? Cregan could not tell. His mind conjured images of Claere lost in the belly of that icy void, surrounded by darkness from her dreams, beyond even the dragon's protection. His jaw clenched against the rising panic—he couldn't show it, not to his men, not to himself. Yet every minute stretched thin, a tightness growing in his chest as the sun slipped toward the horizon, casting the Wall in long, threatening shadows.

At last, as the sun bled into the sky, they finally saw it; both victorious rider and steed.

"Dragon!" someone yelled, out of the blue.

Cregan looked up from the little furnace that warmed his gloved hands, ardent grey eyes observing the skies.

Luna’s silver wings broke through the golden skies, finding the light, and cutting an immense curve against the darkening clouds. The dragon’s landing sent a gust of frigid wind over the Wall, roaring out a rattling growl, her claws digging deep into the ancient stone. Cregan exhaled out a visible gust of air, the breath he'd been holding in for a long time as Claere nimbly dismounted, scarcely before Luna was lighted. She moved without hesitation, her steps measured, calm—but her face was pale, and there was a strange detachment in her eyes.

Powerless to his dying reign, Cregan strode to her, his heart pounding, hands shaking as he drew her into his arms. The relief was almost agonising as it flooded him like some forgone part of him had clicked itself back into place. He caught her chin to press kisses wherever he managed; at her hair, nose, brows, and cheeks; even that did not sate him.

"Claere."

Her name was breath on his lips, but she remained still in his arms, her gaze distant, as if her body was here and her mind elsewhere. He grasped her tighter, embracing her empty face to his neck, unable to stop the trembling in his hands. She was safe, unharmed, but it felt like a hollow victory. Something was wrong.

“Nothing,” she whispered, so faint he would've missed it. “I saw no one. There was nothing.”

Cregan pulled back, searching her face. He had expected triumph, or maybe exhaustion—but not this. Her words hung between them, cold and hollow. Did she see something out there? Something too terrible to speak of? Or was it worse—was it the absence of anything that disturbed her?

“Nothing,” he echoed, unsure of what to say, but his voice trailed off as she finally met his gaze.

And then, softly, for the first time, between chattering lips and falling darkness, she spoke his name. Time and stars could've condensed into nothing, it could not stand to compare.

“Cregan,” she murmured, her voice fragile, her eyes unfocused. “I want to go back to Winterfell. I want to go home.”

The words struck him harder than any blade. She had never called it home before, never spoken his name with such tranquil verity. In all her shroud of menacing whispers and oddities, she was his. And now, in her own way, she was telling him that he was hers, that Winterfell was hers.

He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek, overwhelmed with a fondness he had seldom regarded before.

“We’ll go home, love,” he promised, his voice hoarse.

But even as he held her, felt her warmth, a part of him sensed that whatever she had seen—or hadn’t seen—had shaken her deeply. Yet she had crossed the Wall and succeeded where her own ancestors had failed. Her name would go down in history, forever bound to the White Dread. But she seemed only depleted as if the cost of that victory mattered more than any glory could lift.

Claere leaned into him, following intuition, her face buried in his chest as if seeking solace from the emptiness she had found. The mysteries beyond the Wall had not revealed themselves to her, and now, all that was left was to return to the warmth of home. The closest to that was her husband.

He laid a kiss over her braids, holding her close, and whispering, "Let's go home."

X

omg i figured out taglists:

@pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @piper570

thank you for your sweet comments! there's more to come <3

[damn-stark]

Chapter 10 Heart of Ice

Chapter 10 of Moonlight

A/N- I was giggling and kicking my feet tehehe ;)

Warning- some swearing, talks of miscarriage and death, ANGST!, FLUFF, mild NFSW, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x01

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There it is, standing so tall that it looks like it’s touching the sky. It’s mesmerizing no matter how many times you’ve seen it, and it never fails to steal your breath.

Yet the wall is at its prettiest when it weeps when the sun hits it just as it rises from the ground. Right now all it does is bring forth an icier chill as the wind blows, making you hold onto your cloak for warmth.

You can only imagine how Jacaerys is fairing, this is his first time at Castle Black.

“How are you holding up?” You make sure to ask your brother as his eyes stay stuck on the towering wall.

“My balls are about to freeze off,” he makes no effort to talk properly in front of you, nor do you remind him to.

You smile at him and look at him with a soft endearment only reserved for those you deeply cherish. “It will be worth it, I promise. I cannot wait for you to see it,” you muse and cup his shoulder.

Jacaerys finally takes his eyes off the wall and meets your gaze with such a warm smile that it’s capable of melting the thickest sheets of ice.

“It better live up to everything you have said,” he remarks lightheartedly, making you drop your head to laugh softly at the ground.

“It will pass your expectations,” Cregan interjects as he finally rejoins you and leads the way to the lift that looks a bit unreliable, but all the people at Castle Black use it, and you have survived after using it so, you walk in. Slowly of course, and you don’t dare pay too much attention to the sounds it makes as it starts moving Jacaerys, Cregan, and you to the top.

“You know,” you take the attention of the rackety noise. “Perhaps one day I will send one of my children over here to take up a role as guardian of the wall.”

“Is that so?” Cregan probes.

“One of your seven?” Jacaerys jokes and you laugh softly but don’t take back what you said, catching him by some surprise.

“It’s a rare thing for a Targaryen or Velaryon to come be a brother of the Night's Watch,” you explain your thought process to the curious men. “But we are the families the people look up to. I mean I understand the sacrifice, but I believe that for us to have a good relation with the North, and for us to protect our realm against what may be out there, we too should be here with a dragon or two.”

Cregan briefly meets your gaze and hides well those emotions you stir up inside since your brother is standing at his other side, but he doesn’t stay quiet, he takes a deep breath before he parts his lips.

“You are right, the sacrifice one must commit is great, but duty is sacrifice,” Cregan begins to say. “It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price. The North owes a great duty to the Seven Kingdoms, one older than any oath. Since the day of the first men, we have stood as guardians against the cold and the dark. Through its long tradition, the Night's Watch cultivated its strength from doomed men who had their life as their only possession. But my ancestor, Torrhen Stark began a tradition by making an offering at the onset of winter; one in 10 men from our household was to be chosen to fortify the Watch. This is not a sentence but an honor. A duty embraced by all who serve the North. Even by mine own kin. Thus I respect your decision, My Princess.”

He talks so well that even these long comments captivate you, and that’s hard to do because you get so easily bored.

“The North must stand ready,” Cregan adds without losing a breath. “Winter is coming.”

“Coming?” Jacaerys interjects. “What is this, then, that falls from the skies and shivers my bones?”

You roll your eyes away and scoff softly.

He thinks he’s so funny.

“This is only a late summer snow, my prince,” Cregan says something he’s already mentioned once before. “In winter, it will cover all you see and all memories of warmth will be forgotten.”

You look through the gaps on the wooden walls but the lift then shakes so you step back and stand closer to Cregan.

“It pleases me to think that over a century ago our ancestors treated in this very place,” Jacaerys mentions with a lighthearted look on his face. “The Conqueror and the King in the North.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought and the history the Starks share with your ancestors. It’s so bittersweet. But it’s all so corny of Jacaerys to say, he sounds just as infatuated as you.

You would tease him, but now doesn’t seem like the time so you just smile wider to yourself.

Cregan’s gaze wanders to you after your brother's words, and you share some of that sweetness with him because regardless of it all, you are happy Jacaerys expressed his fondness for Cregan.

And when Cregan does see your smile some of that hardened demeanor melts.

“You, at least had the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon,” Cregan quips at your brother jokingly, leaving him silent until he queries.

“Did my sister threaten you with her dragon?”

Does he think of you as some wild beast or something?

Regardless, Cregan's eyes soften before he shakes his head and tells him what you did do. “No, but she did threaten to go over the wall and escape when she first got to Winterfell six years ago.” He says and tilts his head over to you, but you look out the window and shake your head.

“I was having a hard time adjusting,” you remind him. “And I did not end up going over the wall.”

“No,” he mutters softer as if speaking with admiration. “You did not.”

You lift your eyes off the icy wall and let yourself meet and hold his gaze with a soft look just until the lift finally lands on the top because when it comes to a sudden halt the wooden lift shakes, and you’re reminded why you hate coming to the top this way—You almost reach out to Cregan to keep yourself balanced and safe, but you stop yourself and just stand stiffly until finally he opens the door for you and your brother, letting you feel like you can breathe again when you’re on stable ground.

“My Prince, My Princess,” one of the brothers greets you while you slip your arm around your brothers to hold onto more warmth as the coldness nips at your skin.

“My Lord.”

“My Lord,” other brothers greet Cregan while he walks after you until finally he catches up and leads you to one side.

“Surely the great Torrhen Stark would’ve sooner died than bent the knee,” you chose to return to the previous topic as you watch Jacaerys’ eyes fall on every single detail you pass by. “Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Cregan nods. “You are right in that,” he agrees.

“That unity is now threatened,” Jacaerys goes on for you with another clever workaround to the subject at hand. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oaths sworn to King Viserys and to his rightful heir.”

Again you can’t help but be proud of the way he speaks. But you also know this second attempt won’t mend Cregan Stark’s choice.

“Stark’s do not forget their oaths, my Prince,” Cregan reminds him proudly. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between North and South.”

Jacaerys glances over at you with discreet disappointment, and you press him an, ‘I told you so’ look right back.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing,” Cregan strengthens his argument. “I need my men here.”

You swallow thickly as you come to a halt just under a post, and Jacaerys turns you around with him to pass Cregan a hard look that furrows his eyebrows. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne,” he remarks.

You grip onto him as a warning for him to calm down, but he doesn’t understand.

“If my mother is to defend her claim,” Jacaerys presses while Cregan guides all of you up the stairs. “To hold the realm united she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North…” Jacaerys trails off when he reaches the top and finally sees with his own eyes the never-ending land beyond the wall, the beauty that you promised, and what you could never fully describe in words.

He moves toward the end of the post and you let your arm slip off his to let him admire for himself the beauty and the mystery that is the North, and the freedom it holds in its cold wilderness.

You can now honestly say you know the pride Cregan felt when he first brought you up here because you feel it. You are not from here, but seeing your brother be so captivated by what’s beyond the wall makes you fill with excitement that you can’t put into words, you can just express it with admiration and awe in your eyes.

Cregan notices and admires you while your brother's attention is far away, and to his surprise, you feel his stare and return his soft gaze while you also let your gloved knuckles brush against each other as you let yourself be swooped up once again by the comfort you have been fighting to feel.

Yet you don’t let yourself get completely carried away, nor do you cross the line by letting your fingers touch, you keep your smile and join your brother's side.

“Was it everything you expected?” You ask before you’re brought back to the cruel reality.

Jacaerys laughs softly and nods. “It was everything you said and more…it feels like I could stay here and admire this forever.”

“It would get cold,” you joke, making him chuckle.

“It would be pleasant,” he murmurs.

You nod in agreement and dread returning to the sore subject, but you will lose yourself.

“I brought your sister, and my father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall,” Cregan finally rejoins your company. “His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it.”

Jacaerys snaps his head to you and probes for more. “Even adventurous Astraea?”

You look out and nod. “Yes. She perches herself on the wall but never once does she fly over, nor does she dare fly over just to turn. I tried to command her to cross but she disobeyed me,” you back up Cregan's argument and feel a chill crawl down your spine at the reminder.

“Do you think my ancestors built a 700-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” Cregan presses your brother in a colder tone that almost works to frighten you.

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan leans in closer to your brother and speaks one word. “Death.”

You swallow back nervously and share your uneasiness with your brother with a simple look that actually helps him let go of some of that tension and ignorance he held.

“I have thousands of graybeards,” Cregan finally offers and breaks the speechless moment between Jacaerys and you. “Who've already seen too many winters. They are well-honed.”

You loll your head to the side and snicker, while Jacaerys says what you were thinking. “So they’re old?”

“I can ready them to march at once,” Cregan assures him and you.

Jacaerys breathes out and accepts the offer. “If your graybeards can fight, the Queen will have them.”

“They will fight hard,” Cregan states with a hint of pride and some faint smugness. “Like Northerners.”

You glance over at him and catch that smugness on his usually serious face and you can’t help your heart from skipping a beat when he glances at you with the same look.

“My Lord,” a man calls for Cregan’s attention, making his face fall hard once again. “A ravens arrived.”

The man approaches the post breathing hard as if in a hurry and hands Cregan a scroll. “Urgent news from Dragonstone,” he announces, making you understand his urgency, and causing you to fall serious and nervous yourself.

But if it is bad news wouldn't it be sent directly to Jacaerys and you?

Maybe?

Unless—

You can’t let yourself think the worst, but you still share your worry with your brother before you watch Cregan unravel the scroll to read what the news is.

He doesn’t take long to read, but it feels like he is reading for eternity in the waiting silence until finally he puts the scroll down and meets your gaze. This time when you lock eyes your heart skips a beat out of worry instead of awe, this time a smugness doesn’t play in his eyes or tug the corner of his lips up, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is clenched like when he makes his face hard, but you can read him clear as day as you simply hold his gaze.

You can see the pity pulling his lips down, and a soft apologetic look in his grey eyes that makes them appear darker. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that what he read wasn’t a simple warning or a call home, they’re dark words that he almost but says.

You want to ask, he knows that, he sees your worry heighten in your furrowed brows and parted lips, so with a simple blink his face softens as he gives you sorrow, making your eyes immediately cloud with tears. While in the back, Jacaerys sees it, your shared past. He figures it out in the exchange that is far more complex than one friends should share, but it all makes sense now.

Your friendship always slightly caught his attention, it bugged him in some way. Not because he felt bad for Aemond that you were so sweet on another man, but all your interactions were always weird he just didn’t figure out why until this very moment as Cregan fails to look over at him after what he read, as he watches this speechless interaction and sees the deep aching softness on the Lord's face and a deep set heartache in your eyes.

He had only seen such a speechless complexity in his mother and Ser Harwin. He was too young to realize it then but as he got older he understood what happened around him, and doesn’t fail to understand now.

Yet as much as he wants to give into this anger he feels boil within him at the thought of Lord Stark taking advantage of you in your five years in Winterfell, the news that awaits him helps him stay collected. Thus he steps forward without causing a scene and finally, Lord Stark drives all the attention to him, letting him finally receive the scroll, and leave you waiting longer without focusing on Cregan any longer. Now you turn to face your brother as he reads what was sent.

Once again it feels like what was written is getting read at an infuriatingly slow pace, but now you’re not impatient to know. You’re scared to know or read Jacaerys' face now. But you keep your eyes on your brother and watch his jaw unclench and his lips part to let out a soft gasp, while his once steady hands begin to tremble, and his eyes…water.

“Jacaerys,” you almost plead his name out.

That anger he had at the waiting completely disappears and he slowly looks up at you with a loud and heartbreaking sorrow.

“Jace,” you mewl.

Said man licks his lips and sniffles before he grabs your arm and gently pulls you aside.

“Listen to me,” his voice quivers and only makes your heart race faster than it’s already beating.

“Is it…” you trail off to catch your breath. “A-Aerion?”

Jacaerys shakes his head and keeps in those tears that fill his eyes. “No, Aerion is fine,” he assures you but you don’t feel relieved.

“What?” You beg for an answer and reach for his hands, but he lifts them and tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“When,” he says shakily. “Lucerys was in StormsEnd, Aemond…”

You start to shake your head and his bottom lip trembles.

“Aemond killed Lucerys,” Jacaerys finally reveals quietly.

A cold breeze hits you and all that you had been feeling gets lost in the wind, leaving you numb.

Jacaerys calls your name but you stare ahead blankly. Theres nothing that crosses your mind, there’s nothing you feel that makes you react. You know it’s heavy and painful news, you knew they were dark words when Cregan told you speechlessly, but you can’t accept the truth that’s given. You don’t want to, you can’t because if you do then it means you will accept that your husband, the man you love…did what was written, and you don’t want to accept that.

However, Jacaerys calls out for you again and this time he grabs your arms and steals your attention, forcing you to once again connect to what you refused to feel.

“No,” you blurt and push him back. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

Jacaerys shows you the scroll as he gets close again. “You can read it yourself. It’s the truth, Lucerys…he’s,” he strains to say. “He’s…dead.”

Your heart drops and a flood of emotions rams through you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and making your legs weak.

Jacaerys grabs your arms and holds you up before you can fall and pulls you to him, letting you see how red his eyes are, and how drowned they are with tears he’s holding back.

“Jace,” you mewl and cover your mouth to sob.

Your brother nods in understanding without you having to express the rest of your sorrow. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

“Oh gods,” you gasp and drop your head while grabbing at your chest as you can’t seem to catch a breath. You can’t breathe. There’s so much air where you are, it’s so crisp but you can’t manage to take in any which in return only lets you feel the pounding of your heart, the rushing of your blood, and a rush of memories of your little brother Lucerys.

All you can think about is Lucerys, you imagine his last moments, and with every memory and every fake scenario the more you fail to grasp for air.

In the distance, Cregan watches how you’re breaking down, but no matter how much he wants to, he has to stay put even if it hurts not being able to help you when you need him the most. He does get close to trying something small since you are in so much pain trying to breathe, and your brother seems a bit lost on how to help you, but Jacaesys then does the first thing he thinks of and pulls you into an embrace.

Thankfully right away, at the feeling of your brother's weight, and at the feeling of his warmth, all those rushing memories slowly disappear, letting you draw in a deep breath. You pull him closer and bury your head in the crook of his neck whilst you wrap your hand around the back of his neck, and push his head down to let him bury his face on your shoulder so he can express everything he refuses to show to the public.

When he clutches onto the back of your cloak your heart comes to a slow pace, but it doesn’t stop weeping. With every ba-dum, you feel an aching pain in your chest that doesn’t go away.

Eventually, after a short time, Jacaerys pulls back and gives his back to Cregan to wipe away his tears before facing him with a sorrow that isn’t able to wipe off. “We need to go, my Lord. You’ll have to forgive us for not accompanying you back to Winterfell, but with our dragons here we need to make haste to return to Dragonstone.”

You grab at your chest and gently caress it as if that would cure you’re heartache while Jacaerys shares something you agree to without the need for a discussion.

Albeit Cregan is the one who protests. “It will get dark soon, why do you not wait until first light to take flight? Wait until you both have collected yourselves so you don't do anything rash in the heat of the moment.”

You shake your head and interject in a broken voice. “The storm won’t pass, Lord Stark. We’ll just face it head-on and leave, our mother needs us.”

Cregan steps forward, gaining a brief glance from you. “Just eat, and rest…I know the pain of losing a brother, I understand your grief, my heart is with you,” he tries to relate so you would listen. “I have lost many others too, I know the anger, please just let yourselves calm down before you return home. I will stay with you here.”

You know your brother too, you know how angry he can get. You know that once your grief really settles you’ll also start thinking of what happened and you’ll get upset too. Thus you don’t hurry to answer, you look at your brother and he looks at you. And without a word, you come to the same conclusion.

“All right,” Jacaerys says for the both of you. “We will stay, but leave at first light. Thank you, my Lord.”

——

*LATER*

Nothing makes sense.

Why? How?

Those questions are what runs around and around in your head accompanied by different terrifying scenarios that could’ve led to the act. A lot of it points to an accident, you want to believe in your heart of hearts that what…Aemond did was an accident. You don’t want to believe that this remorse got the best of him, he’s supposed to be better, he’s supposed to keep it in for your sake.

He knows how much you love your brothers, he knows he can hate them all he wants, but he can’t hurt them. And yes! You know that war was going to happen no matter what, and violence was going to be dragged in between your families, but Aemond went out of his way to…kill Lucerys when all he was was an envoy.

He killed your brother. Your husband killed your brother, and in turn, betrayed you in the worst way possible. He tore your heart out, and what hurts more is that he hasn’t said what he did in the multiple ravens he’s sent! Just like always, he never tells you a thing!

What are you supposed to believe, but the worst? You want to believe he’s good behind all that hard demeanor, you defend him against your family when they say something bad because you want to believe he has a good heart, but what does killing Lucerys prove? That you’ve been wrong all along?

Gods!

Damn it! Why did he have to do it? Why did he take Lucerys?

A knock raps on your door, but you’re so drowned in your heartache that you don’t hear the sound. It’s not until you hear your name being called out softly behind that door that you almost wake up from your stupor.

“It is I, Cregan,” he announces without the need to, you knew who he was the moment he uttered the first word. “Can I talk to you? You didn’t come for supper.”

You blink repeatedly to relieve the dry spell in your eyes after not blinking for a few seconds and clutch onto the ring you were fiddling with before you get up and unlock the door. You don’t proceed to say anything, you walk away from the door and stand against the fireplace, but Cregan takes the unlocked door as an invitation and walks in, finding your food untouched, you in your nightgown, and your head down.

“I came to check on you,” he says softly as if careful not to hurt you even more with his voice. When he gets no response or even a small breath, he walks in further and notices now how unkempt you are; you’re usually so precise with the way you keep yourself, you always look so clean and tidy, it was only in the morning when you first woke up that he would catch you off guard, but now it’s like you don’t care how you look.

“I hope you are not going to bed with your hair down like that,” he tries to be lighthearted. “You hate having your hair tangled in the morning.”

He waits for a reaction, a soft ‘oh’, but you stay quiet and it just deepens his concern.

“Darling,” he uses your pet name and you finally break from your stupor and turn partially to face him.

He expected a sweet look just out of instinct, but those usually wonder-filled eyes are clouded by agony and tears that can’t even fall down your cheeks anymore; while the fires fierce light brings clarity to your deep set frown, knitted brows, and puffy face worn out from crying.

“Here,” he breathes out and catches a gleam coming from in between your fingers. When he fills his curiosity he notices that the firelight is dancing on a sapphire ring you cannot stop fiddling with in between your fingers; a ring he had not seen you take off once since he saw you. Which must mean your husband gave it to you.

He doesn’t want to ask for many reasons, so he approaches you from behind and gently starts braiding your hair in silence you cannot seem to fill. It’s almost like there was no one inside your body, you were a hollow body left soulless.

“I understand why you locked your door,” he mentions in hopes that would get him a simple reaction. “However, it does not seem necessary, your dragons are restless and it stirs up fear in the brothers. And I am here as well.”

Your back raises as you draw in a deep breath, but rather than filling the silence with a dry response, or some remark, you just breathe out, making him steal a glance at the side of your face that he can see from behind you, before he pulls out the leather strip that keeps half of his hair out of his face to keep your own braid in place instead. He then proceeds to shuffle to your side to grab your arm.

“Sit down, Princess.” He commands softly.

You don’t fight him, you let him guide you down to your seat, and once he’s feeding the fire more wood your hoarse voice finally fills the room.

“I should have gone back to King's Landing…A—He sent me a raven the day after when my grandsire the King died. He didn’t tell me of course, but he told me to go back…I should have listened, I…” you pause to catch your breath. “Maybe then Lucerys…” you trail off and whimper whilst you drop your head in your hands.

Cregan leaves the last piece of wood in the fire and then wipes his hands on his shirt while he stands up to close the gap between you.

“Don't,” he says firmly and crouches down in front of you to grab your hands and pull them down so you can meet his gaze. “Do not blame yourself for your brother's death. What happened is not your fault to carry. What happened is dealt with, don’t dwell on things that can no longer happen.”

You hold his gaze while you process his words for a second and then look down at the ring you still hold.

“I’m sorry,” he says sorrowful words that bring your heart some comfort, but also make your body tremble while those tears that you once couldn’t muster, come rushing down your already stained cheeks.

Nothing else is spoken, and nothing is asked of either of you, but out of instinct your arms slip around his neck, and he returns the embrace and follows you to your feet where he keeps holding you and lets you cry on his shoulder; for hours? For a few seconds? You don’t know, you dwell in his comfort that you missed and relish in it until you stop crying.

He probably should have been the one to pull away, but he doesn’t complain, not once. He lets you pull back on your own time, and even then he grabs your arms to keep you close so he can cup your cheeks and caress them for a final piece of comfort to your aching heart.

Yet that proves to be a mistake because as you linger in his proximity, your eyes fall on his lips and you’re overwhelmed with a passion-filled heat that pushes your lips against his.

At first, Cregan is so stunned by the warmth of your lips on his, and then he’s taken by the excitement of feeling your lips reconnecting that he closes his eyes and kisses you back, but when his lust begins to rush through his blood he pulls back and groans.

“No,” he shakes his head and slides his hands down your face to grab your shoulders, leaving a burning trail down your skin. “You are married. No matter what happened you are still married, and you’re grieving.”

You want to forget your pain for a moment and be consumed by the comfort, bliss, and excitement he provides, but he’s also right. And how can you do that to Aemond…

But…

Maybe you don’t care if it hurts him because he hurt you. He won’t know either way—But you will know, you will know that it’s something that can hurt him, and you…don’t care. But Cregan…is right.

“I’m sorry,” you throw out and step away from him, feeling a chill hit those parts of you that he kept warm with his touch—“you are right. I’m sorry.”

Cregan turns away and swallows back thickly, feeling somewhat disappointed that he has to turn down this heat of the moment. “Perhaps I shall bid you a goodnight now.”

You swallow back to hide your disappointed sigh and nod. “Yes, goodnight Cregan.”

Said man avoids looking at you when he turns. It makes it easier to walk away from you. But when his hand touches the door handle he doesn’t turn it to open it, he stands there frozen with his back turned to you as he feels his honor start to slip.

He turns his head but doesn’t peek over right away, he fights himself but quickly falters when he feels the ghost of your wet lips haunting his. And when he fully looks back and sees the shadow of your sculpted figure in your white nightgown his inner battle is lost. He only proves his loss by locking the door and turning completely to face you, turning around as well.

“Cregan?” You query, puzzled by his presence.

Said man draws out a deep breath before he strides back to you with determination in his step and surprises you by grabbing your face the moment he can. You want to utter his name, but a small gasp is all that goes past your lips whilst you drop the ring that Aemond had gifted you.

“I pride myself in my honor,” he says while his eyes flicker between your parted lips and your shocked gaze. “But when it comes to you it’s turned to ash, nothing stops me from wanting you, from…” he trails off and leans forward, but you don’t allow your lips to touch. You shift your head away, but he follows you to keep your breaths unfurling over each other's lips.

“…desiring you in every way a gentleman shouldn’t. I burn for you when you’re far, and even when I dream of you. It is wrong.” He nods, and you nod too without much effort. “But you are my weakness, you have always been my weakness. You’re my joy, the reason I laugh, and also the reason I don’t march to King's Landing and bring you to Winterfell to make you mine,” he whispers against your lips, making a smile make an appearance on your saddened face.

“Tell me this is wrong, tell me to leave now,” he tells you and drags his eyes up to meet yours so you can know he’s being serious. “And I will. I will leave your chambers and when morning comes I’ll bid you farewell with no remorse and as nothing more than friends.”

As if being hypnotized to his lips you lean forward, but only let your lips brush, leaving your heart pounding as it screams for you to connect.

“I still have to leave,” you make it known while you gently cup his jaw to touch some part of him. “I have to return to Dragonstone no matter what.”

Cregan’s eyebrows pinch together and he hesitates before he nods. “I understand,” he mutters and glances at your lips again. “But that doesn’t change a thing if you tell me to leave.”

You should. You're still married even if Aemond betrayed you by killing your brother. And deep deep down a lot of your conflict comes because you don’t know if you did stop loving the man who killed your brother, but that reason is also why you want to give in to your deepest burning desire.

That reason is why you’re selfish and don’t resist Cregan or stop your heart from swooning at his confession.

“Don’t leave,” is all he needs to hear to smile widely before he finally feeds your desire by kissing you slowly, fueling that passionate heat that completely takes over your body, and leaving you still and breathless for a moment as you relish in the sweet taste of his soft lips melting with yours, guiding your every movement, and driving you mad with lust.

You had forgotten this dream-like feeling, you had forgotten how fast he makes your heart race when he’s kissing you, and you forgot how hot you burn when his fingers explore the perimeters of your body. Furthermore, you forgot how eager he can get until you feel his grip on the back of your gown.

You pull away quickly and protest. “No, no, wait, do not rip it.”

Cregan fingers loosen and you start to giggle. “Why do you always want to rip my gowns?” You bring up, making his lips lift to a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between heavy breaths.

You press a kiss on his lips and then tell him, “gently.”

He breathes out deeply and nods once before he slides his fingers back to the ribbon tying your gown together, and slowly begins to untie it while you drift your lips to kiss the corner of his mouth, and then kiss his jaw before you graze your lips up and kiss the corner of his jaw.

Cregan lets out a groan from the back of his throat, making you feel chills grow on your skin.

“I hate all these layers,” he musters while you continue to leave a trail of kisses down to his neck. “They are so infuriating.”

You smile against his neck, causing you to feel his nails dig in your skin.

“It keeps me warm,” you tell him and lick a stripe up to his lips. “Your North is cold, my Lord.”

Cregan clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “A little less with your presence,” he completely wins you over, making you grin and look at him in awe.

“I missed you,” he finally lets himself confess to you. “My darling love.”

You sigh and whisper back. “I missed you too.”

His eyes gleam brighter and that short absence is filled once again with your lips while he finally slips off your gown, leaving you under a simple sheer gown that he slips off with ease.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with awe, and his eyes dark with lust.

“It’s no fair,” you argue between kisses and slowly drag your hands down to help him pull off his layers. “And you say I wear a lot of layers,” you comment, making him scoff.

You finally end up pulling the last one off and throw it to the side mindlessly as you’re captivated by his toned torso and those thick arms that he unfairly hides under all those garments.

“Kiss me,” you command in a voice oozing with honey.

“Gladly,” is all he says before capturing your face to smash his lips on yours and this time make out more roughly as he’s filled with a much more hungry need.

Your own need lets you multitask by unbuckling his pants and tugging on them so he can pull them off in the brief pause you have between devouring each other. Yet when his member is out for you to see, you take a moment to admire how girthy and hard it is, and how perfect every vein is on his length.

You can’t help but start to go on your knees, but he grabs your bicep and pulls you back up to drift you away from that need.

“No,” he says out of breath and instead wraps his arms around you, and presses his lips on your neck to start leaving wet kisses on your flesh while he also slides his hands down your body, making you shiver at the feeling of his warm hands caressing you gently.

Without lifting his mouth off your neck he drifts his hand behind your knee, and with no explanation, he pulls your leg up to help you climb up and wrap your legs around his waist so he can walk you back to the edge of the bed, and gently put you down.

Once you’re lying on your back he pulls back but leans down to press his hands beside your head, and simply hold your gaze with this endearing look that makes his eyes smile.

“I'm going inside you,” he warns you, making you shiver and swallow thickly as you already imagine the stretch. “You need to be quiet.”

You part your lips but utter nothing, instead, you lift your head and he responds by giving you what you wanted, a deep kiss, while he grabs his length and aligns himself with your hole. When his tip touches you you gasp and he grins before taking your lips again to distract you while he slowly penetrates you.

Albeit the stretch is so wonderful and filling that you claw your nails on his back and scratch his back as he keeps going in deeper. Once all the way inside he finally pulls his face back to whisper. “You were made for me. You belong with me.”

You don’t respond with words, you cup his cheeks and brush strands of his hair behind his ears before you slide your hand to the back of his neck to gently pull him down. “Cregan make me yours,” you finally fill the silence, feeling as if his cock hardens even more before he finally starts moving his hips, filling you with a blinding ecstasy that heightens this passionate moment, and makes you only think about him and the pleasure he feels and gives you. You forget your sorrows and the grudge. You forget the war and the responsibilities you have.

You’re selfish in the lust-filled night and remain ignorant even before it's time to get out of bed. You just relish in Cregan's presence for a bit longer.

“Cregan…” you whisper, and the man hums in response letting you sigh before you share what’s been bothering you. “I do not like that I am the reason you disregard your honor. I do not like putting you through that.”

The hand on your back stops moving and a small huff rolls out of his nose. “I think it’s late to start thinking about that.”

You blink repeatedly with discontent and abruptly sit up to face him. “I am not jesting,” you press sharply. “I’m being serious. You hold your honor in high regard, I hate to be the one who makes it falter.”

A faint smile tugs on his lips without regard to your comment before he leans forward and assures you. “I have my honor, I never forget it, but I love you more. I’m being selfish without disregarding everything to be it. I know how to hold myself back,” he says firmly and cups your cheek to bring you closer to him. “I know where I stand, I am just choosing to have a taste of happiness. You, my darling, are my happiness.”

Your eyes water and your heart swoons, there’s nothing you can say that would measure up to the kind things he just said, all you can do is press a lingering kiss on his warm lips before you lay your head down on his chest, and hold onto him like he’s your security blanket.

“I…could offer you and your Aerion refuge here,” he offers and makes your pounding heart hurt.”

“Here? In Castle Black?” You tease without sounding too amused.

Cregan scoffs and starts to caress your arm. “Not here. In Winterfell,” he clarifies without a hint of falter at the mention of your son who is fathered by someone else who does bring him pangs of jealousy every time he remembers you’re married, and when he hears his name. “I would make sure no one could touch you and your boy there. He wouldn’t have to grow up around so much violence and you would not have to worry.”

You tilt your head down to kiss his shoulder before you give his offer an answer. “It's a nice offer, but my place is not hiding in a cage like some frightened bird. My place is out there, with my mother, with my brother, and the rest of my family fighting with the dragon I have. My mother needs me and I don’t want to leave her alone.”

Cregan doesn’t interject with anything, his chest rises and slowly falls back down, letting you know your response slightly wounded him.

“Instead of having her husband with her when she lost my sister,” you begin to say quieter but filled with frustration. “Daemon was out leading her council. I was the one who held her when she cradled my sister's lifeless body. I…have to be there for her now.”

“I understand,” he doesn’t falter to assure you. “But you must know if you ever find yourself needing somewhere to go, Winterfell is yours. You and your son are welcome.”

You lift your head off him to face him in the little space left between you. “I will always remember that. Thank you,” you say from the bottom of your heart.

A smile twitches on his serious face, and he proceeds to press a feathered kiss on your lips before he grins and says. “Sing for me? Just for me.”

You giggle and gently smack his shoulder. “No,” you answer bluntly and lay back down basically on him.

“Why not?” He chuckles. “It's not like you have to fear enchanting me with your song, you already have.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. Anyway!” You change the subject. “I was supposed to stop writing to you. I had already planned it.”

Cregan sighs and his chin rests on the top of your head. “I know,” he mutters. “You stopped writing as much as you would recently.”

Your smile falls but you grow desperate and hopeful. “But…you will answer me when I write to you in the weeks to come, right?”

He shrugs and interjects. “If that’s what you want, I will.”

You nod softly. “I do.”

You lift yourself up again to face him so he knows you’re being sincere. “I do.”

He grabs your cheek and his eyes soften. “Are you frightened?” He makes sure to ask.

You swallow thickly and shake your head. “No. Nervous, but not scared.”

He smirks and slides his hand down to caress your chin. “That’s my girl. You know how to fight, use that.” He tells you.

You laugh nervously. “I’ve never had to actually use my skill for violence.”

Your swordsmanship and your skills with archery were never for the intent of being some warrior, you like the idea of being like Queen Visenya Targaryen, and Princess Alyssa, but mostly your need to be trained with a sword and with archery was because you took it as a challenge. They said you couldn’t have it and you challenged them. Thus now that you’re having to face this war and the potential of having to use your skill, you’re honestly quite nervous.

You’ve never admitted that. You don’t want to admit it to anyone but him so they don't feel like you aren’t reliable.

“It won’t be easy,” Cregan says the truth. “But when you face your enemy, do not hesitate. Think quickly but be smart and do not let them gain the upper hand. You have a dragon, use her, and you have skill, good skill. Use it.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod in comprehension. He offers you a gentle smile and pulls you down to press his forehead against yours.

“You must know I will wait for you. Just a while longer.”

Asking what will happen after a while passes scares you, so you leave it be and just give him an honest response. “If fate ends up letting me choose, I will finally come home to you.”

He flashes you a charming smile that eases that worry in your heart and only works to sink you further down into this little escape.

“Now,” he coos against your lips. “Will you sing for me?”

You roll your eyes with a flattered smile featured on your face before you pull away to lay back on his chest and finally do as he asks of you as a parting gift where there aren't multiple people watching you, and pushing you down to hide or pretend that you’re nothing more than friends. You sing him a song for only him to hear before you take your leave and face reality once again.

——

*SOMETIME LATER. DRAGONSTONE*

What good is actually facing reality? Facing a dead beloved brother, and the fact that it was someone who you loved that killed him?

Dragonstone is a painful reminder of what happened while you were away. Only now that pain in your heart is tenfold and you don’t think anyone can actually know the pain that plagues you. Who can truly understand what it is you carry? No one is married to the man who killed Lucerys. They can hate him with ease, but you?

You want to despise him, you fought yourself the entire flight back to Dragonstone to hate him and view him as another enemy, to view him like you view Aegon, but as much as you think you hate him, your heart fights hard to try and tell a different tale. And that’s what makes it worse.

Thus it's easier, it was almost healing, having an escape with Cregan, but now there’s no one who will silence your cries. And what makes matters worse is facing your heartbroken mother. You don’t like seeing her cry or be hurt, when she lost Visenya your pain could never equate to what she was feeling, but you hurt too with every groan, with all the blood that she spilled, and every sob. Now you’re moments away from her and your heart and soul are already shattering.

However, after you watch your dragon disappear into the caves with Vermax, and take a step inside the castle, a hand wraps around your forearm and you’re pulled into a dark dead end where there aren't prying eyes or nearby ears.

“<Tell me the truth,” Jacaerys spats in a whisper so no one would hear the sound of his words also protected by High Valyrian. “About you and Lord Stark.>”

You can’t help yourself, you blink repeatedly in disbelief and gape like a fish out of water.

“< There's no point in lying,” he only further surprises you. “I figured it out when he got the letter from Dragonstone. I would see it every time you would talk but I never pieced it together until yesterday. It all made sense then, the glances, what you would tell each other, and every story you told about him.>”

Tears fill your eyes and your heart echos in your ears as you’re struck with shame. Not for loving another man, but that Jacaerys found out.

“<He touched you?>” He proceeds to ask in your shocked silence.

And it’s in that silence where he figures out your unspoken response and finally lets go of your arm to turn away with a scoff.

“<He never forced himself on me,” you defend Cregan. “Everything we did was because we wanted it to happen. We love each other.>”

Jacaerys turns on his heels with frustration and clutches onto your arms to sneer. “<You saw how much mother suffered because she was with Ser Harwin. Did you not learn anything?>”

You know he’s remarking all that stuff to your face because he cares. He’s being thoughtful in his way but it doesn’t stop you from crying, and when you shed tears you hit a cord in your brother's heart and he lets go of you with a sigh.

“<If you weren’t already married I would turn back and force him, but alas,>,” he mutters and sighs again before turning and dropping his head in his hands.

“<He would’ve too,” you defend his honor. “But I did not want Aemond to hurt him with Vhagar. I choose not to marry him, please don’t blame him. He’s a good man.>”

Jacaerys shakes his head in disappointment and turns to face you with his eyes narrowed into a fierce glare and his lips curled in a snarl. “How am I not supposed to blame him?” He remarks in the common tongue. “He had his way with you and did not do what he was supposed to do! What an honorable man would do!”

“I told you already, I told him not to because of Aemond.”

Jacaerys grabs his face and rubs the bridge of his nose, so you continue to try and calm him down.

“He was always respectful and kind. And…” you pause and lick your lips before you utter the reality. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. There's no use in being upset, I am married and that won’t change even if I love him unless Aemond dies. So please,” you plead softer and step towards him to grab his arm so he can face you. “Please Jace, keep it a secret. No one must know. It’s in the past. Please don’t tell a soul.”

Jacaerys eyes snap to you and he clenches his jaw as he looks at you thoughtfully for a few agonizing moments before he sighs and whispers. “Fine. I will not tell anyone only because there’s nothing I can do now.”

You sigh with relief and wipe away your tears before you offer him a thankful smile and a sweeter comment. “Thank you so much. Thank you, Jace, really. I love you.”

Jacaerys lets out a deep breath and his face slowly lets that frustration go, and instead slowly falls to express a soft sorrow. You slide your hand down his arm to cup his hand and slowly mirror that grief as you remember what you lost and that pain you both now harbor.

No matter how hard you wish, there’s nothing in this world that can change what happened, no one can bring back your fallen brother. And what’s even crueler is that no matter how hopeful you were for the news to be a lie, you’re home now and that hope lies with Lucerys.

You both come to the same realization and speechlessly exchange it, bringing you both into each other's embrace to cry now without care.

And deep down you both want to stay close in just the way you are so neither of you run the risk of losing each other the way you lost Lucerys. It’s a foolish thought, but it’s one brought by grief, and a new fear set in both of your hearts because no matter how much you love your little brothers, nothing can compare to the bond the three of you had. A bond that now consists of Jacaerys and you. Just him and you.

“Jacaerys,” your moment is interrupted by a feminine voice that also speaks your name but does not belong to your mother. And when you both break away and look over you see Baela stand at the end of the hall with her hands clasped together and a pitiful look in her eyes.

“Baela,” you greet and wipe your tears away while Jacaerys turns to wipe his own tears away.

“Welcome back home,” she speaks sweetly.

You offer her a thankful nod before you walk over to her and meet her halfway with an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

You nod and then interject. “Thank you.” You pull back and glance around in search of her twin. “Where’s Rhaena?”

Baela sighs. “In her chambers.”

You wished to greet her just as you returned home, but now you’ll have to speak to her after you speak with your mother.

“And what about…” you trail off and hesitate. “What about my mother?”

Baela glances behind you as Jacaerys approaches you and then gives you the answer you wanted. “I’ll take you to her.”

You offer her a thankful smile and watch her walk to Jacaerys to wrap her arms around him and offer him sweeter condolences. When the moment passes she guides you to your mother and your heart begins to pound, while your stomach twists and makes you feel almost nauseous at the anticipation. You already know you’re going to break even more, but there’s something about thinking about your mother being heartbroken that already tears you apart.

And maybe a part of it is because…it feels like you had a hand in her heartbreak because it was your husband who killed Lucerys.

It was not really you, you know that. You were oblivious to your husband's affairs, but no matter what anyone says, yes, that’s what is dwelling within, your guilt. It rattles you to the point you can’t be comfortable in your own skin.

As you get closer to your mother's quarters breathing gets hard once again, and your surroundings begin to dim, leaving only the narrow path ahead visible. You want to run away and not face the pain you’ll see. But when the doors to your mother's quarters open and you see her sitting across the fireplace, alone and in the dark, that panic settles as if she was the fresh air you needed to calm down, leaving you with the need to be embraced by her warmth and comfort, while also giving the same in return.

“Your Grace,” you greet her softly once Baela clears the room and leaves only you and your brother with your mother.

Your pounding heart starts racing once again, but it’s not out of fear, it’s racing out of a need to ease your pain, and the pain you clearly see on her delicate face. Yet you hold strong with tears stinging in your eyes already.

“Lady Jayne Arryn has pledged her support,” Jacaerys breaks the emotional silence to share the support you both gained when you were away on a mission. “…In exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale,” you hear the tear in your brother's voice, and when you glance over at him you see him fiddling with his hands while his eyes grow more and more teary, making your already weak hold, falter.

You still want to continue for him, but when you part your lips you can’t utter a word, it’s all lost in your grief that heightens the longer you watch your mother.

“And,” Jacaerys continues sounding even more brokenhearted by the second. “Lord Cregan Stark,” he pauses and takes a deep breath, but doesn’t seem to find the will to finish. He falls breathless and that wall he usually has up to be perceived as strong, and a protector crumbles, leaving him shaky.

You reach over to grab his hand while tears start to roll out of your eyes as you trail on for him. “…Lord Stark…promised 2000 men,” you manage to share with all the might you can muster.

Your mother doesn’t respond, she instead stands from her seat with her face contorting with grief and approaches the both of you, making you completely lose the faltering hold you had on your emotions.

However, when she’s close, Jacaerys reaches out first and she welcomes him in her arms. You want to do the same, you’ve been aching for it, but your guilt hits you and you stand there frozen with your head down.

“Mother,” you mewl with streams of tears. “I’m…sorry.”

Your mother pulls away from Jacaerys just slightly, leaving her arm around his neck to approach you and caress your cheek with no disdain in her eyes; nor does she look at you like you were the one at fault, her eyes are sad, but she expresses her reassurance before she slides her arm around your neck and pulls you in her gentle embrace and confirms that she doesn’t hate or blame you.

It’s such a relieving comfort that it works to lift some weight off your chest. Weight Cregan couldn’t ease when he talked to you.

Now you can ease in your mother's embrace without feeling like she hates you. Now you can caress her back without the fear of getting rejected.

Soon thereafter, neither Jacaerys nor you attempt to leave your mother's comfort. Nor does it feel like your mother wants either of you to pull away from her embrace that protects her two eldest from the cruel reality that took her third child.

You stay interlinked and weep on each other's shoulders until she pulls away to face you both.

“I have been waiting for your return to light…Lucerys pyre,” she shares. “Is it fine if we light it tonight? The sun is setting and the winds are calm.”

You and Jacaerys don’t find a reason to push the funeral back. You also know there are other matters to attend to that don't give you the luxury of sitting in your grief.

But, oh wouldn’t that be nice?

You don’t want to ignore what happened, no, that’s not what you want. You just want to take a moment to process what happened, and who did it, and tell yourself that you will no longer see your little brother Lucerys.

But no, war forces you to face reality and deal with your grief harshly on the same night you arrived from Winterfell, and at the same spot where your baby sister's funeral pyre was lit.

This time the crowd is smaller though, more intimate. Daemon isn’t even here, which isn’t surprising, but it is also disappointing that he can’t be at his wife’s side as she deals with the death of her son, and lights yet another funeral pyre. And what grows your hatred for him even more is that he can’t seem to be bothered to be a father to his daughter who just lost her betrothed. It’s a good thing Baela is at her side.

It’s also good that you can be with your family this time, dealing with your father's grief alone was devastating. There was no one besides your handmaiden Vanessa to hold your hand and embrace you when you wept. Comforting letters could never measure up to the comfort of your mother's arms or that of your siblings and your grandparents.

Now though, you stand amongst them around the fire that will burn away the only pieces you have of Lucerys, which are his things. There's not even bones to turn to ash, nothing was found of him but his cloak, and a part of his dragon's wing.

Thus Jacaerys steps up first and throws in a soft red blanket along with a piece of his clothes. Besides a few tears rolling down his face, he holds strong now, unlike before when he was in the privacy of just you and your mother, which is assuring. He definitely seems to comfort Joffrey, who throws a wooden horse in the fire, leaving you to step up next.

Yet when you step up and lift a small wooden ship you sob for the brother you’ll never be able to see grow into a man. You’ll never be able to see him marry, or see him command his fleets. You’ll never be able to watch him build a family of his own, nor will you be able to dance another song with him, he’ll be gone forever.

You throw away all those possibilities you’ll never get to see in the fire, and watch the flames eat away at the small wooden ship, and turn to ash everything you couldn’t watch your brother do.

Thick smoke rises, it infiltrates through your nose and stings your throat and eyes while also helping you realize something through the stinging pain, that being your hate for Aemond, your husband, and best friend. You were clouded with confusion before, you couldn’t let go, but you see it clearly now in the thick smoke, you hate him.

And it’s because of your realization that you don’t realize your mother is next to you until you catch her throwing in a piece of Lucery’s clothes with agony contorting her face and clouding her eyes. She lingers by the fire for a moment and you watch her shoulders shake before she steps back. You fall by her side and glance down at her empty hand before you reach over to grab it and once again be the comfort she needs in her moment of pain.

A need to go to Rhaena’s side does grow. You feel called to her side to comfort her, but once the fire starts to lose its power, and all the wooden logs turn black, you step away from your brother and mother's side, but come to a stop right away as you feel guilt again. Your mother might’ve speechlessly assured you, but Rhaena’s anger and grief is different, what if she does blame you for what Aemond did?

If you weren’t away you probably could’ve stopped Aemond, but you weren’t with him. What if she blames you for Aemond taking her betrothed?

You don’t want to be the source of more pain for your cousin, so out of fear and guilt, you don’t approach her. You avoid her and instead, let your grandfather give his condolences before embracing your grandmother.

“I heard the Queen made you her hand,” you interject and pull back to face her with a proud smile. “Congratulations, grandmother, I could think of no one more capable than you.”

Your grandmother caresses your face and offers you a sweet and thankful smile. “Thank you, my Sweet. How are you doing?” She asks with a concerned gaze.

You sigh. “I’m dealing with all my emotions, but I’m relieved that I at least don’t have to go through my grief alone this time,” you share, earning a faint smile.

“I was wondering…” you roll out hesitantly whilst you hook your arm around his to head back inside together. “…does anyone accompany you on your patrols?”

Without needing to hear the rest of what you wanted to ask, she figures out the direction you're taking this conversation.

“No,” your grandmother assures you.

“Oh, well I was wondering,” you finally get to your question. “If I could accompany you? The sea is large, together we could cover more ground. Besides,” you sweet talk her to persuade her. “Astraea is fast, and she’s grown large from her time at Winterfell. She’s good at sea. She likes to dive with me on her. And I am a good archer on Dragonback. We could help you.”

Your grandmother scoffs and flashes you a smile. “Well as much as I would like your help, we would have to ask the Queen first. Bring it up with her and if she accepts I would love to share patrol with you, it would relieve me of some work.”

You smile excitedly and nod eagerly. “Good, I’m glad. I’ll ask her at the next council meeting.”

Your grandmother offers you an encouraging smile and helps you feel some joy in the dark storm that casts over you.

Of course, no one or nothing brings you more joy than your little one, your beloved Aerion. When you see him fast asleep in his cradle your dim world lights up and you muster a happy grin.

As much as you want him to wake so he knows you’ve returned to him, you let him be and just crouch by the cradle to admire him as he sleeps.

You admire his cute round cheeks, his tiny little hands balled up to fists over his head, his thin eyelashes he got from his father, and those pink thin lips he also got from

Aemond. But most importantly you watch his chest carefully to make sure he’s breathing.

You could watch him sleep for hours on end and never tire. Especially because sometimes, just like now, you catch him smiling in his sleep and you just can’t help but swoon.

You always wondered what it is they dream about, fairytales mayhaps? Food? Their parents?

Does he dream about his father now that they’re apart? A father who loves him, and takes pride in his son? A father that you hate and…cheated on…

He killed your little brother, and you lay with Cregan because you wanted to, because you missed him, and you were upset and selfish, but now that you’re looking at your son sleeping away a different pang of guilt punctures your heart.

A guilt you shouldn’t feel, Aerion is young, he won't remember this conflict, but he will feel shame if he ever finds out you cheated on his father.

Yes, his father hurt you first, Aemond betrayed you first. He hurt you in one the worst ways possible! But…now…

Now you’re looking at Aerion and you think of how this could also hurt him. He’s young, a baby turning five months old soon, he won’t remember his life as an infant, but your secret won’t be forgotten, especially if in the future Cregan and you aren’t together.

It would hurt him so much if he ever found out. That’s what makes you cry with guilt. Not regret, you don’t regret your night with Cregan, he made you happy, but you do feel guilt and shame.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

Does Aemond’s crime justify what you did?

You can’t help but think of that, you can’t help but think of the hate you harbor, but you also can’t stop thinking about him. About the way his family doesn’t show him the affection you do. He protects them and takes care of them, but they will never return it in the same amount.

He’s probably lonely, and brooding. He’s probably silently just lurking in his brother's council, and breaking his fasts alone.

You always tried breaking fast and eating dinners together. He always smiled when he saw the way you were dressed, especially when you wore purple. He always gave you a kiss before you drifted apart for the day, and when you saw each other he kissed you with need as if you had gone years without seeing each other.

When night came, or when you found yourselves just in a calm moment, he let his guard down and let himself be vulnerable. You loved those moments the most because it felt as if only he and you existed in this world.

Actually, he treated you like you were the only person he has ever loved. You came first all the time, even before your son. Which is selfish, but you never minded because who could treat you the same?

Cregan’s people come first, the North comes first no matter what he says. That’s why he’s not marching over here to fight himself because other priorities come first, but with Aemond, he may have his goals and his pride, but you were never held lesser than something. His anger got in the way. It’s blinding but you understand why.

You understood at least…because the truth is you can’t defend him now…

He deserves his solitude. You hate him for taking Lucerys away. That much is true and you put that over everything.

“Princess,” Vanessa’s sweet voice cuts through the blowing breeze of the sea, making you pick your eyes off your son to look into the distance.

“Vanessa,” you entertain your handmaiden with what you know she’s leading up to.

“I was wondering,” she parts her lips, but before she can finish her thought the sound of your name coming from someone else’s lips interrupts the conversation. You look back and smile faintly when you see your grandfather Corlys.

“Grandfather,” you greet sweetly as you stand up to watch him approach you at shore.

“I’m surprised to see you out here so early,” he mentions, making you scoff softly and look down at Aerion watching your grandfather carefully.

“When I saw Aerion he was sleeping, so I wanted to make up for it and spend as much time as I can before I’m called away,” you tell him and study him, noticing he’s standing up a lot straighter than before, and still using a very nice wooden cane. “I wanted to apologize for not going to visit you when you were abed. I’m more than glad to see you up now and attending to your fleet.” You smile brightly and watch him get close to watch Aerion in your arms.

“It's quite all right,” he assures you and meets your gaze. “You are a dragon rider, and the Queen's daughter, there’s a lot to do. I'm happy to see you safely returned, I know Aerion has missed you.”

You glance at your son, and as if he knew you were admiring him he glances at you and smiles before laying his head on your shoulder.

“Rhaenys and I would take him on strolls when the day gave us time,” your grandfather catches you by surprise. “The poor lad would be cooped all day with your mother gone.”

Considering Aerion the son of Aemond, you didn’t think your grandparents, especially your grandfather would much care for your son, but hearing his report really brings a warmth to your heart.

“I noticed that young Aerion quite enjoys being by the water,” your grandfather adds, making you grin and nod.

“Yes, he loves it when the waves roll over his feet,” you share giddily and caress your son's head as you return your gaze to your grandfather. “And he gets lulled to sleep by the sound of crashing waves.”

“He’ll be a fine sailor in no time.”

You hum happily at your grandfather's comment and then watch him glance out at the never-ending sea before he sighs softly, and then looks back at you with a faint smile that lets you catch a look in his eye that makes you think he’s up to something.

“Why don’t you and Aerion accompany me to Driftmark? It’s still early, and you can come back by dragonback before you’re needed,” he suggests.

You have been meaning to keep your mind off all the racing thoughts that kept you up at night, and well, you are extremely curious. It’s not common for him to invite you to accompany him anywhere. That’s what your grandmother does.

“Vanessa,” you address your handmaiden, and give your grandfather an answer. “Return inside, if anyone asks for me tell them where I am and that I will return soon.”

Your handmaiden offers you a comprehensive nod and goes off to do as you asked, letting you walk with your grandfather toward his boat under the morning sky pampered with fluffy white clouds that make you feel a smidge of joy as certain memories infiltrate your mind.

“On nice days like these my father would take me sailing,” you muse with your grandfather. “I’m pretty sure the septa giving me lessons would despise when he would pull me from my lessons since I was a princess and had no business doing boy stuff, but,” you grin softly. “He was the prince consort, he did as he pleased and my mother never minded. Besides, I encouraged him,” you pause and feel your eyes begin to sting without much warning.

“He taught me a lot of ships…I miss him,” you finish in a whisper.

Your grandfather lets out a deep sigh and you see him nod along with you from the corner of your eye.

“Did he teach you how to read maps?” Your grandfather wonders.

You nod. “Yes, and star charts. I could learn more about those, but I could follow the stars North and to King’s Landing with no map. He…never tried to leave anything out, he was always so excited.”

Your grandfather hums and you glance over at him to address something else on your chest. “I’m glad you decided to side your fleet and Driftmark with my mother.”

His dark eyes meet yours and he quirks a brow. “Why would I side with Aegon?”

Well besides him being a man, there’s also the fact that it’s highly theorized Daemon killed his son. You believe and hate him for it, but no matter how much you want to share that belief, you bite your tongue and shrug as if it was just a concerned-filled thought.

Your grandfather understands your speechless response and holds your gaze as he gives his vague response. “I had many reasons to side with your mother.”

You offer him a simple proud smile and reach his boat in a peaceful silence only filled by the crashing waves and the cawing of seabirds. You had hoped to feel a hint of those exciting and tender feelings you oftentimes felt with your father when you were out at sea, but even if you walk with his father, those feelings you ache to reconnect to aren’t anywhere close, reminding you that you’ll never be with your father ever again, or have a bond with any father-figure.

Albeit your grandfather does let you sail the boat to Driftmark, but as excited you do feel to show off your skills and once again maneuver a boat, you still feel empty within.

“My dragon loves the sea,” you begin to say with the intention of persuading him to use your aid at sea whilst you keep an eye on the distant waters. “And I have learned how to use a bow and arrow on dragonback, perhaps I could be the dragon rider to protect your fleet when battle hits our shores, or we attack theirs,” you finish and peer back at him with a sly grin, unknowingly reminding him of his son when he was your age and eager to prove his worth. You even wore the same sly smile Laenor wore when he was proving himself a fine sailor and dragonrider.

“That…” he starts off quietly but then clears his throat and sounds as mighty as ever. “That would honor me.”

You offer him a happy smile over your shoulder and then let your gaze fall on Aerion strapped on your chest, noticing him watching the waves with his eyes wide and full of wonder.

However, the wonder slowly gets lost as he starts to get lulled to sleep. He tries to fight the sleep to keep watching the moving waves, but he’s outmatched and loses himself to sleep not long before you arrive at Driftmark’s shore.

Unlike Dragonstone, Driftmark is more lively with people; both townspeople and soldiers from the fleets as well as those who work on your grandfather's massive ship. Some seem worried that something could happen at any given moment, while others seem to be happy just mindlessly living.

You begin to wonder about that happiness, you don’t envy their joy, a part of you resents all these people being so happy and living their lives unaffected by the death of Driftmark’s Heir. You wonder why it is they don’t feel what you’re plagued with, you want them to feel your sorrow.

But then you do realize that you’re just letting your pain cloud your judgment.

“Besides having you accompany me,” your grandfather interjects, pulling your attention away from the large ship. “I wanted to share something I have been thinking of as of late.”

You clasp your hands together and out of instinct reach out to fiddle with the ring Aemond gave you, but you’re then surprised when you feel that your ringer finger is bare.

You spare a glance at your finger and drift your gaze to the ground, but you’re then reminded of the fact that you left your ring behind in your borrowed quarters at Castle Black.

You probably won’t ever see it again…

“…I was hoping that when Aerion is older he could be my ward,” your grandfather catches your attention and makes you furrow your eyebrows and look at him with disbelief, and slightly bothered.

“Of course,” he continues, “he won’t have to join me until he’s much older, but he is Laenor’s grandson, I want him to know the sea, and I want to teach him about ships and how to command fleets like I taught your father.”

You glance at your sleeping son and cradle the back of his head as if protecting him from being parted from you.

“He’s the son of a second son, he won’t inherit a crown or a castle from his father, but he could inherit…my title.”

You snap your eyes over to him and come to a slow stop as you’re overcome with surprise. You want to be filled with pride and joy, but there’s an obstacle that stops you. “But,” you mutter your thought out loud. “He is Aemond’s son. A man who opposes us. A man who killed your heir.”

Your grandfather turns away from his ship and faces you, and doesn’t fail to nod in agreement. “Aye, he is the son of Prince Aemond, but Aerion has salt-littered blood. He is the grandson of Laenor Velaryon, my son.”

Aerion is also your son, and you are also your father's firstborn, and only biological child, but he doesn’t seem to ever mention that! What are you, a painted portrait?

You would’ve loved to inherit Driftmark and his title of Lord of the Tides, but no!

You would ask about Rhaena getting that chance before Aerion since she is the daughter of his only daughter, but you don’t see that having a good answer, so you don’t even waste your breath.

“What of Joffrey?” You bring up. “He should be your heir.”

Your grandfather sighs and nods stiffly but quickly counters you. “Perhaps, but I want it to be Aerion. The grandson of my son.”

It’s not hard to realize the actual truth behind his response; Joffrey is the bastard son of your father. With Lucerys gone, he can actually name an actual Velaryon his heir. It doesn’t seem fair, your father loved your brothers whether they were his or not, but who are you to deny Aerion of a fruitful future?

He comes first now, and it doesn’t seem like your grandfather is actually asking your permission or for your actual thoughts, his mind seems mind up, so with a deep breath and a hesitant smile you accept what he brings up. “That…would make me happy. And I’m sure it would’ve made my father happy.”

Your grandfather offers you a smile and surprises you by patting your shoulder as an endearing gesture that brings a…silence where you smile faintly out of pride, but you can’t help but think what next. You’ve never actually spent so much time with your grandfather, and if you do your grandmother has always been with you.

“Why don’t you show your knowledge on the ship,” your grandfather luckily drifts the attention over.

However, just as you approach the plank resting on the dock, he stops you by grabbing your shoulder and interjecting loudly. “Alyn!”

You follow his gaze and blink repeatedly in surprise when you see the same Addam of Hull who fought in your engagement tourney.

When the man’s eyes fall on you beside your grandfather his lips part in surprise, but when he reaches you he closes his mouth and bows his head. “Princess,” he greets you properly right away.

“Ser,” you greet him quite excitedly.

“Good,” your grandfather cuts in and steps back. “You remember each other.”

You drift your gaze to your grandfather and express your confusion with knitted eyebrows that he helps ease with a quick response. “I sent him to check on you for me when I was fighting in the Step Stones.”

Instead of going to you himself?

Whatever.

“Really?” You ask with more surprise. “Well thank you, he was a very excellent jouster who brought Driftmark and me great pride.”

Alyn offers you a stiff smile and bows his head as a thank you.

“Good, I’m glad to hear he can’t show his skill,” your grandfather fills the man’s silence. “Why don’t I let you get reacquainted.”

Without room to argue he walks away and leaves you alone with Ser Alyn—or is it just Alyn since it was your grandfather who sent him?

“Seeing you again makes this world feel small. I never thought our paths would cross again,” you fill the silence to avoid awkward silences.

“In truth neither did I,” he admits. “But it is an honor.”

You offer him a smile and notice how much more muscular he is now compared to before. He’s also a lot more serious too.

“Who—”

“Alyn!”

You both turn your attention to the caller, and you see a tall and thin man with long dreadlocks approaching with a bright and charming grin that immediately works to intrigue you.

Albeit when he notices your unique white hair, your long and elegant red gown finer than any material he’s touched; accompanied with shiny gold jewelry on your hands and neck, he realizes that you are no ordinary woman. The man’s grin slowly disappears at the realization and he slows down towards Alyn. Once he’s finally nearby he straightens up and doesn’t fail to bow when he joins you and Alyn.

“My Princess,” the mystery man greets you with a nervous but charming smile that actually serves to completely get rid of any tension or awkward atmosphere he could’ve brought.

“Princess,” Alyn interjects and looks at the man in blue beside him. “This is my brother Addam. Addam, this is the Princess, granddaughter of Lord Corlys Velaryon.”

You and Addam meet each other's gaze and that snobby princess Addam already imagined you’d be upon laying eyes on you completely falls apart when you offer him a bright smile in return. You perhaps are one of the most majestic beauties he’s ever laid his eyes on, he can’t help but think. Even from afar you were luminous and almost like an illusion, but from up close he could see your beauty was no illusion, he could see a sadness in your eyes, but so much more that intrigued him.

You give him your name and Addam’s eyes proceed to fall on the sleeping infant strapped on your chest. “Who is this?”

You cradle your baby's head and introduce him to Addam and Alyn. “This is my son, Aerion Targaryen.”

“Hm, not one to care about first impressions I see,” Addam throws out boldly, making his brother shoot him a warning glare. You, however, laugh genuinely in return, which is something that surprises even you. You didn’t think you could ever laugh the way you just did again.

“He takes after his father,” you mirror his humor.

“Well, we’ll let this lad get away with it this time.”

You scoff and nod. “I’ll make sure he’s more prepared next time,” you remark lightheartedly.

He hums and glances over at his brother. “Could I ask how you met?”

“At a tourney,” you answer for Alyn. “Last year. Apparently, he was sent by my grandfather.”

“Tourney?” Addam asks as if it’s the first time hearing of it. “Aren’t you supposed to be a knight?”

“Actually I was trying to get to that too,” you share and both wait for a response from the serious man.

“Well I was surprised to see what money could buy,” he remarks. “I was deceitful when I entered. I am no knight.”

You hum and ease his growing worry right away by assuring him. “Well, I would say you were actually quite entertaining and impressive. You fought well and won.”

Addam pats his brother's back and whispers, “I’m proud of you.”

You watch Addam offer his brother a very faint smile and you can’t help but remember the grief you had pushed aside as you remember the brother you lost.

“I was hoping to have some early brunch with my brother,” Addam now directs at you. “But it seems insignificant now that you have graced us with your presence.”

You can't help but smile with amusement and feel slightly flattered. Addam is surely more outgoing than his brother in a way that doesn’t fail to catch your interest and actually helps bring attention to his fierce spirit that you can’t help but feel the need to get to know.

Actually meeting him makes you feel like you found something you had been in search of your whole life.

.

.

.

.

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A/N- romantic or platonic? (For those who have read moonlight before already know but please don’t spoil it for the rest heheh :)

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638

[tobitofunction]

A Pact of Fire and Ice Part 1

Recently became obsessed with Cregan Stark but I still love the Targaryen's. So here I go.

No skin tone was mentioned only the mentions of hair colour. Also some differences from the books to this

part2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

Everything went so fast just a few days ago you were eating dinner in Kings Landing with your family. Now the same family was finally severed after years of hanging by a string, your mother Princess Rhaenyra was supplanted by your Uncle Aegon, and your younger brother was killed by your Uncle Aemond on a diplomatic trip. You meanwhile are being prepped to your journey to Winterfell where you meet your betrothed Lord Cregan Stark. Your brother Jaceryer's offered your hand in marriage to the young wolf. After discussing with his council he accepted." My sweet girl why that face" your mother's voice made you turn around," I'm just preparing myself to leave my home and get married to someone I don't know" You shrugged, Rhaenyra sighed," I felt the same when I married your father Laenor, both of us weren't keen on it. Still, we made it work" she said touching your silver hair gently, unlike your brothers you have inherited the traditional Valerian features of purple eyes and silver hair much to your mother delight as it got suspicions of her firstborn son's parentage of her back for a while."But it mostly it will help us gain a great ally as if House Stark is on our side so will the rest of the north" Daemon said showing up out of nowhere, you sighed," I love being a political pawn" you said to him with an eye roll," Princess since you became off age your mother and I have been drowning in papers of houses asking for your hand in marriage but we haven't accepted any of them as your mother wanted you to make your own choices, but circumstances changed. You should be lucky it's Lord Cregan Stark who will be your husband and not someone else" Daemon said making you squint your eyes at him," Cregan Stark is an honourable man my sweet girl" Rhaenyra said trying to defuse the situation," I'm doing this only for you mother" you said after a minute of silence, she smiled at you and kissed your temple," You remind me of your father" she said," I wish he could have been here" Rhaenyra gave you a tight-lipped smile,"So do I, now say your goodbye's your dragon is being prepared as we speak".

Joffrey was holding tight onto you his face buried in your stomach, "Please don't leave. Don't leave me" he whimpered, tears falling down his chubby cheeks," I will be back before you know it Jof. Take care of Dragonstone and Mother for me. My brave little brother, I know you can do it" You said while touching his hair gently, he slowly backed away from you, wiping tears away. You turned to Corlys and Rhaenys," You be safe in Winterfell, Lord Cregan is one of the finest swordsmen the seven kingdoms have ever seen. He will take good care of you" Corlys said placing a hand on your shoulder," That's not the reason I don't want to go Grandsire" Corlys nodded," I know but duty is important. Both your father and mother didn't want to get married but they did as it was there duty to the realm", you didn't answer but just bowed your head, Coryls grabbed your chin and made you look up at him,"And you being in the north will also stop you taking up arms to ride into battle to fight your Kinslayer Uncle. I already lost one grandchild to the Greens, I don't want to lose another" he said sincerely, you smiled sadly at him before moving towards Rhaenys who took you by the hands," I wish Laenor would see you right now. He would have loved the woman you have turned to. I still remember how happy he was the day you were born, his first and only girl. Take care of yourself, take the long route to the north in case the greens try to attack. This alliance is a turning point in this war, with the north-","I know, with the North my mother's throne can secured back, they have the biggest army in the North" she nodded, she gave you a hug gently caressing your hair before letting you go. You smiled at her before turning to your dragon Tyraxes, a beautiful Snow White dragon whose scales glittered in a purple hue when the sun shone and green eyes,"issi ao ready syt se journey bē jelmor? (are you ready for the journey up north?)".

Meanwhile Cregan Stark was taking Jacaerys out for a hunting trip wanting to know everything about his future wife and Jace was happy to give him the info," She is a bit of a handful at times so good luck with that. People say she is like mother when she was younger. But her beauty is something from out of this world. Her hair shines like diamonds in the sun, her eyes a purple like never seen before and her skin as soft as silk" Jace said in a way which made Cregan wonder if he was in love with his sister, everyone in the realm knew about the Royal Families queer customs," She loves the colour red and always wears jewellery doesn't matter what the situation is rings, necklaces and earrings are always on her" Jace continued," I had this in mind for her do you think she will like it?" Cregan said reaching into his pelt pulling out a small necklace and handing it to Jace who gently took it,"Is this made out of Dragon glass and Valyrian steel?" Jace asked surprised," I found it within my family Heirlooms, I don't know the history of it but I knew it was Valeyrian steel because of the feel of steel it's just like Ice," he said patting the sword which was attached to his hip,"Valeyrian piece of Jewellery should be worn by a Valeyrian Princess" Jace looked at the necklace more in detail it was a dragon which wrapped around a dragon glass sphere, "She will love it. I'm sure of it" he said handing back the necklace. Cregan tugged back under his pelt,"Let's try to hunt for something, your sister will be here by nightfall"

Just like Cregan said you arrived at Nightfall, Tyraxes landed on the snowy ground, the snow jumped into the air from the impact of the large beast,"I'm Princess Y/N, I'm here for Cregan Stark" you said to an approaching knight,"Follow me your highness" he said trying to avoid eye contact with Tyraxes, you patted her nose before following the guard into the castle. You pulled your cloak closer to your body, as the clothes you are wearing aren't doing much to protect you from the cold,"It be warmer once you get inside Princess" the guard said noticing you shivering.

Cregan was waiting in the main hall, Jace was with him excited to see his sister again."Princess Y/N of House Targaryen has arrived Lord Cregan" the guard said. The older man moved towards you,"Your Grace, I'm Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North" he said bowing his head to you," I assumed so as the guard called you Lord Cregan and you are the only other person here beside my brother" you said while brushing snow of your shoulders," I have a room prepared for you my Princess. It's close to your brothers, tomorrow I want to show you around Winterfell" he said ignoring the tone of your voice, he did study you from head to toe, Jace wasn't lying when he said your beauty is from out of this world. Your hair looked indeed diamonds when the warm lights of the candles hit them and your eyes took his breath away, "What are you waiting for my Lord? I want to change and I'm in need of rest" Cregan nodded,"Follow me Princess".

You followed Cregan towards your room,"I hope it's to your liking Princess" he said opening the door, It was smaller than your room in King Landing and Dragonstone but it felt homier, the furs and many wooden objects with the warm candlelight, you removed your cape and placed it onto a chair,"It's surprisingly warm in here" you said as Cregan moved towards the Fire place where he threw in more wood,"It's because of the hot springs, you need to see them sister. They are amazing" Jace said excitedly,"I leave the two of you be. You probably have a lot to talk about. My Prince, Princess" he said leaving the two of you alone.

You sat down on the couch making Jace follow he grabbed your hands,"Luce...-","We never found a body, well never his full one. We gave him a dragon rider funeral it was nice, only you were missing" you said sadly making Jace squeeze your hand,"I wish I could have been there. I wish it was me who went to Stormsend. Since I heard about his death, I have been dreaming about our last interaction. It wasn't positive, he was scared and worried and I just yelled at him. It's not what a brother does, it's not what a King is supposed to do" Jace said getting emotional," It's not your fault, you were worried as well and emotions can run high during those moments. The only ones to blame are the greens, our Uncle especially" you said kissing his cheek, making him sigh,"I'm glad you are here my sweet sister" he said touching your cheek gently,"I should be mad at you, selling me off like I'm some cattle" Jace grimaced," I did what was needed, he recently lost his heir and second wife. He needs a new one, his council was encouraging him. He's a great man, he will treat you right" he said while gently caressing your cheek, you leaned into his touch and sighed,"If it will help us get back the Iron Throne then so be it. At least he isn't ancient like some of the other Lords" you said making Jace chuckle," Only the best for my beloved sister" he said,"I let you get some rest. Lord Cregan has the day planned out for you".

The next day you were awoken by a knock on the door, "Princess" a servant girl appeared from between the doors, "Lord Cregan asked me to assist you in getting ready" she said with a soft smile, you nodded and stepped out of the bed,"Did you sleep well Princess","Yes, the beds are softer than I imagined, so are the furs I thought they would be scratchy" you chuckled," Lord Cregan made sure we gave you the best furs" she said placing down a gown on the bed before she began working on your hair, "Is this for me?", "Yes, it's more suited for the weather than the gown you arrived in yesterday. Even though stunning it's ill-suited for the weather" she said,"Very well" you said looking down at the gown, It was a deep red gown made out of a think velvet, and it had embroidery in the form of flowers and leaves on it, "It's beautiful" you said," It belonged to Lords first wife, she wore it often" she said making you frown,"It must mean a lot to him than?" you said as the servant picked the dress up again and back unlacing the back,"She was his first love, gave birth to his heir, so yes the dress means a lot to him" she said as you stepped into the gown,"Why would he give to me than?", "Cause Prince Jacaerys told him red is your favourite colour and you need more suiting clothes," she said,"That's very sweet of him," you said,"Your hair is truly beautiful Princess. We in Winterfell heard of your beauty often, so often that it seemed exaggerated but now seeing you" she smiled,"I'm sorry, it's just here in Winterfell we don't see many variations in peoples looks. Your brother fits right in but you not so much....looks wise of course Princess," she said quickly finishing lacing you up,"Lord Cregan will meet you in the great hall for breakfast".

Cregan was drumming his fingers on the wood, the food in front of him slowly becoming cold,"More wine?" a cupbearer asked, but Cregan only answered by waving him away." So nervous, it's not like you" a female voice said making turn around,"Sarah what are you doing here?" he asked with a smile," I want to see my brother embarrass himself in front of the Princess of this realm" she smiled cheekily," I forgot how long woman take to get ready" he said making Sarah roll her eyes at him," Ironic as there are best clothes. Someone likes to make an impression" she continued to tease, Cregan playfully rolled his eyes, like you tried to make an impression with the young Prince. This is your best dress" he said making her blush," I just want to look good, we don't have royalty here often and besides he is engaged to another and why would a Prince like a bastard like me anyway" She shrugged. Cregan patted her hair gently,"You are my sister which makes you a Stark, it doesn't matter what the others say". Sarah smiled and was about to say something when the door opened revealing you, in the red dress which made Cregan get up from his seat,"My Lord sorry for the wait" you said folding your hands together,"The dress..." Sarah began,"It looks stunning you Princess" Cregan said, he wasn't lying, you indeed look ethereal with it but the emotions of seeing another woman in his dead love dress made him feel emotional, A bit of regret began filling him but also something else started to bubble inside him. He didn't know what yet,"Let's eat, you must be starving," he said,"This is Sarah Snow...my.." Cregan didn't know how to word it,"I'm his Bastard sister," she said bluntly,"It's an honour to have you here in Winterfell your Highness," she said bowing,"It's an honour to be here," you said with a tight-lipped smile,"Is my brother joining us?" you asked sitting down," No your grace, he's breaking his fast in his room. Today is for us to get to know each other and for you to know Winterfell" Cregan said taking a sip of his wine, and looking at Sarah mentally telling her to leave,"I be on my way, have a lovely day" you smiled at her,"She seems lovely" you said cutting into the food," She is, I love her dearly doesn't matter if she is a bastard" he said making you smile." I have another gift for you" he said,"Bring it to me" he said making a servant nod and leave the room before re-entering it,"Here you will need it for the outside" he said as the servant handed you the bundle, it was white with some black and grey thrown in it, it was soft,"It's made of Wolf fur, your brother and I hunted it. We are going eat the meet for dinner tonight" he said,"The craftsmanship id amazing" you said as," I will send them your regards. I thought white would suit you well" he said with a smile,"Thank you Lord Cregan" he smiled,"Let's go, winter is close which means it will get darker sooner and I have a lot to show you" he said while you pulled the jacket on.

"These are the Godswood," Cregan said as you looked around in awe, "It's stunning, it's like those woods from fairytales," you said as the snow crunched underneath your boots,"It's so much larger than the one in the red keep," you said while looking snow covered trees, Cregan hummed in response,"The heart tree is just this way" he said placing his hand on your back and led you to the centre of the Godswood. Soon you were met with the large white tree, the white branches expand in a longer fashion than the one within the Red Keep. The red leaves stood out on its white surroundings,"You believe in the old gods instead of the faith of the seven?" you said,"Yes, don't try to convert me, Princess, your brother tried and failed ","Do not worry, I don't follow the seventh anymore. I find comfort within the Gods of Old Valyria" you said gently touching the leaves of the heart tree."Tell me more about those gods than" Cregan said making you turn around to face him,"Maybe another time my Lord, I want you to continue showing me around Winterfell" you said crossing your arms behind your back.

Cregan continued to show you around Winterfell," The last thing I want to show you is this" he said, he led you to a large door that was made from unfamiliar material, it looked heavy, Cregan seemed to struggle a little bit to open it. Once open only darkness was can be seen," Those are the crypts of Winterfell, all the tombs of my ancestors are kept here" he said grabbing a torch before walking into the darkness,"A bit inappropriate for a first date, he could at least wait for our third before showing me where all his dead relatives are being shoved in" you mumbled before following him. It was dark and chilly and the air was wet which made you wrinkle your nose as you walked down the spiral staircase. "These are statues of the Lords before me," he said shining his torch on the statues, "This one is of my father," Cregan said, he said looking up at the large stone statue,"Do you remember much of your father?", he shook his head," I just remember bits and pieces, I wish I remembered more and I wish I could forget the day he died" you said, Cregan looked at you,"You where there?" you hummed," I hear commission in the throne room of Driftmark, it was only days after my aunt's funeral. I couldn't sleep because of the events from the last few days, so I decided to see what was happening. I found my Grandmother crying over some shard remains, Grandsire Coryl's was yelling at the guards so I knew it must have been my father" you said making Cregan look at you sadly,"No child should have witnessed something like that. I'm sorry Princess for your loss, for all of your losses" he said," Let's leave, this place is giving me the creeps" you said.

Jace was talking to Sarah when you arrived back,"Hello sweet sister how was your trip" he asked,"I know Winterfell now, which was the purpose of this trip" You shrugged making Jace give you a look,"It went well brother. I want to take a bath however" you said,"I will tell the maids to draw you one" Sarah said which made you nod,"Thank you. Until then I will go back to my dragon" you said walking off with Jace following behind. "Now sister, tell the truth about your trip" he said,"I said everything that needed to be said Jace. I won't fall in love with him after one trip," you said before breaking off into a sprint when you saw Tyraxes in the distance, "I missed you girl," you said hugging her neck,"So you saying there is a possibility in you falling in love with him," Jace said making you roll your eyes, "I didn't say that"," but you also didn't deny it," he said,"Don't you have a fiancé to return too and annoy?" you huffed,"Not until you and Cregan are wedded, he wants to marry in the way of the old gods" he said making you look at him with a lifted brow,"It's a very intimate ceremony similar to a traditional Valeryian one" Jace explained making you nod.

[councilofcastamere]

WINTER NIGHTS | CREGAN STARK X TARG!READER ꧂

a b r i d g e m e n t : With tensions rising, your elder half-sister Rhaenyra arranges for you to seek asylum in the freezing land of the North. And fortunately for you, Cregan is there to show you how Northmen operate.

TW: penetration, loss of virginity, breeding kink, mentions gender roles but in a sexy way, sexual tension, sibling jealousy, childhood neglect, mentions of death by birth, shitty character development

A/N: I know the girly portrayed is Visenya but her body is tea in this so maybe I do know best…

The second daughter. The oh-so passed over maiden. Not belonging to anything, nor belonging to nothing. Not the first, and not the last. An ever enduring memory to a passed over era. Nothing significant. Never anything significant.

That’s what you were. Insignificance. A beautiful insignificance, if you could see beauty in tragedy. Beauty in all the ways of life. All the little horrible things that make up a big, beautiful, picture. People shan’t look close, you’d assure yourself.

But you were you. Born to the everlasting way of royal life. To the peaceful Viserys, and his second wife, a woman whose name is not all that important. Another maiden from a noble house that perished to childbirth. Lost her life, giving life.

And as it did not to many maidens, the Gods did not grant you the chance to grow up with your mother. The blood that dripped down her thighs had covered you from head to toe as you came into existence, and she had naught of you in her arms before a deep and long slumber overcame her. The stranger had come for her, and he did not slow down on its way. He’d taken her as quick as she’d given you to the world. A quick exchange, you’d suppose.

Now and then you think about her. What she might have looked like, what she might have liked, what she might have been had she survived the wretched burden of your existence. You’d often wonder if infants who survived childbirth ever felt as deep a burden as she did. To have your very first breath of life tainted with the death of an innocent. Tainted with tragedy.

Growing up in King’s Landing hadn’t been all that as it sounded. You’d never really been that happy, as ungracious as it sounded.

You had an older sister - Rhaenyra - who’d occasionally humoured you. You’d never seen much of her, really. Perhaps it was your own fault as well. For not actively seeking her out. For not being the younger sister one was supposed to be. Some people - as close to you as they may be - are just unattainable in your mind. Your kin aren’t your kin until you allow it.

You have better companions than her, you figured. You had your lady-in-waitings. Lady Vievenne of house Swann. Lady Laycie of house Oldflowers. Lady Claere of house Ambrose. Lady Evelyne of house Hightower, who was, by all accounts, a gift from your newest stepmother, Alicent of the house Hightower.

What you also had was younger siblings. Such as Aegon. Though he is naught but a skirt enthusiast, swimming along the sea of young maidens at his whim. But he cares not whether they are, does he?

And oh, do not get yourself started on the one-eyed prince and that smug little smile on his sharp-featured face. Nonetheless, he was gentle. Oh so gentle with his touch. And oh so sinister in the way that made you feel important enough to be in his good graces.

However, you chose to distance yourself from all parties involved as fate made it clear what it had in store. A great slap to the great Targaryen dynasty. A dark cloud looming over the already curse-clad clan.

For even you knew that the only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon, was itself.

“Sister.” you greeted one late evening, having taken flight to Dragonstone on your she-dragon, Starfyre. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“…y/n.” the elder sister called out, a small smile on her lips. “I… am glad for your visit.”

“…I’m certain you are,” you say, trying with all your might to contain a frown.

You eyed her awkwardly as she wiped her sweaty hands off her dress, letting out a sigh as the elder royal wasn’t quite certain how to approach the topic.

“I… understand… things quite haven’t been… that active, in our kinship,” Rhaenyra speaks up, taking a step closer. “And for that, I apologise.”

You could only nod, a small smile gracing your lips at the heartwarming confession of absent love.

“I apologise, also.” you smiled, your hands finding each other behind your back. “I suppose I should have been the one to seek your company and counsel as well.”

“Good.” Rhaenyra smiled awkwardly, a silence engulfing the echo-ridden chambers. “The reason, as to why I called you, might be surprising.”

You froze slightly, heart pounding as the possibilities of implications travelled through your mind. The goosebumps on your arms grew more prominent as a cold breeze passed through.

“Oh?” you answered, cocking a brow. “And what might that be, sister?”

“I ask of you to travel to the North,” Rhaenyra admits, a tone of seriousness overshadowing the warm moment. “I have already sent a raven to Lord Cregan Stark, and he has agreed to host you. If it pleases you, of course.”

No answer came out of your lips, save for your a mere breath. You felt a pang in your heart, consuming your every emotion, making certain you cannot detect how you feel about the news.

A dragon in the north? What a jest. You’d do better in Dorne, surrounded by sun-kissed squires and stable boys than laddish lordlings and Northern butchers.

“And… why should I?” you asked, respect in your tone. “Pardon me, my sister, but why have you made this decision for me?”

“Tensions are rising, y/n. You know that as well as I do.” Rhaenyra sighs, her body language giving up on its tense posture. “And I am aware of your… complex feelings on it. But to the North you must. I’m sending Rhaena to the Va-”

“Yes, because Rhaena gets to be hosted by a relative of yours, in safety. Meanwhile you sent me off to some Northern stranger!”

“Y/n.” Rhaenyra warned, raising a brow. She took a step closer as you composed your words. “You are my sister, and I will have you safe in the North. The Northmen are honourable men, and in time you’ll know.”

✫彡

And so you were, clad in thick fur, lady Vivenne and lady Evelyne at both sides of yourself. Across from you sat three servants, and somewhere else sat your sworn shield.

“It will be splendid.” Evelyne beamed, properly adjusting her hair, tied up in a bun, similar to the ones the older maidens wear. “We shall meet every dusk, and speak about our day. In front of the fire.”

“Not if I can help it.” you sighed softly. “Apologies, my ladies, but I’ll let you two get at it. I’d love to explore the North in solitude.”

“Right…” Vivenne nodded, looking through the small peep holes as the carriage slowed down, just outside the gates of Winterfell. “We’ve arrived, I suppose. You’ll have to greet Lord Stark. If he’s anything we’ve heard of and more, I wish you luck.”

You only nodded, watching as your ladies exited the carriage, standing at the side of the door. Their faces are cast down, as if in mourning. Perhaps they’re mourning the life of luxury provided at King’s Landing.

You could not blame them for it, really. From growing up in their own house, to growing up in the Royal house, to trade it again to live to see the snowy winters of Winterfell.

You shook slightly, the cold air hitting your face in an instant as you slightly lifted your dress, taking a step out of the three provided for the carriage.

You looked ahead of you, eyes locking on the noblemen and women, standing straight and proud. The women bore clothes of low quality, so obviously sewn to fit any class. The men wore dark furs, contrasting to the blue clothing of the opposite sex.

And in the midst of it, stood Cregan Stark, accompanied by a mere little boy of just two years of age. Your eyes locked upon his stormy-grey ones, his face etched into a stern expression, eyes focused on yours.

You maintained the eye contact, taking each step closer to him.

“Princess Y/N.” Cregan greeted formally, taking your soft hand in his. “Welcome to Winterfell. I am Lord Cregan Stark.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” you smile, curtsying in a fashionable manner. Your eyes stood glued on his as his lips brushed against the palm of your hand. “I’m truly honoured to be here.”

“…I’m certain you are.” Cregan answered, eyeing you skeptically.

Hearing false compliments wasn’t out of the ordinary for the wolf of Winterfell. He knew well enough that you weren’t suited for the North. You were a Southern lady, used to the life of feasts, luxury, and sparkly dresses.

“Let us go inside, shall we?” you smiled charmingly, looking up at the tall castle with dread in your eyes.

“Aye, so we shall.” Cregan nodded, his broad shoulders most notable as he sauntered into the opened gates.

✫彡

The first night went unfamiliar to you, the harsh blows of the cold weather creating a prominent presence looming over the already melancholic times.

You sat in your chambers, sitting at the stony window sill as you watched Cregan from above.

The lord was overlooking young squires on the courtyard, engaged in conversation with the knight in charge of guiding the young to-be-knights.

All dressed in fur, shoulders looking as if they were padded. Cregan’s hair was tied up, with two front strands escaping and hanging loose. His grey-blue eyes stood glued at watching the young squire’s techniques, and you could only sigh as you got lost in his appearance.

Ever since stepping foot into the North of Westeros, you’d developed a strange sense of interest in the beauty of Northern men. How they all dressed so grimly, but intimidating. How they’re oh-so honourable and hard working. How they always seemed so clean shaven but rugged all at once.

And you could not help but wonder what it would be like had you wedded one of them.

Being completely honest, you’d never really been the sort of maiden to stay inside of her chambers, waiting for her husband to return from his duty, deprived of affection.

With any Southern lord, being a doting unappreciated wife would never cross your mind.

But with Northern men, however, you had the feeling your efforts wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Before you could continue your vulgarly confusing thoughts, you saw Cregan’s eyes shift to yours, finding your gaze.

You could only lean against the window, a hand on the stony side as you gazed back at him. Your hair was loose, and you were dressed in your creamy beige nightdress.

You held his gaze for a moment, until ultimately turning away, leaving the implications of that gaze to his imagination.

✫彡

By the third day, you’d been reading in the old library belonging to House Stark. You’d sat on a plush seat, the dusty book on your lap as your gentle fingers flipped through the pages.

But you weren’t alone.

Cregan Stark sat near you, his knees in almost touching proximity to yours.

“Aye, the North is cold, but it’s honest.” he tells you, gently shutting his own book. “The snow doesn’t lie about its intention. No courtly games like they play in the South.”

“Oh, please.” you smiled, shutting your book as well. your body shifted so it was facing his, resting your head on one hand. “The courtly games are what makes it so fun.”

“Now, riddle me this.” You smiled, noting his full attention on you. His body language exuded calmness, and you felt secure in the knowledge that his comfort lies with you. “How do you not like courtly games? Personally, it makes my life all the more amusing.”

“I suppose it’s all jesting for you, princess.” Cregan said, his eyes resting on yours. “Amusement or not, I’d rather know where I stand…”

“With you, however…” His eyes trailed down to your bare shoulder, the white nightdress you’re wearing very much a sight of sore eyes. “I think I know.”

“Oh, do you?” you teased, cocking a brow. “And how so, pray tell?”

“Well…” he grunted, shifting in his seat to tighten the proximity around you two. “You’d do well not to cross any Northern man. They don’t take well to… courtly games.”

You only smiled at that, your upper body instinctively leaning in, albeit torturously slow.

“And, uh, suppose I… marry a Northern lord.” you teased quite coquettishly, a hand moving to rest on the thick fur coating his body. “What am I in for.”

You watched as his smirk only widened, gently taking the hand that rested on his fur, and taking it in his.

“Marry a Northern lord like me, and have your nights warmed under the thick fur of blankets.” he says, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles. “Northern loyalty runs deep, princess. That’s what you’d be in for.”

You nodded slowly, and you could not help but notice those coloured eyes of his descending onto your perky breasts.

Great, this was all going well so far. “I’d imagine… do you think he’d gift me a pup? I’ve always wanted a tiny pet, to keep.”

“Yeah?” The lord licked his lips, a hand resting on your waist. “You think you’d handle a wolf properly?”

“Well, I would.” you smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’m a dragon… and dragons do not surrender that easily.”

You smiled, shifting in your seat again as Cregan amusedly indulged you in your silly thoughts. “Just imagine it, my lord. I’d be holding that pup every night trying to get it to warm to me.”

Your hand slowly, but surely, trickled down to his clothed thigh, trying to maintain a sense of quiet intimacy.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you, then.” his voice lowered, bordering on husky. “Wolves aren’t so easily tamed, not even by someone with…”

He paused for a moment, a hand gently taking the one you placed on his thigh.

“…your charms.”

You’d have a cheeky comeback on the tip of your tongue, had it not been for Cregan’s lips descending upon yours, clashing together like Blackwoods and Brackens.

You let out a soft breath as you eased into the kiss, feeling his large hands grip your waists as if his life depended on it.

Your hands moved from his shoulders, to his neck, and then to his armoured chest. The armour he carried felt cold to your hands, yet it made it all the more sinful.

“Did you have this in mind?” you murmured against his lips, tongue circling his as you so sloppily attempted to kiss him. “Seducing me?”

The silence engulfed you two for a moment, only being overshadowed by the sound of soft breaths.

“You have it wrong, princess.” he breathed, firmly planting you upon his lap, your back pressing against his chest. “Do you take me for a halfwit?”

You smiled, looking over your shoulder as you attempted to chase his lips with yours again.

“No, but I certainly did not take you for a man so easily seduced.” you teased, guiding his hands to your clothed breasts. “You don’t seem the type to give in that easily.”

“Because it’s untrue.” he spoke up, lips brushing to against your neck. “But do you honestly think nothing would be done about the way you saunter around, looking as you do?”

His hands slowly tugged against your nightdress, pressing a hard kiss to your achy jaw before pulling away.

“Lay yourself down on the carpet.” he commanded, hands shifting to peel off his fur coat, along with his armour and tunic.

All you could do was nod and watch on as his armour went discarded on the floor, the metal material cranking against the stone ground.

His bare chest was now visible, the defining abs illuminated by the glowing fire. His hair messed up when he threw his tunic over his head.

“Cregan, I-"

And in one moment, you felt his large body overshadow yours, clashing lips again. Cregan lifted his body as to not crush you, hands on either side of your head.

You only permitted yourself to breathe unevenly, stead of moan. Your hands found his shoulders, desiring to pull him closer than possible.

“Ever since you’ve arrived you’d been nothing but trouble.” Cregan murmured, lips finding your throat. “Sauntering around with your ladies, endlessly teasing me.”

Your legs only shifted to wrap around his waist, back slowly arching at the kisses.

He took notice, and let one of his hands pin you down, lips descending towards your perky breasts.

“Gods, you’re wrong for this.” he grunted, swirling his tongue around the nipple. “For provoking me, as you did yesterday, and the day before that.”

“For thinking you have the authority to do this to a lord.” he breathed, your small breast fitting into his large palm.

“For…” he continued, kissing down your stomach, before ultimately glancing back at you “…thinking you’d get away with this.”

“I did not think I’d get away with this.” you tease, watching as he moves face-to-face again. “Which is why I did it.”

Your hands find his muscled arms, squeezing it gently. “I want to know how Northern men do it.”

You’d think you were jesting, but were you truly?

You’d have opened your mouth to say anything else, looking up at him, if it weren’t for the Northern lord himself roughly flipping you to your stomach.

“You wish to know, my princess?” he murmurs, unlatching his breeches. “You’d have your first time be with a Northman?”

You nodded, cheek resting on the carpet fabric without surrender. “Yes. Gods yes.”

He hiked your skirt around your waist, your plump ass visible to his peering eyes.

“You’ll be ruined for other men, aye.” He grunted, his hand wrapping around his rock hard cock.

“That’s good, because I desire no one save you.” you smiled, allowing him to lift your hips up and arch your back.

“Yeah?” he smirked, the tip of his cock rubbing against your damp hole. “You’ll have me make you my wife?”

You nodded, impatiently moving your hips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“You’d be a good wife, wouldn’t you?” he grunted once again, head finally pushing into your unloosened clit. “No Southern games, no poignant looks of yours.”

“You like that about me.” you painfully breathed, feeling the uncomfortable ache of his cock in your newly penetrated cunt.

His head descended, placing gentle kisses upon your shoulders. “A maiden. Perhaps you aren’t as well-equipped to handle a wolf as you said you were.”

“I am.” you protested, pushing your hips back. “Move your hips. I wish to prove myself.”

He only speeded up his thrusts, and as you allowed the moans to fill your lips, his hands found a way to push your head down.

“You’d carry my pups?” he asked, thrusting into you aggressively, pumping his cock in and out. “Wait on my cock every night?”

You only moaned incredulously, asscheeks clapping along with every snap of his hips.

“Yes.” you breathed, gasp and claps filling the room. “Fuck, put a babe inside of me. I want your children.”

“We’ll have to wed sooner, before the babe gets born in wedlock.” he grunted, hands gripping your hips, pushing you back onto his thick length. “But that’s what you wanted all along, was it?”

You gripped the fabric of the carpet, cheeks burning as it rubbed against the irritating carpet.

“For a thick cock such as this.” he teased, tugging at your hair.

“Yes.” you moaned pathetically, cheeks flushed as you felt a knot forming into your stomach.

Your lips parted, your eyes rolling above-ways.

“Yes, yes!” you moaned loudly, feeling his hands grope your breasts. “Fuck, you’re moving fast.”

“Never fast enough.” he murmurs, member sliding against your wet slit.

He could feel your tight walls clenching around him, milking his cock for all it is worth. His grip on you tightened as he thrust down to meet your upward motion.

And with one sharp thrusts, you felt the knot loosen and the cream dripping out your twitching clit.

Yet, he didn’t stop, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he rode you through your orgasm.

The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock was enough to send him reeling as well, burying himself deep inside of you.

Hot spurts of cum dripping out of your hole, you completely got yourself spent, closing your eyes and deciding you could just fall asleep on this carpet.

“No sleeping in the library.” he scolded lightly, putting on his fur coat, covering his naked physique. “Come here.”

You exhaustedly crawled over to him again, and snuck yourself into his coat, the clothing covering both of your naked bodies.

“I’m taking you to your chambers.” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “And for the next time, do not attempt to get so exhausted. I went easy on you this time.”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Winter (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Mature language. Grief. Toddlers. Unreliable narrators. Miscommunication.

A/N: I was so excited about this chapter! These scenes are the ones I wrote first. Also, the biggest hug to anyone who is reading this. I had not expected the amount of love my first chapter got, and I am so grateful!

THERE WAS AN old northern superstition —more like an old wives’ tale, really— that said if there was snow on the wedding day, the marriage was doomed to be a cold one.

It hadn’t been snowing the day Cregan had married you, but his marriage was proving to be icier than the lands beyond the wall. You weren’t interested in spending time with him at all, and you actively tried to avoid him. He had tried to convince you to share rooms, trying to foster some intimacy, to no avail.

Cregan had hoped that if not a loving wife, he would get a caring mother to Rickon. The boy was too small to grow without one, not yet having reached his third nameday. But you hadn’t shown interest in that either. Instead, you pretended the two of them didn’t exist.

He would like to say that the days went on the same way they did before he wed you, but it would be a lie. Winterfell ran much better now there was a lady present. Cregan had been wrong about you. It seemed like you could run a keep, and you did so with ruthless efficiency.

The castle had never been warmer, the meals so well planned. Even the servants seemed happy, now that they didn’t have to follow Cregan’s too broad instructions. It seemed that asking them to clean and cook was a little too vague for their tastes.

As for you, grief still followed you around, like a too long shadow that refused to budge even in the face of Winterfell’s brightest light. Sara had befriended you, with little success. While you had been far more welcoming to her, you still looked constantly tired and sad.

The lack of sunlight had made you lose your southron tan, leaving you with a look of quiet frailty that made Cregan want to wrap you in a thousand blankets and keep you safe. He just was unsure of the execution.

You scared him. He was man enough to admit it. People were often afraid of things they didn’t understand, and Cregan was no exception. You were made of absolute ice. There was no better description. Cold, but as fragile as glass.

He was running out of ideas on how to bond with you. Invitations to tea were denied, nor did you want to ride with him to see his tenants. You seemed at ease enough around Sara, and some other northern ladies, so social interaction wasn’t what you disliked. It was him.

Never had Winterfell’s corridors been filled with so many women. The northern lords already called you Queen Alysanne’s second coming, with your all female court. The only thing missing was your husband. You didn’t have Cregan’s ear, simply because you didn’t wish to. He would support your endeavors if you asked him to. He had offered his help with your attempts to establish a charity, since the North didn’t have Septas to take care of it, but you had proudly rebuffed him.

There was no pleasing you. He was at his wits’ end. Hence, the awful choice he had made that day.

To try to force you to be in his company.

“Why are you ordering my servants around?” You complain, barging into his chambers. While usually the kitchens were the domain of the Lady of the household, Cregan didn’t know you took it so seriously. “Do you not think me capable enough?”

“I do!” Cregan sits up in his bed, bewildered. He had given the orders around lunchtime, hoping you would not find out, yet here you were, less than half a day later. Far more soon than he had expected. “I just want to throw a feast to honor you.”

“You intend to honor me by giving me more work?” You place your hands on your hips, highlighting your figure, and Cregan is but a man. He cannot help himself, his eyes lingering for a second too long, and his brain coming with no response to your statement.

You seem to take his silence for affirmation.

“Seriously? Do you at least have a guest list?”

And your tone is so haughty, your words betraying you believe Cregan to be an absolute imbecile, he cannot help but give a heated retort.

“Of course I have. Truly, I am more than capable of organizing it on my own. Arra let me do it a few times, and I was unmarried for quite a while. I am experienced enough to…”

It is the wrong thing to say. You bare your fangs then, and Cregan has a moment of absolute and utter clarity. You are not a seahorse. Such a puny creature could never hope to deliver the utter destruction that you cause with your next words.

“Yes, and your precious Arra is dead! She is gone! Why can’t you understand it?” You turn on your heel, face absolutely thunderous, and go to rush out of his chambers.

Cregan loses his head fully, then. He grabs you by the arm, hard enough to hurt, and forces you to face him. For a frightening moment, he fears himself. Fears the wolf, the one screaming for him to strike you and remind you of your place.

How dare you come in his chambers, uninvited, after rejecting all his offers of companionship, to lecture him on grief? As if he could forget Arra was dead. It wasn’t so long ago that Rickon cried for his mother still, unable to understand why he didn’t have one. It wasn’t so long ago that Sara had to take over the role of Lady of the House, and suffered mockery from it. And it wasn’t so long ago, Cregan woke with a scream choked in his throat, reliving that awful morning in every dream he had.

He still did, sometimes. Less, now that he had more urgent matters to occupy himself with. Cregan was ashamed to admit it, but before Jacaerys and your arrival here, Winterfell had been far too empty to keep the ghosts away.

Now, with the war, and the flurry of activities that seemed to follow you, Cregan had little time to dwell much in his dark thoughts. Throwing himself into his work had allowed him to begin healing a wound he wasn’t even aware existed.

And wasn’t that a terrible thought? That Cregan was a man who thrived on war and hunger? Winter was coming, after all. It wouldn’t catch him unprepared.

He had sworn a vow to protect you. As long as Jacaerys had no children, you were third in line to the Iron Throne. To think of hurting you was not only to think of staining his honor, but to think of treason.

Cregan holds you there for a second longer, curious about your reaction. His grip must be bruising on your arm, he can feel the delicate bones under your flesh shift with how hard he is holding you. Yet, you show no fear. Your hands are balled into fists.

Were he to strike, you would strike back. Your face is the very picture of anger, your body coiled and ready to tear him apart.

He throws the feast. You sit next to him in icy silence and somehow manage to speak and dance with all the guests but him.

Cregan does no longer dream of trying to hunt a seahorse. Instead, he sees the world at a much lower angle than usual, and runs for his life. Somehow, in the dream, he knows a dragon is hunting him.

OF COURSE IT is today. The only day you actually wish your Lord Husband to be in the castle, and he is not.

You had spent many of your days fervently praying for him to leave on an errand, and yet, the day he does, you cannot even enjoy it.

Because the boy has gotten sick. And look, you have visited the nursery before, it is a part of your duties. You also cannot deny that you had been curious about the tiny version of your husband that will inherit everything.

The boy is cute, you suppose. In the manner all babes are. He is well-behaved, and quiet, and takes well to his teachings, even if they involve only naming things aloud.

Had you not hardened your heart to it already, you would want one of your own. You know, though, that their only inheritance will be tears and petty squabbles over land, so it’s best they are not born at all. It had been so between your husband’s father and uncle, and it was being so between your mother and your uncle Aegon.

The only assurance a woman has in a life spent as little more than property is her children. They are to inherit their father’s lands, and that is supposed to be enough. But for the second sons, said promise is always broken.

You had never, not once, thought you would come to understand Alicent, yet here you were.

You reflect on this as you hurry to the nursery, worried the damn boy will die before you reach it. When you get there, you feel the urge to scream. There is not one, but three serving girls hovering by the door, and the Maester is mixing some herbs in a chalice.

The child sleeps peacefully, unaware the surrounding turmoil. He looks impossibly small in his bed of furs, shirt open and chest covered in strange poultices. The boy… No, Rickon, had taken ill after the first snow. Perhaps he had been spending too much time playing outside, or he lingered too much in his wet clothes. You wouldn't know. You tried to avoid him as much as you could.

After this was over, you would have a stern talk with his maids. They shouldn’t be this careless. This was your husband’s heir. Someone had to care about him.

Not you. Never you.

“Will he be alright?” You ask, as the Maester places a wet cloth on his forehead. You have never liked children, never having had the chance to be one yourself. Your mother’s constant quest for the Iron Throne and her love for Daemon had often left you in the hands of the help. And when you were old enough, you had to take the role of the mature sibling alongside Jacaerys, helping raise your brothers.

Jacaerys. You hoped that wherever he was, he was suffering. You despised this place, and he had dared plot with your mother behind your back to get you here. With your beast of a husband, and this child of a previous marriage, whose existence would forever ensure your future children would inherit nothing.

You weren’t going to have children. Despite loving children, you despise your husband too much to ever lay with him. But most of all, you are beginning to fear you will become a damn Hightower. You feared that if you had children and faced the prospect of them only being second sons, you might be tempted to start a war too.

“He will, Princess.” The Maester, unaware of your inner turmoil, places a reassuring hand on your arm. He surely believes in the gentle hearts of women, or some nonsense like that. “The fever will lower with the tea we gave him, and the cool cloth on his forehead. His lungs are strong. He will breathe normally soon.”

The boy’s chest flutters oddly. His ribs show with each inhale, depicting his trouble breathing. You cast a dubious look at the cool cloth. If this was all they could do, it was no wonder your grandfather had been rotting alive.

“Is that all you have to say? Why do his ribs show?” You do your best to channel your mother, tone imperious. “If this is truly…” Before you can insult him by calling him the worst the Citadel has to offer, a boy comes in. You let out a sigh of relief, your desire to berate the Maester subsiding. It’s the same boy you had sent to Castle Cerwyn to retrieve your husband.

“Princess!” He says, extending a hand to you. Much to your astonishment, he hands back the message you had sent to Lord Cregan. “I have grievous news. The road to Castle Cerwyn is fully blocked. I couldn’t get past the river. I cannot go over it either and avoid the forest, for it is not fully frozen.”

“This cannot be!” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. Cursed your husband, and his plans to visit the Cerwyns’ tenants today, of all days. “You have to get Lord Cregan. Send a more experienced rider.”

“My lady, I would advise not to.” The Maester says, meekly. “Even if the rider does manage to get past, it is very likely Lord Stark is in the village, snowed in.”

“Well, then send a damn search party!” You yell, uncaring your language is unbecoming of a Princess. You cannot be here while the child… While Rickon dies. The child has a parent, and it is your husband, you do not even care for him!

“It is not as simple.” The Maester cringes when you turn on him.

“Of course it isn’t. The only simple thing is the cure for the child’s malady, isn’t it?” You growl. “Do something useful, if you think a rider cannot reach my husband. Get me someone who can, and fix the boy.”

It would be easier for you if the boy died. You could have the children you so craved. The obstacle would have removed itself. Relationships between half brothers are never as strong as between full ones. At the very least, this child could cast out you and any children you birth when Lord Cregan passes. At the very worst, he might have them killed, as your mother intended with her usurper brother.

But you are not so craven as to let an innocent die. He is still a boy, no older than three namedays. He is vulnerable, and his father is not here.

You sit next to the bed, eyes fixed on his chest. Rickon will not die on your watch.

THE SOUND OF a door opening jerks you awake. Disoriented, you sit up on your chair, and check that Rickon still breathes.

He does. He has awakened with the sound of the door opening, just as you did. But unlike you, he has begun wailing. You get him. You would like to cry too.

“What is it?” You snarl at the serving girl who dared enter in such a manner. The sound of Rickon’s cries grate in your ears, shrill and loud, awakening you fully. You try to coax him into laying back down to no avail.

“Milady…” She stammers, holding a breakfast tray. The reason for her interruption becomes clear. Had it been so long already? You remembered standing vigil over Rickon until sundown, and changing the cool compress a few times after, but no further. By the Seven, you were a terrible caretaker. “I… There are…”

Rickon wails harder.

“Father! Father, want father!” He cries. He then attempts to remove the cool cloth from his forehead, and get up, escaping the furs laid over him.

The serving girl stares at the boy. You stare at her. Rickon continues to squirm. When it is clear she is expecting you to soothe him, you sigh and turn to the child.

“Rickon, you have to lay down again.”

“Father! Father!” He wails, face beginning to turn red, his breathing labored. You are unsure if it is his distress or the sickness, but it worries you nonetheless. The child cannot die. You are not prepared to deal with it.

“Shh, Rickon, I know you are hurting.” You tell him, as you pick him up. “Father is not here. He is trapped by the snow.”

At this, he cries harder. You can hear him gasping for air as he squirms in your arms and kicks at you. His snot is getting everywhere. Good Gods, what if he dies? Would your husband actually force you consummate the marriage if he loses his heir? The thought alone is enough to force you into action.

“He is not trapped. He is snowed in, just as when you cannot go out and play. Happens all the time.” You reassure him, rubbing his back. You know your words to be a lie, but the boy doesn’t. The weather has been especially rough this season. The snow storm is unusual in its fierceness. “He will be back soon.”

Rickon perks up at that.

“He will?”

“As soon as he can.” You promise, hoping it is the case. In truth, you do not know. Your husband is unaware Rickon is ill, and holds no fondness for you. You doubt he will be rushing once the road clears. In fact, you think he might be celebrating the weather and praising his northern gods for the excuse to get a respite from you.

Well, too bad. You would send men each hour to check if the storm waned and the road was accessible once more. He would have to come and tend to his child.

“Where is father?” Rickon asks you, a suspicious look in his little face. He is eerily similar to your husband. His sobs have turned more subdued.

“With Lord Cerwyn.”

“Why? Hurts! Father!” The boy demands, petulantly. He is clearly feeling better if his lungs allow him to shriek like that. You are no healer, but his agitation is worrying you. What if he has a fit because he overexerted himself and then dies?

“I want your father too.” You mutter under your breath. “You do not see me wailing.”

“I love father.” He sobs. “Want him.”

And you are not made of stone. You have never been, no matter how hard you pretend. He is still a babe, hands chubby, face round. He still smells like one, a mix of the nursery, and sweet innocence.

Without even realizing it, you have cradled him into your arms and begun rocking the two of you. He keeps wailing, so you begin singing.

“I loved a maid…” There is no need to be a good singer to soothe babies. You are unsure of what they like about it, but you know it works. It had worked for Aegon and Viserys, why not for Rickon? “As fair as summer, who had sunlight in her hair….”

You begin to rock him as you pace through the room. As his tears begin to subside, and he begins to grow curious about the soft song, you realize he is not the threat to your future children you had envisioned. Rickon is beautiful in the manner all babes are, soft and sweet. His little fists cling to your wool cloak, gray eyes meeting yours with fascination.

Charmed by him, you keep singing. Seasons of my love is enlarged and repeated ten times over, and now includes verses about northern babies who look exactly like their father.

“I loved a boy…” You hum, softly. It feels like hours have passed when Rickon’s eyes finally begin to drop. Of course he would enjoy the verses about winter the most. “As white as winter, with moonglow in his hair.”

The door opens, slowly. You hear the wood groan as it does, but Rickon takes no notice. He burrows his head next to your heart, yawning.

You turn to look at the newcomer, pleased that having put the fear of the gods into the maid who had dared enter before had proven fruitful. The pleased smile drops from your face when you realize it is your husband.

Lord Stark is drenched to the bone. His hair is stuck to his head and shoulders, dripping water onto his furs. The cloak he had worn is wet, and he is quick to remove it, leaving him in simple breeches and a jerkin. His face is the picture of worry.

“I rode as hard as I dared.” His voice is low, pleasantly so. You had never considered the northern accent he sported attractive, but when his voice is gruff, and pitched low, you might see the appeal. “How is he?”

He shouldn’t have bothered with the low tone. Rickon would recognize his voice everywhere because he perks up considerably.

“Father! Father!” Rickon claps. He attempts turning in your grip to look at your husband, which makes you fear he might fall, so you perch him on your hip so he can do so.

“The fever has broken.” You hand Rickon back to him, feeling a hint of embarrassment when his eyes linger on the way you had been holding him. “He’ll live.”

“Thank you.” And his voice is earnest and soft, and it makes you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Is it her still? Does Arra Norrey stand in this room with you, too?

The embarrassment from earlier, and the anger at the thought of your husband being soft because you remind him of her make you snap at him.

“It’s fine. I missed my siblings.” You cross your arms over your chest, awkward. Why does he keep staring at you? Is he… Oh, by the Seven, he is smiling at you? So softly? You cannot stand it. “I will send for a bath for you and Rickon, after washing myself. Less I catch a cold too.”

Look, princesses do not flee. They simply walk hurriedly. Very hurriedly.

[multific]

The Wolf and The Rabbit

Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: The meeting between the wolf and the rabbit never ended well. The wolf would devour the poor rabbit in seconds. And yet, this wolf would never harm the poor bunny.

When your betrothal was announced, it came as a surprise to you.

Cregan Stark is a feared warrior and for a reason.

He was brutal and killed men without a flinch. His sword drowned in the blood of men.

And yet, it was you he chose as his wife.

You have only met him once, when you were very young, both of you were actually. At the time, he called you a scared little bunny.

You didn't pay much attention to him, you only stayed in his father's Kingdom for a couple of days.

Sure, your house might not be as strong as his, but you held a great name. With a proud father and mother, you were a true Lady.

A Lady who was now declared to become the wife of Cregan.

"But Father, why me?" you asked your father who looked so proud.

"The word came from him, he chose you as his future wife."

"But... why?" you asked rather quietly as you looked at your mother.

"It doesn't matter why. He chose you, it is all that matters." your mother replied.

And soon, you were in a carriage, being delivered to him, wearing your finest dress.

You looked out of the small window of the carriage, letting out a long sigh.

"Why me?" was the question in the back of your head at all times.

As the carriage moved down the road, in between the trees, heading further and further North. 

You knew he would be waiting for you. 

He would be standing there. 

You wondered how he looked, how he had been since you had last seen him. 

From the tales, you knew he was fierce and strong. You couldn’t imagine what he looked like. As a young son, he was often told how he would be handsome. 

You couldn’t see it. But you were only a child, now you were a woman. 

Things might have changed. 

You at least hoped they did. 

You let out a sigh as you got closer and closer. The nervousness grew deeper and deeper in your heart as you got closer. 

Soon, you arrived and the door to your carriage opened. The cold immediately hit you. 

It wasn’t the kind of cold when you could see your breath, but you knew what was coming. 

Winter. 

Not so different from your home. 

Home. 

This was your home now. 

This will be your home now. 

You grabbed the servant's hand as you got out and soon, you saw him. 

His hair was shaved on the sides. He was handsome. 

Damn him. 

Even from afar, you could tell, he looked handsome. 

He wore fur over his clothes, keeping him warm as he stood tall and proud. 

He rolled his shoulders back as he saw you. You could see how he let out a sigh. 

“Lord Stark, I am here to announce you, Lady Y/L/N from the House of Y/L/N. As you wished, your bride is presented to you.” 

You bowed your head as you were introduced to him. You didn't look up or anywhere, but soon, you did look up.

Your eyes locked with him for the first time in a long while.

How cold and dark his were.

“How could I forget this Little Bunny.” He said with a smirk for a smile. 

You just kept your eyes on him. 

“My Lord.” You said as you waited for him to lead you into his home.

Lord of Winterfell had a home which looked incredible.

Snow has melted in some places, yet it is still present.

You liked it.

You were left in the hands of a servant who showed you the castle, The Great Keep.

And finally, your room.

"Lord Stark was very adamant about your sleeping arrangements," she said before she opened the door to his chambers. It was his. There were no questions about it in your mind.

The room felt and smelled like a man. It made you very nervous.

You were about to be a wife, his wife. It was up to you to make the Stark name strong and give him children. And that petrified you to no end.

“Why me?” you still asked yourself.

Even when you were left alone to catch a breath, your mind was running.

Soon, you were asked to join him during dinner.

You sat in the chair right next to him, to his right as he sat at the head of the table.

It was a feast, so many different food was placed in front of you, fruits you have never seen.

"I had them make everything as I do not know what you like, as of yet." his voice sounded strangely soft.

It almost didn't fit him.

And yet it did.

His eyes didn't meet yours, he only focused on the food in front of him.

"Thank you." you suddenly said, surprising both of you as you began to eat.

"Wine?" he asked and you nodded as a servant poured you a glass. "It is one which your father sent. Hopefully, it will make you feel more at home."

"Thank you," you said once more as you continued to eat. What felt like the first time in forever, you ate as much as you wished.

"You sure can eat." he suddenly said and you became aware of everything all at once.

"I'm sorry," you said as you pushed your plate and looked at him. "It is just... delicious."

"I'm happy you like it, I didn't mean to make you stop or anything," he said as he pushed the plate back in front of you.

"Oh, okay," you said as you continued to eat. Occasionally you looked at him, only to see that he was avoiding your eyes.

You wondered why he was doing it. You wanted to ask, ask how he ended up choosing you from all the women he could have chosen, he chose you.

Out of all the princesses and ladies, he wanted you. But why?  

You will have to find out one way or another.

But for now, you were taken to get washed even if you insisted that you were more than capable of doing it yourself.

You were quick to learn that Cregan Stark didn’t like the answer no.

And so, as you were bathing you asked one of the servants, “What kind of a man is Lord Stark?”

The servants looked at you with a smile.

“He is a wonderful ruler.” One of them said.

“I wish to know the real answer, not a political one, please.”

“He is a good man. A true warrior, he is always practising his sword, and he is a great leader. He always keeps his word. He will be a good husband.”

She did look as if she was telling the truth. At least that helped you to some degree.

But even if it wasn’t true, you feared that she would have not told you. After all, who would?

You knew the two of you would share a room, maybe you could get to know him more intimately.

At least you hoped to, but as soon as you got into bed, the soft furs embraced you and you almost immediately began to fall asleep.

You woke up the next morning.

His side of the bed was cold, which made you wonder if he even slept.

You were dressed in warm and beautiful fur as you headed out to the garden.

Although winter was almost here, and every tree and flower lost their colour, you still enjoyed the garden very much.

The lady who showed you around kept telling you stories about the garden and soon, you entered the training grounds.

"My Lady, we probably shouldn't be here," she said but you just dismissed her and continued on.

You didn't want these men to think that you were only a decoration, a pretty little thing too afraid of some blood and sweat.

But what you found rather interesting was Cregan. He was in the middle of practising his sword and all you could focus on was his muscles as he moved.

"Princess," he said when he saw you.

You were not a princess, you told him before, but he didn't care.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

"I'm having a walk. L-"

"Let me show you around," he said as he left to quickly put his sword down. You looked at the servant who had been walking with you, she simply bowed and left without another word.

You stood there as the men kept staring at you. You tried to softly smile at them as they kept murmuring between one another.

You knew those looks too well.

It made you so uncomfortable.

Finally, Cregan arrived back and you two quickly left the training grounds as he guided you back to his home.

"Do you believe in soulmates, Princess?" he suddenly asked and you looked at him in shock.

"Soulmates?"

"When I was a young pup, my mother told me a story. She said that every person is born as a half and it is up to them to find their other half. You see, she said in the beginning, men and women were one, but we angered the Gods and they separated the whole into two. It is said all of us a doomed to find our other half. And many of us don't while others do."

"I do remember my mother told me the same story."

"Then you must understand my feelings. When I first saw you. We were young and I didn't know back then what my feelings meant. However, now I do. We were meant to be. We are soulmates."

"You must be joking, Sir Stark. How can you believe that?"

"I believe it because I feel it. Do you not?"

"I-" You didn't want to say no, because truth be told, you never actually thought about it. But if you were honest with yourself, you did feel a certain pull towards him. "I'm not sure. Is this why you chose me as your bride?"

"Who else could I choose but you?" weirdly, you understood him, you should have thought he was crazy.

And yet you didn’t.

In your heart, this all felt so right.

“I used to watch you, Princess. Even as a young boy, I knew, there was something special between us. I asked for your hand in marriage because of this connection which I believe in. Do you also feel it?" he looked so hopeful.

His eyes shone as he took a step closer and held both of your hands in his.

"I asked your father for your hand but now, I ask you, Princess. Will you marry me?" you took a deep breath.

"You say such sweet things. Talking about destiny and love, Lord Stark, but how do I know you are truthful? How do I know your words are more than a deception to get closer to my family?"

"I had a feeling you would fear as such. It is why I tried to best my home with the things you like, to properly welcome you. Since I cannot share my feelings with you. I had a new library put in, since a garden in this weather would not hold."

"I will be your wife, Lord." you suddenly said. "Not because of your library or garden, but I do feel the same you claim to. And I'm tired of pretending that I don't. Ever since we were children, I never forgot about you. Even if it was so long ago." you looked into his eyes and they shined with happiness.

"My Love, I promise you will not regret being open about this. I plan on keeping you safe and happy. And tomorrow, after our wedding, I will give you an eternity filled with joy and love."

You believed him, you really did, after all he sounded extremely sincere.

You placed your hands on his chest as he pulled you in for a hug.

You knew this was the beginning of your forever with him.

---

The wedding went well. Suspiciously well.

You expected some kind of disaster.

But nothing.

You two were wed, and celebrated along with the guests.

Your parents were proud of you, you could see it in their eyes, but they also told you multiple times.

You danced, drank and had an amazing time at your wedding.

It was the very first time your husband kissed you and it felt as if everything just fell into place.

As if all of your hidden feelings came to the surface.

Then, years passed.

You heard of a war coming and you feared the worst.

You were with your first child when the news about the Dance of the Dragons came to Winterfell.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon came to ask your husband for his help during the war.

Of course, Cregan promised the Prince his men and sword.

"What bothers you, My Love?" he asked the same night, in the dark of your chambers as he sat on the bed while you stared at the fire.

"I fear my child will grow up without a father."

"I know how much you hate war, My Queen, but-"

"No buts Cregan, I understand why war is coming and I understand why you choose to partake."

"Then you must understand, I am doing it for our child and their future." he stood up and knelt on the floor in front of you. "I promise you, I will be back before our son is born."

"Or daughter." he laughed a little.

"Or little princess. You are right."

You put your hand on his cheek, running your thumb along his cheekbone.

"I love you, My Wolf."

"And I love you, My Wife." he moved his head and kissed your palm before he picked you up and carried you to your bed.

It might have been a simple story. A simple love story.

But it was yours and you knew it was special.

With a strong and dedicated husband, who would go to war for the future of your child and you.

Who trained a dozen wolves to protect you, who always made sure to not only tell you that he loved you but prove it to you in any and all ways that he could.

House of the Dragon Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[therogueflame]

Twins Plus One

Hi friends,

Here is the final version of The Twins Plus One, a fic I started off as an example text for my good friend Aera, and then it was suddenly 8.2k words, oops. Enjoy!

✨My Masterlist✨

🖊️ My AO3 🖊️

Summary: Your beloved brother, the Prince Jacaerys, comes to visit you six months after you wed Cregan Stark. He is embraced by the welcoming warmth of Winterfell's hearths—and the even gentler warmth of you.

Warnings: 18+, sex (p in v), oral (m!recieving), targcest (targaryen incest, mentioned regularly), threesome, multiple orgasm, cuckholding, no use of y/n, light descriptions of fem!reader

Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader x FraternalTwin!Jacaerys

MDNI!!!

You sat beside your new lord husband in the meal hall, the warmth of the hearth fighting the chill that had gripped your southerly bones. The table was laden with hearty northern fare—stewed meats, dark bread, and spiced porridge—each bite a balm against the frosty morning. Comfortable silence stretched between you and Cregan, his steady presence grounding you as the castle slowly came to life around you.

The creak of the door interrupted your thoughts, drawing your attention as a young steward entered hesitantly. He walked forward with measured steps, his voice steady despite his youth. “My Lord Stark,” he began, “Prince Jacaerys has been spotted atop his dragon less than a mile away.”

Your heart fluttered at the words, anticipation surging through your veins like wildfire. You turned to Cregan, struggling to keep the smile threatening to break through the stoic mask you’d carefully crafted since arriving in the North.

Cregan, however, remained calm, barely glancing up from his plate. “Thank you, Steward Falk. We will be there to greet him shortly,” he replied evenly, his tone unhurried, as though the arrival of a dragon and its prince was a common occurrence.

The steward hesitated for a moment, then bowed and retreated, leaving you alone once more. The fire crackled softly in the background, the only sound as you rose from your seat. “I shall go and prepare myself, then. I will meet you in the courtyard,” you said, your voice steady despite the excitement swirling within you.

Cregan looked up at you, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. He nodded, taking a slow swig of his morning ale. “Very well, my lady,” he said simply, his deep voice carrying a quiet warmth.

You left the hall with deliberate steps that soon gave way to a quicker pace, your anticipation driving you forward. It had been nearly six months since you last saw Jace, and the ache of his absence had lingered every day since. Neither of you had ever grown accustomed to the silence that came with separation. You had spent your entire lives side by side, and now, for the first time, duty had driven a wedge between you.

Your mother, Queen Rhaenyra, had bestowed your hand in marriage to Cregan Stark as a royal favor, securing his unwavering loyalty amidst the war against the Greens. It had been a shock, to you and to Jace, for you had always assumed you would one day wed each other—as was the tradition of House Targaryen. But war had a way of reshaping plans, and the need for alliances outweighed sentiment.

And so, you had come to the North, leaving behind the warmth of Dragonstone and the brother who had been your other half. Yet, despite your initial fears, you had found a kind of solace here. Cregan Stark was a man of unshakable honor, his rugged charm and steady presence offering a different kind of warmth. His towering frame and wolfish features complemented your fiery blood, a balance of North and South, ice and fire. He had become your home in a way you hadn’t expected, his strength and tenderness creating a bond you cherished.

Not only was he kind and loyal, but his passion burned as fiercely as yours. The nights you spent together in your marriage bed had opened a door to desires you had never known. While you had not denied yourself pleasures as a maiden on Dragonstone, Cregan’s touch brought an intimacy and rawness that surpassed anything you had experienced before. He made you feel wanted, worshipped, alive.

Yet, as you climbed the steps to your chambers, your thoughts drifted to Jace. Memories of your childhood together flooded your mind with a bittersweet clarity. He had a dragon; you did not. He teased you for your lack of effort, while you claimed you wanted no such responsibility. His hair was a warm brown and his eyes dark, while your hair shimmered like moonlight, and your eyes were the palest shade of lilac. He was measured and composed, while you spoke without restraint, always saying the first thing that came to mind.

Growing up, you had been inseparable, exploring not only the world around you but each other. “One soul, two bodies,” they had whispered on Dragonstone, a remark often meant to discourage the time you spent together. But it was true. You were his confidant, his sister, the bold flame to his tempered one. You were his lover.

The thought made you pause as you reached your dressing table. You smoothed the fabric of your black gown, your fingers brushing over the intricate red and white embroidery—a design that symbolized your Targaryen blood and the house you now represented. The striking contrast of the dark fabric with the vibrant stitching felt like a bridge between your two worlds, and it gave you a quiet strength.

Your hands trembled slightly as you swept your hair into a simple side braid, the anticipation thrumming through you too much to allow for anything more elaborate. The reflection staring back at you in the mirror was a mixture of composed elegance and barely contained excitement. Taking a deep breath, you draped the thick white fur coat over your shoulders—the one Cregan had gifted you on your wedding day. It was impossibly soft and warm, and you couldn’t help but love how its stark brightness contrasted with Cregan’s dark, commanding black cloak.

With one last glance at your reflection, you squared your shoulders, the weight of the moment settling over you. The castle felt alive, the air buzzing with the knowledge of who was arriving. And you—ready or not—would greet him, as both sister and the Lady of Winterfell.

You made your way down to the courtyard, where Cregan stood flanked by his courtiers, awaiting Jacaerys’s arrival. The fresh snow crunched softly beneath your boots, the chill in the air sharp but invigorating as you approached. The crisp northern wind carried with it the faint scent of pine and smoke from the castle’s hearths.

Cregan was deep in conversation with one of his men, his broad shoulders framed by the dark fur of his cloak. Without hesitation, you stepped to his side and slipped your hand into his, the simple gesture announcing your presence. The warmth of his palm against yours was grounding, a silent reassurance in the excitement swirling within you.

At the touch of your hand, Cregan turned toward you, his sharp gray eyes softening as they met yours. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he waved the man off with a curt nod, his full attention now devoted to you.

“My lady wife,” he said with a smile that reached his eyes, his voice rich with warmth. “I will never grow tired of seeing you in this cloak.” His gaze swept over you, lingering with quiet admiration before his hands rose to cradle your face. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch, a gentle sigh escaping you as you melted into the familiar comfort of his affection. His hands lingered for a moment longer, steady and grounding, before one slipped to take yours. “And this dress, my love,” he murmured, stepping back just enough to take in the full sight of you. “What a choice you’ve made.”

With a slight tug, he beckoned you to spin, the embroidery catching the light as the fabric flowed gracefully. The intricate patterns told a story of unity, weaving together the symbols of the two great houses as seamlessly as your lives had been joined.

“Do you like it?” you asked, your voice soft as a blush warmed your cheeks.

“I love it,” he growled, his voice low and full of conviction. Before you could respond, his hands found your waist, pulling you close as his lips claimed yours in a deep, unrestrained kiss. His affection was unabashed, displayed boldly for the entire courtyard to see. The kiss lingered, warm and consuming, until a piercing shriek shattered the moment.

You broke away, breathless, your cheeks flushed and your lips tingling. Your head snapped upward, your heart leaping as you caught sight of Vermax circling above. The dragon’s shriek echoed through the courtyard, and your eyes lit with excitement, the sight of your brother’s dragon bringing a rush of memories and emotions.

Your hand tightened instinctively around Cregan’s, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. As Vermax descended, his powerful wings stirring the snow-dusted ground, you could just make out Jace atop the saddle. He was still too far to see clearly, but you didn’t need to. You felt his presence like a flame reigniting something dormant within you.

Every fiber of your being ached to run to him, to throw yourself into his arms as you had so many times before. But duty—and propriety—rooted you in place. Instead, you turned to Cregan, your excitement uncontainable, your grin as bright as a child’s on their name day.

As Jace strides forward, your eyes remain fixed on him, drinking in the sight as if he is the most beautiful vision the gods have ever blessed you with. He is slim, like you, but there is a quiet strength in the way he carries himself. His dark curls frame his face, and you realize with a pang just how much you’ve missed every detail—the way his eyes glint with warmth, the faint curve of his lips when he smiles.

Vermax lets out a low, rumbling complaint, his golden-green scales glinting faintly in the northern light as he shifts restlessly. Jace glances back at his dragon with an easy smile, the kind that speaks of an unbreakable bond. The ill-tempered beast’s antics earn a quiet chuckle from his rider before Jace turns his attention forward again.

Cregan releases your hand, his fingers brushing yours in a subtle farewell, and strides toward Jace with measured steps. The two men meet halfway, the wind stirring the snow around them as the moment hangs heavy with warmth and welcome.

“My Prince,” Cregan bows his head, “What an honor to have you back at Winterfell.” Cregan clasps Jace’s forearm in greeting, his grip firm and warm despite the chill in the air. “I trust your flight was well?”

“My Lord Stark, the honor is all mine,” Jace replies, his voice cordial but tinged with fatigue. He flashes that smile that had always lit up even the darkest of days on Dragonstone. “The flight was well enough, though long. Dare I say I grow weary of being on dragonback for what feels like endless days. Vermax, too, was eager to find solid ground and rest his wings. The North's skies, beautiful as they are, stretch farther than I had remembered.”

Cregan chuckles lightly. “Aye, our skies are vast, and our winters endless, or so it sometimes feels. I hope the warmth of Winterfell can offer some comfort to you and your dragon after such a journey.”

Jace inclines his head with a faint smile. “A hearth to sit by and a meal to share with good company will do much to lift my spirits—and Vermax, I trust, will be content with a quiet perch and a hearty meal of his own.” 

You try to stay still, to hold onto some semblance of decorum, but your heart feels like it might burst. Jace’s presence fills the courtyard, commanding attention as he exchanges words with Cregan, but your focus narrows solely to him. His voice—so familiar yet matured by time and distance—pulls at something deep within you. You barely hear their conversation, your excitement drowning out the words.

The moment Cregan releases his grip on Jace’s forearm and takes a step back, you can’t contain yourself any longer. You lift your skirts slightly and rush forward, your laughter spilling into the crisp northern air. “Jace!”

He turns toward you just in time, his expression shifting from surprise to unrestrained joy. The fatigue in his eyes fades as you throw yourself into his arms, your momentum making him stagger slightly before he catches you effortlessly. His arms wrap around you, warm and strong, as he lifts you off the ground and spins you, just as he used to when you were children.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he says, his voice filled with laughter as he holds you tightly. Your skirts billow in the wind, catching the snow-dusted breeze, but you don’t care who’s watching. All that matters is this moment—having your twin back in your arms.

“And you’re still late,” you tease breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at his face. “I’ve been waiting for ages.”

“I missed you too, sister,” he replies, his voice quieter now, his dark curls framing his face in a way that softens his usual sharpness. His eyes glint with warmth, the bond between you as unbreakable as ever.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Cregan standing with his arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I should have known I’d be second to greet you, Prince Jacaerys.”

Jace sets you back on your feet, his hands lingering on your shoulders as he grins at your husband. “Forgive me, my lord, but she’s never been good at waiting.”

“And I never will be,” you add, lacing your arm through Jace’s, refusing to let him go just yet. “Not for you.”

Cregan chuckles, his deep voice warm. “I see there’s no competing with twins.”

Jace looks down at you, his smile softening. “Not when you’ve been apart for this long.”

Cregan steps back with a knowing smile, his hands clasped behind his back. “I’ll leave you to your reunion,” he says, his deep voice warm and steady. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, soft with understanding, before he nods to Jace and turns toward the gathered onlookers, giving you both the privacy he knows you need.

You glance back at Jace, your arm still looped through his, but your eyes flicker to the towering form of Vermax. The great dragon shifts restlessly, his tail swishing through the snow, sending up puffs of frost. His golden-green scales glint faintly even in the muted northern light, and his sharp, intelligent eyes seem to search for you.

With a grin tugging at your lips, you release Jace’s arm and take a step toward the beast that looms like a mountain of muscle and fire. Vermax watches you approach, his head lowering slightly, nostrils flaring as his hot breath puffs against the cold air. The warmth he radiates is almost tangible, a stark contrast to the biting chill around you.

“Hi, old friend,” you say softly, your voice carrying just enough to reach him. Your hand rises instinctively, and Vermax lets out a low, rumbling croon, the sound vibrating through the air and your chest. He leans his massive head closer, his jeweled eyes fixed on you with an almost affectionate curiosity.

You press your palm to the smooth scales of his snout, marveling at the familiar warmth beneath your fingers. “It’s been too long,” you whisper, your voice tender. “You’ve grown even more magnificent.”

Behind you, Jace chuckles softly, his voice rich with amusement. “I think he missed you nearly as much as I did.”

“You’ve always had a way with him,” Jace says, his voice quieter now, a note of admiration slipping through the weariness.

You meet his gaze, holding it for a heartbeat longer than you should. “And I always will,” you reply softly, your lips curving into a small smile. There’s a warmth in his eyes, something deeper than his words, but you push it aside as you step closer and slip your hand into his. “Come. Winterfell isn’t as forgiving as Dragonstone, and I’d rather not have you freezing out here.”

Jace doesn’t resist, his hand fitting into yours as though it had never let go. As you guide him toward the keep, the snow crunching under your boots, the quiet settles between you—not uncomfortable, but charged, as if the air holds the weight of every memory you’ve shared.

“Things have changed,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice is measured, but there’s something wistful beneath it. “You. Me. Everything.”

You glance back at him, your brow arching slightly. “We’re not children anymore, Jace,” you say lightly, though your heart twists at the reminder. “Life changes. That’s what it does.”

“And yet,” he murmurs, his gaze fixed on you, “some things don’t.”

You falter for just a moment, your steps slowing as his words hang between you. You don’t turn to face him, afraid of what you might see in his eyes—or worse, what he might see in yours. “Don’t, Jace,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not here. Not now.”

The warmth of his hand tightens ever so slightly, and you hate how much you notice it, how much you miss it when you let go to push open the heavy doors to the keep. The firelight spills out into the corridor, bathing you both in its golden glow, but it does little to ease the ache building in your chest.

As you step inside, Jace’s presence feels both too close and too far. You know the walls of Winterfell are not kind to secrets, and you know that your love for Cregan is true. But Jace—Jace was your first love, the other half of your soul, the person who knew every piece of you before you even understood it yourself. That part of you will always belong to him, no matter where life’s currents have carried you.

“I’ve missed this,” he says, his voice soft and raw, as he follows you down the torch-lit corridor. “Not just being here. You. Us.”

You glance over your shoulder, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s good to have you here, Jace,” you say, sidestepping the words he wants to hear, the words you can’t bring yourself to say. “Winterfell’s been quieter without you.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, though it carries a hollow edge. “Quiet isn’t always a good thing.”

You lead him toward the great hall, the scent of pinewood smoke and roasted meat growing stronger with each step. For a moment, you let yourself imagine a different life—one where the traditions of your house hadn’t demanded so much of you, one where duty hadn’t been placed above love. But it’s a fleeting thought, one that you bury as quickly as it surfaces.

As you pause just outside the hall, Jace reaches for your hand again, his touch as familiar as the way your name sounds on his lips. “We were supposed to end up together,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. There’s no accusation in it, just a quiet truth that neither of you can deny.

You don’t pull away this time. Instead, you meet his gaze, your heart breaking a little under the weight of everything you can’t say. “I know,” you whisper. “But life had other plans.”

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the unspoken past and the impossible future colliding in the space between. Then, from within the hall, you hear Cregan’s voice, steady and commanding, calling your name. The sound pulls you back to the present, grounding you.

You step away from Jace, your hand slipping from his as you turn toward the hall. “Come,” you say softly, glancing back at him one last time. “Winterfell is yours for as long as you’re here.”

He follows, his steps quiet, but the way his gaze lingers on you tells you he’s already counting the days until he must leave again.

The great hall of Winterfell was alive with warmth and merriment, the crackling of the hearth mixing with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. The busy day had given way to a night of comfort, the excitement of Prince Jacaerys’s arrival lingering in the air like a shared secret. The North’s famous hospitality was on full display—platters of roasted meats, thick stews, and hearty bread lined the tables, while goblets brimmed with mulled wine and ale.

The hours since Jace’s arrival had passed in a blur of formal greetings and quiet reunions. You had spent much of the day guiding him through Winterfell, showing him the changes to your new home while reminiscing about the past. His presence brought a warmth to the cold halls, but now, as the feast began, the formalities melted into the simple joy of being together.

You sat between Jace and Cregan, the firelight dancing across the three of you as the evening wore on. Jace, for all his charm and easy smiles, was quieter than usual. He laughed when prompted, offered polite responses to Cregan’s stories, but you could see the fatigue etched into the lines of his face.

As the hour grew late, Jace leaned back in his chair, his goblet nearly untouched. He stretched slightly, the movement subtle, but enough for you to catch it. He was holding himself together out of courtesy, but you knew him too well to miss the signs of exhaustion.

Cregan, mid-sentence in a tale about a hunt from earlier in the season, paused as Jace set his goblet down and rose to his feet. “My lord, my sister,” Jace began, inclining his head toward the two of you. “Forgive me, but the journey has taken more out of me than I realized. I must excuse myself and retire for the night.”

Cregan nodded, his expression understanding. “Of course, Prince Jacaerys. You’ve earned your rest. We’ll see you at the breaking of the fast.”

Jace turned his gaze to you, his dark eyes warm despite the weariness in them. “Goodnight, sister,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You offered him a small smile. “Goodnight, brother. Rest well.”

He inclined his head once more and strode out of the hall, his steps steady but slower than usual. The door closed behind him with a faint creak, leaving the warmth and revelry of the hall behind.

The walk back to your chambers was quiet but charged, the air between you and Cregan warm despite the chill of Winterfell’s stone halls. His hand lingered at the small of your back, steady and sure, guiding you through the dimly lit corridors. The firelight from your chambers spilled into the hallway as he pushed the door open, allowing you both to step into the inviting glow.

Cregan moved to pour himself another goblet of wine, watching you as you leaned casually against the mantle. The firelight played across your features, casting soft shadows over your skin. He studied you for a moment before speaking, his voice low and smooth. “You and Jace… you’ve always had a bond. It’s different. Stronger.”

You met his gaze, your lips curving slightly, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes—nostalgia, maybe, or something deeper. “We are twins,” you said simply, though the words carried weight. “But more than that. Growing up, there was no one else like him. He was mine, and I was his.”

Cregan raised an eyebrow, swirling the wine in his goblet. “Yours,” he echoed, his tone curious. “How so?”

You let out a soft laugh, stepping away from the hearth and crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “Jace and I had what we called ‘twin time.’ An hour, every day, just for us. No lessons, no court, no responsibilities. No one else allowed.”

He leaned back against the table, his goblet forgotten in his hand. “And what did this ‘twin time’ entail?”

A slow smile spread across your lips, the memory heating your cheeks slightly. “Whatever we wanted. Sometimes, we’d talk. Other times, we’d sneak out to the cliffs and just sit there, watching the sea.” You paused, your gaze drifting toward the fire. “But as we got older… things changed. Twin time became something… more.”

Cregan’s gray eyes darkened slightly, his interest unmistakable as he stepped closer. “More,” he repeated, his voice dipping lower. “How much more?”

You glanced up at him, your pulse quickening under his steady gaze. “Enough that people began to notice,” you admitted, your voice softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. “We shared everything. Not just secrets, or dreams, but… everything.”

Cregan set his goblet down on the table, his hands resting on either side as he leaned toward you slightly. “And now?” he asked, his voice rougher, more deliberate. “Does he still hold that part of you?”

Your lips curved again, though this time the smile was slower, more intimate. “Jace will always be a part of me,” you said, your tone light but charged. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not exactly where I want to be.”

He straightened slightly, his eyes locked on yours, his interest piqued but his expression unreadable. “You’re an intriguing woman,” he said finally, his voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. “I’m starting to think I’ll never fully unravel you.”

You tilted your head, your smile widening as you rose to your feet, closing the space between you. “Good,” you said softly, your voice taking on a playful lilt. “Where would the fun be in that?”

Cregan reached out, his hand brushing against your waist, his touch deliberate but teasing. “Fair enough,” he murmured, his gaze dipping for just a moment before returning to yours. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about how far this ‘twin time’ went.”

You let out a low laugh, tilting your head up slightly as your fingers toyed with the edge of his tunic. “Some things are better left to the imagination, my lord,” you teased, your voice warm and laced with suggestion.

His hand tightened slightly on your waist, a soft hum escaping his lips. “You’re a cruel woman,” he said, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

“And yet, you married me anyway,” you quipped, leaning closer as the firelight danced between you.

The rest of the night stretched ahead, the warmth of the fire and the charged air between you promising no shortage of intrigue and intimacy.

It was the Hour of the Wolf, the darkest and stillest time of night. Jace wandered the cold halls of Winterfell, missing the warmth of the south and the closeness of his family. He was wrapped in a borrowed wolf-fur coat—one of Cregan’s—which hung loosely on his frame, nearly two sizes too large. His sword rested at his hip, his hand gripping the hilt tightly as though it could offer some reassurance against the chill that seeped into his bones.

His mind was restless, caught in an endless cycle of thoughts. The looming war dominated most of his worries, but beneath that weight was you—always you. For the first time in his life, he had spent more than a moon’s turn away from his beloved twin. Six months had passed since Jace had escorted you north for your wedding to Cregan Stark. He had known this day would come eventually—duty demanded it—but he hadn’t expected it to arrive so shortly after your twentieth nameday.

Cregan was a good man, steadfast and loyal, and one of the crown’s closest allies. Jace and Cregan were like brothers, and yet, Jace couldn’t shake the thought that he should have been the one by your side. Your husband. The way it had always been meant to be.

As he walks, his thoughts run wild over the last time he saw you in front of him. The way your hair, the pale silver of your mother’s lineage, cascaded down your back. The soft curve of your waist that complimented the curve of your breasts, and the pale violet of your eyes that reflected your undeniable Targaryen heritage.

 You were his. And he was yours.

For a moment, the thought settled over him like a weight, but then a sound drew him from his reverie. Passing your chambers, he stilled, his ears catching faint noises from within. Muffled voices, sharp and low, and then a series of sounds—furniture creaking, a soft gasp, followed by something that almost sounded like a stifled cry. The noise carried through the heavy wooden door, unmistakable in the quiet of the castle.

Weary and restless, his mind leapt to the worst. Panic surged through him as his grip on his sword tightened. What if you were in danger? What if someone had crept into your chambers while Winterfell slept? He didn’t think. He acted.

Jace pushed the heavy door open swiftly, the sound of it echoing through the hall. His sword was in his hand in an instant, the blade glinting in the faint firelight as he prepared to strike down whoever dared to harm you.

And then he saw you.

You were mid-struggle, but not for your life. The man pinning you was no enemy, no intruder. It was Cregan, his bare shoulders broad and familiar, his dark hair tousled as he pressed against you with an intensity Jace couldn’t ignore. The noises he’d heard—your gasps, the creaking of the bed—suddenly made sense, and the realization hit him like a blow.

Cregan looked up at the sudden interruption, his expression calm, almost amused, despite the clear intrusion. His large frame hovered over you, his palms pressed firmly against the bed on either side of your head, poised with an authority that seemed unshaken by the scene unfolding.

You tilted your head back toward the door, your view of the world upside down as you murmured, “Jace?”

Cregan leaned back onto his knees, his broad chest rising and falling steadily, but he made no move to cover either of you. “Are you going to stand there like a frail pup,” he drawled, his northern accent thick, “or are you going to join us?”

Your eyes flew open wide as you shot a look at him, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Cregan!” you hissed, but he continued undeterred, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk.

“Your dear sister told me about what it was like growing up with you,” he said, his voice steady and low, as though he were commenting on the weather. “Targaryens and their queer customs,” he said, his tone calm but edged with dry amusement. “Still, traditions run deep, don’t they? Even here in the North.”

Jace stood frozen in the doorway, his sword still drawn, his mouth slightly open as he tried to process what he was seeing—and hearing. The confident, unshakable Prince of Dragonstone looked utterly lost for words, his dark eyes wide with shock.

“Jace,” you said, your voice softer now, though tinged with exasperation. “If you’re going to stand and watch, could you at least shut the door?”

Snapped from his stupor, Jace scurried to shut the door behind him, the heavy wood groaning on its hinges. His sword found its way back to its scabbard as he turned to face the room, his expression still a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

“Come, my young prince,” Cregan said, rising from the bed with a deliberate slowness that made his towering frame all the more imposing. “I want to see how you pleasured her in the south. She is always saying how much she misses you.”

“Cregan!” you said again, though there was no denying the flush spreading across your cheeks—or the way your lips curved into a faint, playful smile.

Rolling onto your stomach, you propped yourself up on your elbows, your gaze flicking between your husband and your twin. “My dear brother,” you teased, your voice light and warm despite the tension in the room. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so speechless.”

Jace’s mouth opened and closed as he looked between you and Cregan, his confusion giving way to nervousness. He shifted uncomfortably, as though unsure whether to move forward or retreat. “Are you… sure?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, laced with hesitation.

You tilted your head, studying him with a fond smile. “It’ll be just like old times, brother,” you purred. “You always did have your way with me.”

Cregan moved toward Jace, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder, the weight of it steady and grounding. “Relax, lad,” he said with a chuckle. “The North is colder than the South, but we know how to make things warm.”

You rise gracefully from the bed, the firelight casting a golden glow over your bare skin as you cross the room toward where Cregan and Jace stand. The flickering flames seem to dance across your body, enhancing every smooth curve with an almost ethereal brilliance. Basking in the warmth, the blood of the dragon within you seems to stir, igniting a presence that is both commanding and effortless.

Your movements are unhurried, deliberate, each step carrying the confidence born of your lineage. There is no shame in your nudity; the fire of Old Valyria burns bright within you, and it demands to be seen.

Jace’s gaze is fixed on you, his dark eyes tracing every inch of your form as though committing you to memory. He hasn’t seen you like this in months—not since Dragonstone, where the two of you had shared moments of intimacy so profound that time itself seemed to stand still. Now, he is frozen in place, his tension palpable, his breath uneven. Yet beneath the restraint, there is something else: a mix of longing, reverence, and the faintest hint of disbelief, as though you are a vision he never thought he’d behold again.

You reach for him, your fingers brushing his cheek in a familiar, tender gesture. Leaning closer, your lips graze the curve of his neck, a breathy kiss that makes him shiver under your touch. His borrowed wolf-fur cloak slides from his shoulders with ease as your hands find the fastening of his tunic, the fabric parting beneath your deft fingers.

Behind you, Cregan moves silently, retreating to the foot of the bed. His presence lingers, calm and watchful, his steady gaze drinking in the scene as though it were a rare hunt unfolding before him.

You smile against Jace’s neck, your touch soothing and guiding, coaxing the tension from his frame. Gently, you take his hands and place them at the small of your back, encouraging him to hold you as he once did, to let the moment bridge the space that had grown between you.

Jace's hands trembled slightly as they settled on your skin, but the familiar warmth of your body against his seemed to awaken something within him. His touch grew more confident, fingers tracing the curve of your spine as he pulled you closer.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His lips found yours, the kiss tentative at first but quickly deepening with months of longing and separation.

You melted into his embrace, your body remembering his touch as if no time had passed. Your fingers tangled in his dark curls, tugging gently as the kiss intensified. The taste of him, the scent of him - it was all achingly familiar, like coming home after a long journey.

"That's it," Cregan murmured, his deep voice carrying across the room. "Show me how you used to please her, Prince Jacaerys."

Jace broke the kiss, his breath coming in short pants as he glanced over your shoulder at Cregan. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the desire burning within him. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips found the curve of your neck.

You tilted your head, giving him better access as a soft moan escaped your lips. Your fingers worked at the laces of his breeches, eager to feel more of him. "Jace," you breathed, your voice husky with want.

Jace's teeth grazed your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Gods, I've dreamed of this," he murmured against your neck, his hands roaming your body with growing confidence.

You arched into his touch, relishing the familiar feel of his hands on your skin. With deft fingers, you finished unlacing his breeches, pushing them down his hips along with his smallclothes. Jace stepped out of them, kicking them aside as he pulled you closer

His arousal pressed against your stomach, hot and insistent. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly as you captured his lips in another searing kiss. Jace groaned into your mouth, his hips bucking involuntarily into your touch.

You guided Jace backwards towards the bed, your lips never leaving his as you moved together in a familiar dance. The back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he sat, pulling you down to straddle his lap. His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples as you ground against him.

"Show me," Cregan's deep voice rumbled from beside the bed. "Show me how you used to take your pleasure from each other."

You broke the kiss, gazing into Jace's dark eyes as you lifted your hips. He gripped himself, positioning at your entrance as you slowly sank down onto him. Twin gasps escaped your lips as you were joined once more, the feeling of completeness overwhelming after so many months apart.

You began to move, rolling your hips in a slow, sensual rhythm as Jace filled you completely. His hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements as he thrust up to meet you. The familiar stretch and fullness of him inside you sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Gods, you feel incredible," Jace groaned, his head falling back as you rode him. His eyes were heavy-lidded with desire, drinking in the sight of you above him.

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Your tongues danced as you moved together, rediscovering the perfect synchronicity you'd always shared. Jace's hands roamed your body, caressing and kneading as if trying to memorize every curve and plane.

From the side of the bed, Cregan watched intently, his gray eyes dark with arousal.

As you and Jace became lost in each other, you glanced over your shoulder at Cregan, who stood there, unmoving yet fully aroused. His heated gaze sent a thrill through you, only adding to the mounting fire within. You lifted your hips higher, grinding against Jace with a newfound urgency, your breath hitching in your throat as the sensations intensified.

You bit your lip to stifle a moan, your eyes locked with Cregan's. He knew what you wanted without a word being spoken. Slowly, he approached the bed, his steps measured and deliberate.

Cregan joined you on the bed, his large frame dwarfing both you and Jace. His rough hands caressed your back as you continued to ride Jace, sending shivers down your spine. You leaned back slightly, pressing against Cregan's broad chest.

Jace's eyes widened as he took in the sight of you sandwiched between them. His hips stuttered in their rhythm for a moment before he regained his composure, thrusting up into you with renewed vigor.

Cregan's lips found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, sucking and nipping as one hand snaked around to cup your breast. His other hand trailed lower, fingers circling your most sensitive spot as Jace continued to fill you.

The dual stimulation was almost too much. You cried out, your back arching as waves of pleasure washed over you.

The sensations overwhelmed you as Cregan and Jace worked in tandem, their touches igniting every nerve ending. Cregan's skilled fingers circled your sensitive bud as Jace thrust deeply inside you, the combination bringing you to dizzying heights of pleasure.

You threw your head back against Cregan's broad shoulder, a breathless moan escaping your lips. "Gods, yes," you gasped, your body trembling between them.

Jace's dark eyes were fixed on your face, drinking in every expression of ecstasy. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements as he drove up into you with increasing urgency.

"That's it, love," Cregan murmured in your ear, his deep voice rough with desire. "Let go for us. Show us how good it feels."

His words pushed you over the edge.

Your climax crashed over you in waves of searing pleasure, your body trembling between them as you cried out. Your inner walls clenched around Jace, drawing a deep groan from him as his thrusts became erratic.

"Gods, I'm close," Jace gasped, his fingers digging into your hips.

Cregan's hand left your sensitive bud, and you let out a exasperated whine as the sensation ceased. "Not yet, lad," he growled. "She can take more."

With surprising strength, Cregan lifted you off Jace, eliciting whimpers of protest from both of you at the loss of contact. But before you could voice any complaints, Cregan had you on your hands and knees on the bed.

"Take her from behind," Cregan commanded Jace, his tone brooking no argument.

Jace didn't hesitate, moving behind you and entering you once more with a low groan. His hands gripped your hips as he set a punishing pace, driving into you with renewed vigor. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your oversensitive body trembling.

Cregan knelt in front of you, his large hand cupping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His gray eyes were dark with lust as he looked down at you. "Open," he commanded, his voice husky.

You parted your lips obediently, watching as Cregan freed himself from his breeches. He was impressively large, and your mouth watered at the sight. Slowly, he guided himself between your lips, letting out a deep groan as you took him in.

Cregan's impressive length filled your mouth as Jace continued to thrust into you from behind. The dual sensations were overwhelming, pleasure coursing through your body with each movement. You moaned around Cregan, the vibrations making him groan deeply.

Jace's fingers dug into your hips as he pounded into you relentlessly. "Gods, you feel amazing," he gasped, his voice strained with pleasure.

Cregan's hand tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you took him deeper. His other hand cupped your cheek tenderly, a stark contrast to the intensity of his thrusts.

The room was filled with the heady scent of sex and sweat as the three of you moved together in a primal rhythm. Jace's thrusts grew more erratic as he neared his peak, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks. Cregan guided your movements with a firm hand tangled in your hair, his impressive length sliding between your lips.

Every inch of your body trembled with pleasure, caught between the passionate thrusts of Jace behind you and the powerful presence of Cregan in front of you. Your senses were overwhelmed as Jace's deep and forceful movements sent waves of ecstasy through your core, igniting every nerve ending in your body. The weight of Cregan on your tongue added an extra layer of intensity, his taste and scent filling your mouth as he moved with a controlled rhythm. You were consumed by the intense sensations, lost in a world of pure pleasure that seemed to have no end.

Jace's movements grew more desperate as he chased his release. His fingers dug into your hips, sure to leave marks, as he pounded into you relentlessly. "I'm close," he gasped, his voice strained.

Cregan's hand tightened in your hair, guiding your movements as you took him deeper. "That's it," he growled. "Show us how well you can please us both, little dragon."

The overwhelming intensity of their combined attentions sent you spiraling towards another climax. Waves of pleasure surged through your body as Jace's firm thrusts found and stimulated just the right spot. With each movement, a low moan escaped your lips and traveled along Cregan's length, causing him to let out a deep groan in response. The air was thick with the scent of desire and the sounds of passion as you surrendered to the pleasure they were giving you. It was like being caught in a whirlwind of sensation, unable to control your own body as it responded to their skilled touch. And in that moment, nothing else mattered except the pure ecstasy that consumed every inch of your being.

Jace's movements grew frantic as he neared his peak. "I can't hold back much longer," he gasped, his fingers digging into your hips.

Cregan released his grip on your hair, allowing you to pull back. "Let go, lad," he commanded. "Fill her up."

With a few final, powerful thrusts, Jace let out a deep, guttural moan as he found his release. The sensation of him pulsing inside you sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Your muscles clenched and released in perfect rhythm with his, amplifying the intensity of your second climax. As you shuddered between them, pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, consuming your senses and leaving you breathless. Even as Jace continued to move through his own orgasm, you were lost in the blissful aftermath of yours, feeling completely surrendered to the pleasure coursing through every inch of your being.

Now it was Cregan's turn to fulfill your deepest desires and fill your womb with his potent seed. Where Jace's touch was gentle yet intense, Cregan possessed a raw, untamed energy that ignited a fire within you. His primal nature and unbridled passion were like a wild winter storm, sweeping you away in a frenzy of pleasure.

As you came down from your climax, Jace slowly withdrew, collapsing onto the bed beside you. Your body trembled with aftershocks as Cregan gently guided you to lie back.

"My turn," Cregan growled, his gray eyes dark with desire as he positioned himself between your thighs. He entered you in one smooth thrust, filling you completely. You gasped at the sensation, still sensitive from your previous orgasms.

Cregan set a relentless pace, his powerful hips driving into you. Where Jace had been passionate yet gentle, Cregan was raw power and primal need. His large hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he pounded into you.

"Gods, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice rough with pleasure. "So wet for me. So wet for your brother,” he praised, each word punctuated with the thrust of his hips.

Your cries of pleasure echoed through the chamber as Cregan drove into you with powerful thrusts. His large hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wide as he pounded relentlessly. The bed creaked beneath you with the force of his movements.

"That's it, love," Cregan growled, his gray eyes dark with lust as he gazed down at you. "Take all of me."

Beside you, Jace watched with hooded eyes, his hand lazily stroking himself back to hardness. The sight of you writhing in pleasure beneath Cregan seemed to awaken something primal in him.

Cregan's relentless pace drove you higher, building the pressure within you once more. Your hands clutched at his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you cried out in pleasure. The room was filled with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh and your breathless moans.

"So beautiful," Cregan growled, his voice rough with desire. "Taking us both so well."

Jace moved closer, his hand trailing down your body to where you and Cregan were joined. His fingers found your sensitive bud, circling it in time with Cregan's thrusts. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, pushing you rapidly towards another peak.

"That's it, sister," Jace murmured, his dark eyes fixed on your face. "Let go for us again."

Your body arched off the bed as another intense climax crashed over you, waves of pleasure radiating through every nerve. You cried out, inner walls clenching around Cregan as your release washed over you.

Cregan growled deeply, his thrusts becoming erratic as your tightening pushed him over the edge. With a final powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his seed spilling deep within your womb. The feeling of his hot release triggered aftershocks of pleasure that had you trembling beneath him.

As you both came down from your highs, Cregan carefully withdrew and collapsed beside you on the bed. You lay there panting, sandwiched between your husband and your twin, your body still tingling from the intense pleasure.

Jace's hand trailed lazily up and down your side as Cregan pulled you close against his chest.

The three of you lay tangled together on the bed, your bodies glistening with a thin sheen of sweat in the firelight. The room was heavy with the scent of sex and the lingering echoes of pleasure. For a long moment, the only sound was your collective heavy breathing as you all came down from the intense high.

Cregan's large hand splayed possessively across your stomach, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. Jace's fingers intertwined with yours, a familiar comfort that sent a pang of bittersweet longing through your chest.

"Well," Cregan rumbled, his deep voice tinged with satisfaction, "I'd say that was a successful reunion."

You couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped your lips, turning your head to press a kiss to Cregan's bearded jaw. "Indeed it was, my lord.”

[aeralux]

"Brother's Best Friend" - Cregan Stark

Modern!Cregan Stark x Jace's Sister!Reader

Summary: You simply wanted a ride home from your brother, Jace, after his hockey practice. But as usual, he takes a long time to get ready. Luckily, his best friend, Cregan Stark, comes to your rescue.

Warnings: SMUT; rough sex; anal; degradation; name calling; fingering; dirty fantasies of each other; Cregan is (lowkey) a pervert; oral (f!receiving); aftercare <3

Words: 7.9k

Notes: As always, no descriptive language of the reader is used. English is not my first language.

-- aera xx

Another day passed uneventfully, the steady hum of the library providing a comforting backdrop as you immersed yourself in your homework. The scent of aged paper and fresh ink filled the air, mingling with the muted whispers of other students absorbed in their tasks. You waited for your brother, Jace, to finish his practice, your mind wandering as you glanced occasionally at the clock, its ticking echoing the passage of time. Jace, already armed with a car and a license, rendered the thought of walking home laughable; there was no way you’d put in that effort when a free ride was merely a call away. After all, he was your brother—taking care of you was part of the deal.

The thought of watching their practice crossed your mind briefly, yet you found little motivation. Sure, all of Jace's teammates were undeniably attractive, with toned physiques and charming smiles. But the reality was that you soon grew weary of the spectacle. The image of muscular young men gliding across the ice, shouting playful taunts at one another as they executed rapid-fire plays in their crisp white jerseys, didn’t hold your interest for long. And the fact that they weren’t even topless made it feel like a missed opportunity; you couldn't help but think, what was the point?

Today was supposed to be your practice too—though the coach’s unexpected illness had dashed those plans. Instead of lacing up your cheerleading sneakers and perfecting routines, you were surrounded by textbooks and loose sheets of paper. You were a cheerleader, after all, well-known among your peers for your spirited enthusiasm and infectious energy, much like Jace was celebrated on the ice.

Every so often, you forced your attention back to your studies, but your thoughts drifted again. You glanced at your phone, its screen illuminating the cramped table, as you saw it was nearly time for Jace and his crew to wrap up. With a resigned sigh, you gathered your things, shoving your books and scattered notes into your bag. A sense of anticipation bubbled within you as you headed toward the ice arena, the cool air from the rink already beckoning as you walked.

Cregan felt utterly spent after practice. Each muscle throbbed from the exertion, and droplets of water trickled down his skin, remnants of a quick shower that had done little to wash away his fatigue. As he stepped out of the cool, tiled locker room, the scent of soap mingled with the lingering smell of sweat—a familiar yet comforting aroma. His dark hair hung in damp strands, framing his face and accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw. 

When he spotted you waiting by the entrance, his eyes widened in surprise. It was unusual for you to show up during practice. You had always preferred to stay away, opting for the comfort of your own space. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a blend of confusion and curiosity. He took a few steps closer, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin glistening under the fluorescent lights. 

You hadn’t expected him to question your presence, but as you took in the scene before you, amusement bubbled up inside. Cregan looked different from the guy you usually saw—more vulnerable, more real. The way his hair clung to his forehead and the ruggedness in his features made your heart flutter unexpectedly. His musky, fresh scent wrapped around you like a warm blanket, causing a blush to creep across your cheeks.

“Did you need something from Jace? I think he's still in the shower,” he continued, slowly walking closer, his gaze drifting over you for a brief moment. There was an undeniable intensity in the way he looked at you, and for a second, you thought you caught a hint of admiration in his eyes. 

Cregan couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you looked, even in your casual outfit. You tried your best to maintain a relaxed demeanour, but he could sense the slight tremor in your voice and the way your eyes flashed, betraying the undisturbed facade you were attempting to uphold. At that moment, he hoped you hadn’t noticed the way he was drinking in the sight of you, drawn to your presence like a moth to a flame.

Cregan felt a twinge of guilt as he realised he had been staring. He quickly averted his gaze, feeling the heat rise to his face.

"Sorry, I'm just tired from practice." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Cregan couldn't help but notice the way your low-cut top hugged your curves in all the right places. His eyes lingered on the tantalising swell of your cleavage for a moment too long before he forced himself to look away.

"So, uh...need a ride home?" He asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "I can give you one if you want. Jace might be a while yet."

He hoped you would say yes. The thought of having you all to himself in his car was both thrilling and terrifying. Cregan knew he shouldn't be thinking such things about his best friend's sister, but he couldn't help himself around you.

You were just so fucking gorgeous. Cregan had jerked off imagining all the dirty things he wanted to do to you more times than he could count.

But you were off limits. Untouchable. Jace would probably kill him if he ever found out.

Still, Cregan couldn't stop himself from wanting you. From craving you like a drug. He ached to bury his face between your thighs and taste your sweet nectar. To pound into your tight little cunt until you screamed his name.

You looked up at Cregan, noticing his unusual nervous demeanor which made you smirk. "A ride home?" You asked teasingly, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "You think it's gonna take Jace that long?"

You paused for a moment to think, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Jace does take awfully long in the showers, doing a full curl routine every single time.

"You know what, why not," you said with a huff as you picked up your bag and stood up to face him. Your short skirt clung to your thighs as you moved, drawing attention to your legs. "That man takes ages in the shower."

You met Cregan's gaze, a coy smile playing on your full, pouty lips. "Besides, I wouldn't mind spending a little more time alone with you," you purred, running a delicate hand down his firm arm.

Cregan's heart raced as you agreed to let him drive you home. He tried to play it cool, but inside he was freaking out. This was his chance to finally make a move on you.

Cregan couldn't help but let his eyes roam over your body as you stood up, taking in the way your shirt hugged your ample breasts and your short skirt accentuated your ass. He felt his cock twitch in his pants and had to adjust himself discreetly.

"He really does," Cregan agreed, trying to sound casual despite the lust coursing through him. "Come on, I'll take you home."

Walking to the car in silence. As he opened the passenger door for you, Cregan couldn't help but stare at your ass as you bent over to get in. Your tiny skirt rode up, giving him a perfect view of your lacy panties.

He had to adjust himself discreetly as his cock twitched in his sweats. "After you." He said gallantly, hoping you wouldn't notice the way his hands trembled as he fought the urge to grab your ass.

"Thanks," you said with a smile as you slid into the seat. Cregan nodded, trying to keep his cool as he closed the door and walked to the driver's side.

Once you were settled, Cregan slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. The rumble of the motor filled the tense silence between you. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"So, how's cheerleading going?" He asked, desperate for anything to distract himself from the filthy thoughts running through his mind. He didn't trust himself to look at you, so he kept his eyes glued to the road.

As you drove, Cregan couldn't shake the image of you bent over in your tiny skirt, your perfect ass on display. He imagined flipping that skirt up and burying his face between your cheeks, tongue delving deep into your tight asshole as you moaned and begged for more.

Unaware of his dirty thoughts, you turned to him, a warm smile spreading across your face. "Really good, actually. Thanks for asking," you replied, your voice brightening the moment. You glanced out the window, seeing the grey clouds hanging low in the sky, but the outlook didn’t dampen your spirits. "Today was cancelled, which is a bummer," you continued, your brow slightly furrowing as you bit your lip in contemplation. "Our coach caught the flu, so…"

You trailed off, momentarily lost in thought about the practice you were looking forward to, but you quickly shifted the conversation. Your gaze locked onto his, your wide eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Jace mentioned you have a big game coming up, right? Against the Hightower team, if I remember correctly." You leaned in slightly, genuinely eager for his response.

Cregan's eyes flicked to you at the mention of the upcoming game. Pride swelled in his chest at your interest in his match.

"Yeah, next Friday. It's a big one," he confirmed, nodding. "Hightower's been our rivals for years. We're gonna kick their asses."

As he spoke, Cregan couldn't help but notice the way your plump lips glistened as you bit them. He imagined those lips wrapped around his throbbing cock, your warm mouth sucking him off as you looked up at him with those innocent eyes.

"We've been practising hard for it. Gotta put those rich fuckers in their place." Cregan said with a smirk. He loved talking shit about the rival team.

He shifted in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust his rapidly hardening erection. Fuck, he was getting too worked up. He needed to calm down before he embarrassed himself.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips as you look at him. You can hardly believe how hard they’ve been pushing themselves in preparation for the upcoming match, your brother among them. 

You couldn't help but look at Cregan. The fabric of his fitted t-shirt clings to his muscular physique, accentuating the definition of his biceps and the broadness of his shoulders. Every movement he makes showcases the hard work and dedication he's put into his training. You can practically see the strength in his posture.

You bit your lip as you let your gaze travel over Cregan's strong, muscular form when he shifted his attention back to the road. Your eyes widened when they landed on the very prominent bulge straining against his grey sweats.

Fuck, he's huge. You always suspected Cregan would be packing based on his fit physique, but seeing the evidence of his impressive size makes your cunt clench with need. Suddenly you crave nothing more than to kneel between his legs and worship his thick cock with your mouth until he coats your face with his hot seed.

Burning with shame and arousal, you quickly avert your eyes, not wanting Cregan to catch you ogling his crotch. But you can't stop fantasizing about choking yourself on his fat dick, gagging and drooling around his length as he fucks your face. You squirm in your seat, rubbing your thighs together to ease the ache between th

Cregan shifted in his seat again, trying to hide his erection. He knew you had seen it, but he hoped you hadn't noticed how big he actually was. He didn't want you to think he was some pervert who got turned on by his best friend's little sister.

Even though he totally was.

"So, uh...how's school going?" Cregan asked, desperate for a distraction from the ache in his groin. He kept his eyes firmly on the road, not trusting himself to look at you right now.

Cregan couldn't stop thinking about the way your eyes widened when you saw his cock straining against his pants. He wondered if you were imagining what it would feel like inside you, stretching your tight little pussy open.

The thought nearly made him lose control of the car. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road and not the filthy fantasies running through his mind.

Your hands trembled slightly as you bit your lip, trying to maintain composure. The thought of Cregan's massive cock splitting you open sent a shiver down your spine.

"Good, mhm," you mumbled, nodding distractedly. The words came out as more of a whimper than intended.

Biting the sleeve of your jacket, I tried to subtly rub your thighs together. The action only served to heighten your arousal, wetness seeping through your panties and sticking to your sensitive folds. The discomfort was almost unbearable, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop. All you could think about was Cregan's thick cock.

Cregan's cock throbbed painfully in his sweats as he struggled to concentrate on the road. Your whimper sent a jolt of lust straight to his groin and he had to resist the urge to adjust himself again.

He could tell you were aroused too, the way you squirmed in your seat and bit your lip. It took every ounce of willpower not to cum in his pants.

What he wouldn't give to pull this car over and shove your head down onto his lap, making you choke on his cock until you gagged. He bet that pretty mouth would look amazing wrapped around his shaft, stretched obscenely wide.

His balls ached with the need to cum, but he gritted his teeth and focused on driving. If he blew his load now he'd have to explain why there was a wet spot on his pants.

And Jace would definitely know if he fucked his sister senseless in the car. As much as Cregan wanted to, he knew he couldn't risk it. Not yet anyway.

"Almost to your place," he grunted, the strain clear in his voice. He hoped you couldn't hear how worked up he was.

With a shaky exhale, he pulled into your driveway and killed the engine. Cregan's heart pounded as he watched you get ready to leave. Part of him wished you would stay, let him take you right here in the front seat. But the rational part of his brain knew that was a bad idea.

Reluctantly, he opened his door and stepped out, need still burning through his veins. Cregan walked around to open your door for you like a gentleman, even as his cock strained against his zipper.

You tried to compose yourself as you gathered your things, desperate for some relief from the ache between my thighs. But you couldn't let Cregan fuck you senseless in his car where anyone could see. Jace would definitely know if you came home with your brains fucked out by his best friend.

"Yeah, thanks..." you murmured softly as you stepped out of the vehicle. Opening the back door, you bent over to retrieve your bag from the backseat, putting your ass on full display for him. Your red lace thong did little to conceal how wet you were, the damp fabric clinging to your swollen folds.

You held the pose a moment longer than necessary, hoping the sight would push Cregan over the edge. Maybe he would finally make a move and finger you in his backseat as you sucked him off.

Cregan's breath caught in his throat as you bent over, giving him the perfect view of your dripping pussy. He could see your swollen lips peeking out from under your thong, glistening with arousal.

The urge to bury his face between your thighs was overwhelming. He wanted to rip your panties off and feast on your sweet cunt until you screamed his name.

He had to grip the door frame to keep himself upright, his knees threatening to buckle under the strain of his lust. Cregan's cock throbbed painfully, straining against the confines of his jeans.

"You, uh...you need help carrying anything inside?" He asked, his voice strained. He hoped you couldn't hear the desperation in it.

Cregan's hands twitched at his sides, aching to grab your hips and bury his face between your cheeks. He imagined the taste of your sweet pussy on his tongue, your juices coating his face as he ate you out.

But he couldn't. Not here, where anyone could see. He had to hold himself back, no matter how badly he wanted you.

"I can help," he offered again, hoping you would say no. Because if you said yes, he didn't know if he could control himself. He didn't trust himself not to pin you against the wall and fuck you senseless the second you were alone together.

You pouted in annoyance as Cregan maintained his composure, that annoying bulge in his sweats doing nothing to deter his gentlemanly demeanour. You had hoped the tantalizing glimpse of your barely-concealed pussy would make him lose control, but no such luck. Frustration bubbled up inside you.

Plastering on your most saccharine smile, you batted your lashes at him. "Oh, could you? They're so heavy," you simpered, even though you knew full well you could handle them yourself. But you needed Cregan to snap. To stop playing the part of the perfect gentleman and just take you already.

Your body throbbed with need, aching to be claimed by his strong hands. You shifted your hips, letting your short skirt ride up to reveal more of your soft thighs. Cregan's gaze flicked down briefly before darting away again, damn him.

"Please, Cregan," you purred, your voice dripping with false innocence. "I'd be so grateful."

Cregan's resolve crumbled as you batted your lashes at him, your voice dripping with false sweetness. He wanted to throw you over his shoulder and carry you off caveman style, but he settled for grabbing your bags instead.

"Lead the way then," he grunted, his voice rough with lust. As he followed you inside, Cregan couldn't take his eyes off your ass swaying in front of him. His cock throbbed with each step, pre-cum leaking and soaking through his boxers.

The second the front door shut behind you, Cregan dropped the bags and pulled you flush against him. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.

"Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he growled against your skin. His hands roamed your body greedily, squeezing your ass and tugging at your clothes. "I need to be inside you. Now."

In a blink, Cregan had you spun around and pressed against the wall, his hips grinding against your ass. He dry-humped you roughly, his hard cock sliding between your cheeks.

"You want this, don't you?" He panted in your ear, one hand groping your breast while the other disappeared beneath your skirt to rub your clit through your soaked thong. "Want me to fuck this needy little cunt raw?"

Cregan slipped a finger under the fabric to stroke your slick folds, groaning at how wet you were. "Dirty girl, getting this turned on in front of your house. What if someone saw us?"

He nibbled your earlobe, his hand working faster between your thighs. "Would you like that? Getting caught with your panties off and my cock buried in your slutty hole?"

You gasped as Cregan suddenly spun you around, pinning you against the wall with his strong body. Your back arched instinctively, pressing your ass against his hard hips. Your head felt like it was spinning from his intense touch. You were utterly lost in a haze of desperate need, craving him inside you more than you ever had before.

Loud, high-pitched whines escaped your lips as you ground your hips shamelessly against his large hand. You were completely putty in his skilled fingers, unable to resist the pleasure he was giving me. Your pussy throbbed and clenched, aching to be filled by his thick cock.

"Mmmh..." You let out a slutty moan, mewling like a kitten as you rubbed yourself all over his big palm, shameless in your need. You could feel your juices soaking through your thin thong, making a mess of your inner thighs.

"Fuck, you're so wet," Cregan growled, feeling your juices drip down his fingers. "This cunt is fucking drenched. You're such a needy little slut, aren't you? Getting off on nearly getting caught."

He rubbed your clit harder, making you cry out and grind against his hand desperately. The wet sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the air.

"I bet you'd love to have Jace walk in right now and see his best friend fingerfucking his sister," Cregan said with a dark chuckle. "See how wet I make this slutty hole before I split it open on my cock."

He added a second finger, stretching you wider as he thrust deep. Your tight walls clenched around him, trying to suck him in further. Cregan could feel his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans, leaking pre-cum and making a sticky mess.

"Please," you whined, too far gone to care how desperate you sounded. You just needed more. More friction, more stretch, more everything.

Cregan obliged, curling his fingers to hit that special spot inside you. He rubbed it mercilessly, making your leg shake and toes curl. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, making you convulse and gush all over his hand, dripping all over the floor and soaking his hand.

"That's it, cum for me," Cregan commanded, working you through it until you collapsed bonelessly against the wall. "But we're not done yet. I'm going to fuck this pussy so hard you won't be able to walk straight for a week."

Your body trembled with anticipation as you watched Cregan lower his pants, revealing his massive cock. It sprang free, thick and hard, the tip glistening. You licked your lips, your pussy clenching at the thought of that huge dick stretching you out.

"Please, Cregan," you begged, your voice high and needy. Your hands pressed flat against the cold wall as you arched your back, presenting yourself to him like a bitch in heat. The rough texture of the wall scraped against your sensitive nipples, making them even harder.

You couldn't believe how desperate you were. How you were basically throwing yourself at your brother's best friend, begging to be used like a cheap slut. But you didn't care. All that mattered was feeling Cregan's cock splitting you open, claiming you in the most primal way possible.

"I'm yours," you moaned, looking back at him with hooded eyes. "Use me however you want."

Your hole wept with arousal, clear fluid dripping down your thighs. You ground your ass back against him, trying to take him inside you without his help. But he held you in place, denying what you needed most.

"P-please," you whimpered pathetically, your pride forgotten in the face of your overwhelming desire.

"You want this dick that bad?" Cregan growled, rubbing the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds. "Want me to wreck this tight little cunt?"

He pressed forward, the tip catching on your entrance. Your pussy stretched lewdly around him, struggling to accommodate his girth. Cregan groaned at the feeling of your slick walls clinging to him.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, pushing in inch by excruciating inch. "Gonna ruin this hole, make it fit my cock perfectly."

Then with one hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. Your pussy clamped down on him like a vice, so tight he thought he might cum on the spot.

"Shit!" Cregan rasped, fighting the urge to blow his load right then and there. He pulled back slowly before slamming in again, setting a cruel pace that left you shaking and gasping.

The wet slap of skin-on-skin echoed through the entryway as he pounded into you, each thrust making your tits bounce. Cregan gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, using the leverage to fuck you even deeper.

"Take it," he commanded, punctuating with sharp snaps of his hips. "Fucking take it."

Cregan changed his angle slightly and you both cried out as he hit your G-spot dead on. Electric pleasure sparked up your spine, making your eyes roll back and tongue lolling out. "There it is," he panted, hammering that one perfect spot over and over.

Your nails scrape tracks into the wallpaper, each thrust jolting you forward like a rag doll. Whimpers spill from your lips, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. You've never felt so violently, deliciously used. His thick cock beats your tender flesh, each plunge sending shockwaves through your quivering body.

A desperate cry wrenches free as he suddenly withdraws. "No!" You sob at the emptiness. But his wicked grin tells you he has other plans.

"Not yet, princess," he rumbles darkly. "I'm going to claim every hole before I let you soak my cock."

Your legs tremble, barely holding you up as you try to process his threat. He wants to violate your other virgin hole? Oh gods, you don't know if you can take it. But the thought sends a forbidden thrill straight to your core.

You bite your lip, eyes pleading. "Please, Cregan," you pant. "I've never... I don't know if..."

Cregan's eyes darkened with hunger at your pleas. "That's right baby, you've never had a cock in this tight little ass before," he purred, trailing a finger teasingly over your puckered hole. "But don't worry, I'll open you up real good."

He spread your cheeks, exposing your most intimate area to his hungry gaze. "Gonna make you scream for it," Cregan promised, circling your entrance with his thumb. He pressed inside just slightly, breaking you for the first time.

Using the abundance of wetness from your soaked cunt, he worked his thumb deeper, scissoring and stretching you open gradually. He knew he had to prepare you carefully for his thick cock.

"Relax for me," he soothed, crooking his thumb to rub your inner walls. "Gonna feel so good when I split you open on my dick."

Cregan pumped his thumb faster, feeling you start to loosen up. He couldn't wait to bury himself in your virgin ass, to claim every inch of you.

"Beg for it," he growled, pulling his thumb out abruptly, leaving you empty once more. "I want to hear you beg me to ruin your tight little fuckhole."

You whimper desperately as Cregan teases your untouched entrance, spreading your most intimate area with his skilful fingers. Your knees quiver, barely supporting you, but you don't care about anything except having him fill you completely.

"Please Cregan," you beg, your voice high and needy.

As you plead, you find yourself arching back, presenting yourself shamelessly to the man who holds your heart in his hands. The thought of being claimed so thoroughly sends a forbidden thrill through your core, making your neglected slit weep with desire.

"Make me yours. I'll beg if you want me to."

"That's a good girl," he purred, giving your ass a sharp smack. The sting made you gasp and clench, your untouched hole flexing needily. He pressed two fingers now against your slick entrance, teasing at your rim.

The pressure increased as he started to work his fingers inside, stretching you open. Your untouched walls resisted at first, unused to the intrusion, but slowly your body began to yield to his insistent touch.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Cregan groaned, pumping his fingers deeper. "Gonna feel so good squeezing my cock."

He twisted and spread his fingers, opening you up as much as he could. Your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled, as your other hole was claimed by his digits.

"Ready for me yet?" He asked darkly, fingers still buried knuckles deep in your ass. "Or do you need more time to open up this hole?"

Your body trembles as Cregan's fingers stretch you open, invading your most sacred depths. It's so wrong, so dirty to let him claim you like this in the open hallway. Jace could come home any minute and catch his best friend fingering his sister's virgin rear.

The thought makes your neglected pussy clench and weep, dripping down your thighs. You're more aroused than you've ever been in your life, ready to let him take you in the most depraved way imaginable.

"Please," you whimper, too far gone to care about propriety or consequences. "I need your cock in my ass. Want you to fill me up like a dirty slut."

Your hole spasms needily around his fingers, trying to suck him in deeper. You arch your back, presenting yourself shamelessly, silently begging him to claim you.

His fingers slipped out of your ass with a wet sound that made you whimper needily. You felt so empty and abandoned, your virgin hole clenching desperately around nothing.

"You want my cock in this tight little ass so bad?" Cregan growled, spreading your cheeks to expose your gaping rim. It fluttered helplessly under his intense gaze. "Want me to stretch you open and ruin your slutty fuckhole?"

"Yes!" You cried out, tossing your head back in wanton desperation. You didn't care how depraved you sounded, begging to be sodomised by your brother's best friend. "Please Cregan, I need it. I'll do anything, just please. I want to be your filthy anal whore."

Cregan pressed the fat head of his cock insistently against your tiny, puckered entrance. You were terrified at the prospect of taking something so huge in your untouched passage. But your desperate, leaking cunt clenched at the thought of being utterly dominated and claimed by him.

With a slow thrust, Cregan buried himself balls deep in your ass. "Oh shit," he breathed, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. "Fucking hell, you're tight."

He gave you a moment to adjust to the sudden intrusion before starting to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. Wet squelching noises filled the air as he pounded your hole, the obscene sounds making your face burn with humiliation.

But it only turned you on more, knowing how depraved you were being. How you were letting your brother's best friend violate your most intimate place.

"Oh fuck!" You cried out, your voice guttural and animalistic. Your legs shook violently, barely able to support your weight as Cregan filled you so completely. You threw your head back, eyes rolling back in their sockets as you submitted to the overwhelming pleasure. 

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, lost for words as his massive cock stretched your virgin hole to its limits. You had never felt so full, so deliciously stuffed. It was like he was splitting you open, claiming every inch of you in the most primal way possible.

You were utterly lost to the sensation, your mind blanking out as he pounded into your tight rear passage. All you could focus on was the delicious drag of his cock along your sensitive walls, the obscene wet sounds of his hips slapping against your ass.

Your untouched slit wept with arousal, wetness dripping down your thighs as your clit throbbed almost painfully. You were so close to coming just from having your ass violated, something you never would have thought possible.

"Take it all," Cregan grunted, gripping your hips tightly as he slammed into your ass. The wet, filthy sounds of skin smacking against skin reverberated through the room. "Fucking take every inch like a good slut."

He angled his hips, making sure to hit that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside you with every thrust. The electric jolts of pleasure made you see stars, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

"Gonna cum," you keened, eyes rolling back as your peak approached. "Gonna cum on your big cock wrecking my ass!"

"That's it, cum on my cock," he commanded roughly.

Cregan reached around to grab your bouncing tits, squeezing and twisting your nipples. The sharp sensation mixed with the overwhelming fullness in your ass, sending you hurtling towards orgasm.

"Do it," he ordered. "Cum for me like a dirty whore."

With a few more brutal thrusts, Cregan buried himself deep and exploded. His cock pulsed and throbbed inside you, pumping you full of his hot seed. The feeling of being marked so intimately pushed you over the edge.

"Fuck yes, that's it," he groaned as he felt you clench and spasm around him. Your hole spasmed desperately, milking his spurting cock for every last drop. "Good girl. Such a perfect little fucktoy."

Cregan held you steady as the aftershocks wracked your body, keeping you pinned on his softening cock. He reached down to rub your clit, drawing out your pleasure until you were a limp, mewling mess.

Only then did he pull out with a gush of cum, leaving you feeling empty and used. Cregan tapped your abused hole, admiring his work.

"Mine now," he stated possessively. "This ass belongs to me."

Your body shudders uncontrollably as you collapse to the floor, sobs tearing from your throat. Tears blur your vision, rolling down your flushed cheeks as you struggle to regain your breath. The lingering ache between your legs throbs painfully, a brutal reminder of the intense fucking you just took.

You can feel your combined releases leaking out of your ravaged holes, trickling down your inner thighs and pooling beneath your knees on the hardwood. The obscene wetness makes you flinch with shame even as your abused cunt clenches needily, craving more.

You must look like a complete wreck - hair mussed, makeup smeared, the very picture of impurity. Your thighs are slick with the evidence of your coupling, your swollen pussy still fluttering from the aftershocks. You know you should feel ashamed for letting Cregan use you so thoroughly, but all you can think about is the pleasure he gave you.

You look up at him with big eyes, eyebrows slightly raised as you wait for him to say something. Looking at him like a puppy would look at its master.

Cregan looked down at you sprawled out on the floor, your hair dishevelled and your legs splayed out obscenely, showing off the cum dripping out of you. His cock twitched at the sight, still semi-hard from the intense fucking.

He stepped closer, towering over your smaller frame. With a smirk, he reached down to wipe the tears from your cheek. Cregan brought his fingers to your mouth.

"Clean it up," he ordered gruffly, pushing his fingers past your lips. "My good little dove."

You obeyed immediately, sucking his fingers into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the digits, lapping up your salty tears eagerly. Cregan groaned at the erotic sight, his cock stiffening further.

"That's it, be a good girl," he praised, pulling his fingers out to caress your cheek softly. His demeanour entirely different after fucking you.

"Look at you," Cregan chuckled darkly, stepping back to admire the perverse picture you made. "So filthy. And all for me."

"Yeah," you sighed softly, your body completely spent from the extreme fucking Cregan had just given you. Every muscle ached deliciously, a testament to how thoroughly he had used you.

All you wanted now was to stumble to the bathroom, wash away the sticky remnants of your coupling, and collapse into bed. The adrenaline crash was hitting hard, exhaustion tugging at your eyelids.

You tried to push yourself up, but your trembling legs refused to cooperate. Cregan's seed continued to leak out of your abused holes, trickling down your thighs. The cool air felt good against your flushed skin, helping to ground you somewhat.

"C-can you help me to the shower?" You asked shyly, glancing up at Cregan through your lashes. Your voice was hoarse from all the screaming, your throat raw. You knew you looked utterly spent, hair matted with sweat, makeup smudged. But you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You just wanted to bask in the afterglow with the man who had claimed every inch of you so thoroughly.

"Think you can manage to stand on your own two feet?" he teased, offering you a hand.

You nodded, accepting his assistance. He pulled you up effortlessly, his large hands engulfing your smaller ones. Cregan kept an arm around your waist as he guided you down the hall, steadying you.

"I've got you, princess," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Cregan led you into the bathroom, his arm still securely around your waist. The cool tiles felt good against your overheated skin as he helped you into the shower.

"Lean against the wall," he instructed, turning the water on. Steam began to fill the room as he adjusted the temperature.

Obediently, you braced yourself against the wall, letting the warm spray cascade over your body. It felt heavenly, soothing your aching muscles. You could feel Cregan's gaze on you as he stepped in behind you, his hands joining you under the water.

"Let me," he murmured, his voice a deep rumble. He grabbed a washcloth and soap, lathering it up. Gently, he began to wash you, running the sudsy cloth over your arms, your breasts, your flat stomach.

His touch remained tender as he cleaned you, a stark contrast to the rough, dominant way he had fucked you. You couldn't help but lean into him, relishing the feeling of his strong body against your back.

Cregan moved lower, washing your thighs and calves thoroughly. When he reached your most intimate areas, you felt your face heat up with embarrassment. But you didn't protest as he carefully cleaned away the evidence of your coupling, his fingers brushing against your sensitive flesh.

"All clean," he declared as he rinsed you off. Cregan pressed a kiss to your shoulder before shutting off the water. He grabbed a fluffy towel, wrapping it around you and guiding you out of the shower.

"Bed," he said firmly, leading you out of the bathroom. "You need rest."

You smiled sleepily, leaning into Cregan's strong embrace as he walked you to your bedroom. As he waited on your bed while you changed, you couldn't help but voice your curiosity.

"Why were you so rough with me?" You asked softly, peering at him with shy eyes. "I mean, I liked it, but I was just wondering..."

Your voice trailed off and you bit your lip, feeling a bit nervous about bringing it up. You had known each other for a while now, and while you had always found him attractive, his sudden aggression caught you off guard. But it had been so intense, so passionate...

"Why now, after all this time?" You finished, your cheeks flushing pink. You couldn't deny the thrill his dominance sent through you, but you wanted to understand what changed.

Cregan's expression softened as he regarded you standing there in your pyjamas looking vulnerable and uncertain. He sighed softly before speaking.

"I've wanted you for a long time," he confessed, his deep voice husky with emotion. "Ever since I saw you at our practice waiting for your brother."

He stood up from the bed and came to stand in front of you, cupping your face gently. "But I never acted on it because of Jace. He's my best friend, and I respect his wishes."

Cregan's thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making you shiver. "But I couldn't hold back any longer. Seeing you today, I...."

His hand slid down to your neck, gripping lightly. "I wanted to mark you, claim you, show you that you belong to me now."

Cregan leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. "And the way you responded, the sounds you made... Fuck, it drove me wild. I lost control, couldn't be gentle with you even though I wanted to."

He pulled back slightly, gazing into your eyes. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, love. That wasn't my intention. I just needed you so badly, wanted to make you mine in every way possible."

You hummed softly as Cregan's words washed over you, your heart racing in your chest. He wanted me?

The knowledge sent a thrill through your body, pooling heat low in your belly. You gazed up at him through your lashes, feeling small under his intense stare.

"You like me?" You breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. Your cheeks flushed pink as you awaited his response, hardly daring to believe this was happening.

"Of course I like you," Cregan said softly, his gaze tender as he cupped your face gently. "I've liked you for a long time now. It's been torture keeping my feelings hidden."

His thumb stroked over your bottom lip, making you shiver. "You're beautiful, kind, clever... Everything I could ever want in a woman. And the way you took my cock earlier, the sounds you made... Gods, you drive me wild with desire."

Cregan leaned in closer, his warm breath fanning over your face. "I want to be with you properly. Take you on dates, make you mine in every way possible. Will you let me do that, princess? Will you be mine?"

You let out a small whine at his words, feeling desire washing over you again. "Yeah," you whimpered, pulling him into a soft kiss. You stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck as your lips met.

His strong arms encircled you, holding you close as the kiss deepened. You melted into him, your body moulding perfectly against his muscular frame. Cregan's scent surrounded you, masculine and intoxicating.

Cregan's large hands gripped your hips as he returned your kiss hungrily, his tongue delving into your mouth. He backed you up towards the bed until your legs hit the mattress, never breaking the passionate kiss.

When the back of your knees hit the bed, Cregan gently laid you on the bed. Your soft body shaped against his hard muscles as he deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair.

"Fuck, I can't get enough of you," he groaned against your lips. Cregan nipped at your bottom lip before trailing kisses down your jaw and neck. He sucked hard on your pulse point, determined to mark you as his.

His hips rocked up, grinding his stiffening cock against your core through your thin pyjamas. You could feel the heat and hardness of him even with the layers between you.

He quickly stripped off his clothes. His impressive physique was on full display, muscles rippling as he joined you on the bed.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, baby," he promised darkly, kissing down your body. "Gonna worship this sexy little body all night long."

Cregan pushed your pyjama top up and latched onto your breast, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh. His large hand palmed the other, kneading the soft mound. He lavished attention on your breasts, making you arch into his touch with needy whimpers.

You moan breathily, sounding like a coquettish little girlfriend as Cregan lavishes attention on your sensitive breasts. Your hands tangle in his hair, holding him close as he suckles and nips at the tender flesh. Each pull of his lips sends sparks of pleasure straight to your aching core.

Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking friction. The heat between your legs grows unbearable as Cregan worships your breasts with his skilled mouth and hands. You're docile in his grasp, completely under his spell as he reduces you to a writhing, needy mess.

"Please," you whimper, your voice high and desperate. "I need more."

Cregan smirked against your breast as you squirmed beneath him, your needy whimpers music to his ears. "Patience, princess," he murmured, giving your nipple a final nip before moving lower.

"I'm going to take my time with you," he promised darkly, kissing down your quivering stomach. "Worship every inch of this sexy body."

Cregan hooked his fingers in the waistband of your pyjama pants, tugging them down slowly. He exposed you to him inch by tantalizing inch until you were fully bared to his heated gaze.

"Fuck, look at you," he groaned appreciatively, drinking in the sight of you splayed out beneath him. "So goddamn beautiful."

He settled between your thighs, blowing a cool stream of air over your wet folds. Cregan grinned as you shuddered and clenched at the teasing touch.

"Fuck, you smell so sweet," he groaned. "Can't wait to taste this pretty pussy."

Cregan spread your legs wider, exposing your glistening sex to his hungry gaze. He licked his lips before diving in, his hot tongue dragging up your slit. You cried out at the intense sensation, your hips bucking upwards.

He lapped at you eagerly, savouring your sweet flavour. Cregan focused on your clit, flicking the sensitive bud rapidly with the tip of his tongue. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for his feasting mouth.

You bite your lip hard, trying to muffle your needy moans as Cregan's tongue works between your thighs. Your fingers grip the sheets, knuckles white as you fight the urge to rock your hips against his face.

His mouth feels too good, sending shockwaves of pleasure crashing through you with every teasing lick and suck. You're lost to the sensations, all thoughts fleeing as he devours your pussy like a man starved.

Tears of ecstasy prick at the corners of your eyes as he focuses on your aching clit, flicking the sensitive bud rapidly. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your belly, your walls fluttering around nothing.

"Cregan, fuck!" You whimper desperately, your voice high and needy.

He just hums against your sex in response, the vibrations making you see stars. His hands grip your thighs harder, pushing them wider as he feasts on you like a man possessed.

"You taste so fucking good," Cregan growled against your drenched folds, his words vibrating through you. "Can't get enough of this sweet cunt."

He sucked your clit into his mouth, flicking the sensitive nub rapidly with the tip of his tongue. His hands gripped your thighs bruisingly tight, holding you open for his feasting mouth.

Cregan slid a thick finger into your empty channel, groaning at how easily it sank into your sopping wet heat. He pumped it slowly, curling it to rub against your G-spot.

"Gonna make you cum on my tongue," he promised darkly before sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard.

Cregan added a second finger, stretching you open as he finger-fucked your fluttering walls. He scissored them inside you, spreading your tight heat wide.

"That's it, fuck my face," he encouraged, his deep voice muffled against your sex. "Ride my tongue, princess. Cum for me."

He could feel you getting close, your thighs starting to tremble around his head. Cregan doubled his efforts, pistoning his fingers faster as he lashed your clit with the flat of his tongue.

"Let go," he commanded, locking eyes with you. "Cum on my face, baby. Give it to me."

You were teetering right on the edge, your moans rising in pitch and volume as Cregan devoured you so skillfully. Your entire body was wound tight, ready to snap at any moment.

Just as you were about to let go and tumble into ecstasy, the sound of a slamming door made you jolt.

"Hey, I'm finally home-" Jace's voice boomed, cutting off abruptly. "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?!"

[infin1ty-garden]

can you write something with cregan and targ reader about her and his direwolf?

WINTER WALK

✧. ┊ summary: [ in request ] ✧. ┊ pairing: cregan stark x targaryen! fem! reader ✧. ┊ warnings: none ✧. ┊ word count: 477 ✧. ┊ author note: i never finished reading blood and fire. is probably ooc & not how people talk in the got universe. takes place before s2

masterlist.

Even as a Targaryen you gravitate to the north. Might be because your hand was promised to Cregan Stark and getting to know your betrothed before your marriage, was a privilege not many have. Dragons have made it easier to travel. A raven has been sent to announce you'll be heading to Winterfell.

Cregan was waiting for you upon your arrival. Your dragon wasn't full grown yet and a lot easier to take care of. "How was your journey?" He asked once you landed. "Tiring," a cloak was draped around your shoulders. In a conversation you'd said that due to flying from the red keep to Winterfell, changing clothes on a dragon is impossible.

You hadn't thought Cregan inquiring about your dragon, would result in this. You thanked him as the two of you made your way to Winterfell. A few dragon keepers had made their way to the north in order to take care of your dragon. You decided to retire for the day as the ride exhausted you. What you didn't expect was on a late night stroll to encounter a direwolf.

You had no idea how to treat the beast. You kept a clear mind. Not wanting to show fear. You didn't know how similar dragons are to direwolves. The wolf didn't snarl or get in a position to attack. You didn't move, hoping it would just walk past but the opposite happened. You were so focused on not getting killed, you didn't hear Cregan approaching you.

He slowly took your hand. The wolf sniffed it and turned away. Cregan raised your hand and kissed it lightly. "You shouldn't be out here in this late hour," he started walking back to Winterfell. The wolf follows behind. The next time you say it again. You'd gone out hunting with Cregan when everything went wrong. You were attacked by some thugs.

Cregan stood in front of you, hoping that any arrow would hit him instead of you. His party hid, you two soon following. Not his direwolf, it attacked the thugs. You heard their screams as his men protected you. Cregan leaving your side. Once the fight was over the wolf came over to you. Lightly talking your dress between its teeth as it pulled you out of your hiding spot.

Cregan checks if you were hurt and confirms you weren't leading you back to the castle. The wolf refuses to leave your side for the remainder of the day. You made your way to your chambers, trailing behind you. "You can't follow me there." You pointed to the door of your chambers. It followed in any way. Making itself comfortable on the bed. "What are you doing?"

It wouldn't listen to you no matter what and was too big for you to move it on your own. So, you just had to deal with it.

Thanks for reading & requesting!

[paulyenvol6]

Byka Atroksia (Masterlist)

This is the masterlist/moodboard/summary for my new series called "Byka Atroksia". It's a story between Daemon Targaryen x reader (Vhaela Targaryen)

First of all: This story is based on the HBO/Max TV show House of the Dragon and the works of George R R Martin. I don't own any of the characters.

This story should only be read by people over 18 years as it contains adult content.

You can find the following themes in this story: HIGHLY detailed smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), kissing, dirty talk, losing of virginity, gagging, p in v, unprotected sex, period sex, praising, degrading, edging, overstimulating, blindfolding, some non-con choking, possessiveness, body image issues, angst, mentions of period and pregnancy, incest, inappropriate relationship between uncle and niece, power imbalance, dom!Daemon, inexperienced reader, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, morally questionable behaviour, abusive behaviour, sexual abuse (not performed by Daemon!)

Disclaimer: I am aware that the dynamic of this relationship is problematic as Vhaela's inferiority complexes cause her to search for Daemon's attention. So please be careful while reading this and have in mind that this kind of relationship is neither healthy nor desirable. Daemon is a bad person. His actions are irresponsible and unethical and he manipulates Vhaela. Don't try at home please.

Disclaimer 2.0: The G Spot: In this story I mention the g spot (even though the characters obviously don't know this term for it and what exactly it is) as a way for women to receive pleasure. I know that the existance of it is controversial and it's not scientifically proven that something similar exists. However, I still decided to include it in my story so my main character is able to receive pleasure by vaginal sex, but be aware that a lot of women don't get pleasure plainly by vaginal sex. I just don't want to portray a false image of what sex is supposed to be like so I felt the need to write a short paragraph about it.

Summary: Vhaela Targaryen is the younger sister to Rhaenyra Targaryen and has all her life felt like she was competing with her sister for their interesting and dangerous uncle's attention. In Vhaela's mind her beautiful and confident sister has already won this fight but when Daemon Targaryen returns from a battle at the Stepstones things seem to be a little different and she explores a whole new world of emotions.

Smut is marked with *

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 * (very light smut) Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 Chapter 5 * Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 Chapter 10 * Chapter 11 * Chapter 12 Chapter 13 * Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 * Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 * Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 * Chapter 26 (Final chapter)

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part iv)

a/n: MDNI, rated 18+ ! soooo today on your weekly dose of Stark fluff, Kook Claere and Simp Cregan attempt to move their love language from acts of service to, ahem, physical touch.

The journey back to Winterfell had been quiet, the cold edge of the North still riddling them as they left the Wall behind. The vast, forlorn stretch of backvelds seemed to reflect their silence. Cregan had said nothing thereafter, allowing Claere her space to regain composure. He knew better than to provoke his wistful wife—knew that whatever mysteries she brought from beyond the Wall were hers to bear until she was prepared to unburden herself to him. And so, he let her stew in her mind's eye, his gaze wavering on her occasionally, wishing to trot his horse by her side, as she stared out the road.

He could tell she sensed his worried scrutiny, the implicit queries that clung to the air between them like her silver dragon that soared overhead. Nevertheless, he refrained. If the icy unknown beyond had terrorised her, he wouldn't be the one to pick apart the pieces. Not yet.

By the time they stopped at a small, weather-beaten inn along the Kingsroad, dusk had settled over the land, the last golden traces of daylight waning into the horizon. Inside, the air was warmer, thick with the smell of bubbling broth and firewood, but neither of them seemed inclined to feast as compared to the rest of their party. The weariness of the road remained, though Cregan suspected something graver ate at his wife.

He found her later, seated on the floor near the long, narrow window, her gaze turned skyward. The room was dim, the half-moon and stars luminous through the glass, and she sat in silence, as though the world beyond the window held more comfort than the inn’s fire. Wordlessly, he joined her side, his motions unimposing, as though he didn’t want to disturb the calm that had settled over her.

Claere didn’t acknowledge him at first, lost in whatever thoughts churned beneath that placid exterior of hers. But after a long stretch of silence, she spoke, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

"Ask me," she murmured, still looking at the stars. "You must have a thousand."

Cregan only smiled, his lips curving into a small, teasing grin. "You can keep your secrets."

He could be patient. Whatever haunted her would come out in time, as all things did. Let her hold onto them, for now.

Her indigo eyes flickered at him briefly, and for a moment, reassurance passed over her features. "I saw nothing," she echoed from before. "Nothing clear. Nothing I wanted."

He tilted his head. "What did you want?"

"Proof of my sanity," she muttered. Her gaze paused on the stars, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “Proof that I haven’t slipped into madness… or that it won’t contain me yet.”

Cregan’s teasing grin faded, his expression hardening with understanding.

“Madness comes for us all in time. Wears many disguises, but you'll feel it," he said his voice a quiet rumble. "And you're still here. That’s proof enough for me.”

She huffed lightly, not quite convinced, but something in her softened at his words. The silence that followed was thick, not with tension but with the soft comfort of shared understanding. He made space for her, and it made her want to draw closer. So she did. She shifted to him, ever so slightly, her shoulder brushing his.

After a while, she leaned in closer, her voice no louder than a whisper as she raised her hand toward the glass pane, pointing out a faint cluster of stars.

“That one,” she said. her voice quiet, “I’ve always adored it. I call it drūmā—‘the dream.’”

"Drūmā," he managed a murmur.

He turned his head to the sky, but he was hardly glimpsing at the stars. All he could see or think was her—the way her lips curved around the word, the sweet reverence in her tone as if that distant constellation held some deep, unstated meaning. Cregan felt a swell of emotion rise in his chest. She was this beautiful secret wrapped in fire and caution, a valiant princess who had crossed the Wall on dragonback and yet still found splendour in the stars.

His heart leapt to his throat as he moved scarcely, offering her the comfort of his shoulder. Claere accepted it, fitting herself into the curve of his arm, her head resting back into the burrow near his collar, her gaze still fixed on the night sky.

Then she traced an invisible path in the air, drawing with the stars. "And there. They remind me of a dragon falling asleep. Sōvīr zaldrīzes."

Cregan, however, was watching her—studying every line of her flawless face, every swift flit of her eyes as they tracked the stars. She possessed every fibre of his being. She had him entirely.

Deaf to restraint, his hand moved to her face, fingers brushing over her cheek. “And what do you call this?” he asked, almost a rumble in the stillness.

Claere blinked, a little surprised at the question. "Mēre," she answered softly, her Valyrian slipping from her lips like melodies.

He let his forefinger graze the length of her bent nose, his eyes never leaving her face. “And this?”

“Lāmas.”

Two fingers hovered over the fullness of her lips, his breath catching as her violet gaze veered to meet his, the anticipation between them taut as a drawn bowstring.

"And these?" he asked, the words a bare whisper.

“Lēda,” she answered, voice fainter now, nearly breathless.

A lopsided smile curled on his lips. "And what do you say when you want to kiss them so desperately?"

She swallowed hard; unguarded, unspeaking.

Cregan didn’t hesitate, he had waited too long for this. He leaned in, slowly, delicately, until his lips brushed hers. The kiss was gentle, glorifying—as if he feared shattering the moment if he pushed too quickly. His palm, calloused from years of wielding weaponry and enduring the ironhearted North, cradled her face with unexpected tenderness, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. When he pulled back, it was with both relief and strain that he searched her face for any sign that he had overstepped.

But Claere didn’t pull away. Rather, with a spontaneous boldness that startled even her, she lifted her hand to his, slender fingers soft yet confident as they wrapped around his wrist, holding him close, bringing it to her fluttering lips. Her touch was gentle, wavering at first as if testing the warmth of his skin.

But when she leaned in again, kissing him back, her grip tightened—not out of force, but need. Her soft moan speared right into his tongue, robbing him of his breath. The pads of her fingers squeezed into his hand, her other palm lain against his chest, feeling the sporadic beat of his heart beneath the thin layer of tunic. She could've reached right in and crumbled it to dust, he would've gladly let her.

This time, it was she who deepened the kiss, her lips crashing his with a fervour that sent a tremble down his spine. Her fingers slid up from his chest to his jaw, stroking at the hair that brushed his shoulder, tracing the line of his powerful neck, her touch both curious and loving. It wasn’t hurried, but it was deliberate—every brush of her fingers, every urge of her lips, drawing him further into her as if she was memorising him through touch alone. Cregan could do nothing but follow, lost in the sensation of her, the heat of her skin against his.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, foreheads relaxed together, sharing the same breath and heartbeat. And in the peace, the quiet between them now felt different—more familiar, more certain. It wasn’t simply a kiss. It was an oath.

His fingers threaded through her hair, lightly scratching at her scalp, drawing her closer.

"Did you like it?" she asked, her voice a fragile whisper, almost unsure. Her violet eyes flickered between his, searching for something.

He grinned, the warmth of it softening the usual harshness of his features, though his grey eyes owned their intensity, locked on her as if she might vanish in the next breath.

"Aye, more than I can say," he rasped, his voice roughened with affection and awe. His thumb now brushed at her red lips, studying the little divots there. "I'd like to do it more often."

“You would?” she murmured, her breath ghosting over his hand.

Cregan’s grip tightened on her, his thumb moving from her lips to her jaw, tracing the line of her face with a gentleness that belied his strength. "If you'd allow it, I'd spend every breath seeking more."

A hint of a smile stretched across her face, her eyes flickering between his with something like wonder. “I’ve never shared much."

He tilted his head slightly, studying her at that moment—the way her features softened in the dim light, the way her presence, quiet and strange as it was, had become something he cherished.

"I will spend my time earning them." He brushed his lips against hers, with a newfound ease that urged him to stroke her thighs and waist, striking his fingertips with lightning bolts.

"One kiss at a time," he vowed.

X

The return to Winterfell was far from triumphant. There were no banners raised, no songs sung. The people did not look upon Claere with admiration or awe; instead, they continued to whisper behind closed doors and cast nervous glances in her direction. Word had spread of her crossing beyond the Wall, and in the minds of many, it had become a tale twisted by fear. How had she returned when so many before her had been lost? What had she seen? Why did she refuse to speak of it?

Still, Claere persisted. It was unlike her to make do with her quiet resolve in such matters. Especially those he knew would never concern her. She walked through the kitchens, speaking softly to the cooks, inquiring about the meals being prepared, offering a recipe she had learned in Dragonstone.

"No, my lady. That is not the way here," one of the kitchenmaids would murmur, polite but dismissive.

Claere’s attempts to suggest improvements to the weaving of the tapestries were met with similar disinterest. "We’ve always done it this way, my lady," they would say.

She was there, present in her part, yet treated her as light as the wind. She was seen, but never truly heard.

What stung more, though, was how the mothers kept their children away. The same little ones who once flocked to her side, wide-eyed and eager for tales of her homeland, were now kept at a distance by protective hands. She had shared stories of Dragonstone, of King’s Landing, of tasting exotic Tyroshi fruits and scouting for dragon eggs in the wilds. The children had adored her for it—had laughed and clung to her skirts, fascinated by Luna, the gentle beast who towered over them, but never harmed a soul.

Claere knelt in the courtyard with her harp on her thigh, and a small group of children gathered around her. Their eyes were wide with wonder as she described the hatching of a dragon’s egg, her songful voice painting pictures for them. One of the littlest girls, with a shock of red hair, reached out timidly, wanting to touch the dragon bone pendant that hung from Claere’s neck.

Just before the girl's fingers could graze it, a sharp voice called out from across the yard. "Ellys, no!"

The child froze, her hand dropping back to her side as her mother hurried forward, her eyes darting nervously between a stoic Claere and her daughter.

"It’s time we go, love," the woman said quickly, scooping the girl up into her arms. "Let's not bother Lady Stark any longer."

The girl whimpered, still looking at Claere. "But I want to hear what happened to the pink egg!"

Her mother cast a wary glance at Claere, voice low but trembling as she clutched her child. "We’ve heard enough stories."

Then, she turned and hurried away, whispering something under her breath to another woman nearby.

From a distance, Cregan observed this, his jaw tightening. He could see Claere’s smile falter slightly as the children were excused and led away one by one, their innocent excitement replaced by a quiet, uncertain look over their shoulders. He said nothing, though it tore at him. He couldn't. These were mothers, protectors of their own, and in the North, no lord could command a mother’s fears away. Not even the gods themselves.

Later that evening, as they sat together in the Great Hall for supper, Cregan caught her drifting gaze while sliding a few more slices of honeycakes onto her plate. Claere began to pick them apart with her fingers, reducing the golden pastry into small, crumbled pieces.

"Your heart shines brighter than a few whispers," Cregan said gently, his voice meant to pull her back from her inner thoughts. "They’ll see that, in time. You need to give them that chance."

Her fingers paused, holding a tiny morsel. "Yes," she said flatly, "but time isn't always kind."

Cregan's eyes softened, seeing through the mask she wore. He leaned closer, brushing his hand along the back of her head in a gesture meant to comfort, to encourage.

"Don’t give up on them, Claere. You’re their lady, and the North is not easily won, but it can be won."

Claere’s expression barely shifted, her lips twitching into a faint, thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She pushed the crumb between her lips carefully.

"It does not bother me," she muttered, almost too quickly. "I have come to understand the way things are here."

He frowned slightly, knowing her well enough to sense what was left unsaid. "You may not show it, but you don’t have to carry this load alone. I am here."

She gave a small, tight nod, her voice quieter now. "I’m not giving up. But if they can’t see me, perhaps I wasn’t meant to be seen."

Cregan’s chest tightened at her words, but he stayed silent, only watching her, his hand resting protectively against her neck as she turned her gaze down, once again retreating into herself.

So Claere, ever watchful, stepped aside. She ceased trying to win the adults’ favour, knowing now that every attempt was met with indifference. Instead, she continued to watch. Like a ghost in her own home, she floated through the halls, spending hours in the glass gardens she had devised, silently overseeing their construction. Once, she had imagined them filled with life—blue roses blooming in defiance of the North’s frost—but now, they seemed as far away as everything else she touched.

It frustrated Cregan. It wasn’t enough that Claere tried, that she performed her duties with respect and vigilance. His people had judged her the moment she returned from beyond the Wall, and no amount of goodwill could shift that perception.

But it wasn’t the whispers or isolation that stirred at Cregan; it was how the distance between Claere and his people widened, even as her subtle feelings for him deepened. He was the one thing in Winterfell that did not change, that didn’t turn cold. And though she felt more and more like a foreigner in the keep, with Cregan, she had found her home.

Claere had always marvelled at Cregan’s patience—the way he tempered the demands of leadership with calm strength. But there was something else now, something more primal in her admiration, as her attention faltered on him from the castle balcony. The training yard below was alive with the sounds of clashing steel and gruff commands, yet her gaze was drawn only to him.

He cruised with effortless power, his sword sinuating around his fingertips, his broad shoulders and thick arms bared to the cold as he sparred with his men. The North had sculpted him into its image—formidable, headstrong, every inch of him hardened by years of combat and the harsh winter winds. His skin, sunkissed, stretched over taut muscles, and his stance, solid as the very stones of Winterfell, left no question that this man was the embodiment of ancient Stark blood.

Cregan had become a gentle giant of the North, the spitting image of his forebears, a regal wolf among his men. And Claere was suddenly, inexplicably lured to it—the rawness, the sheer force of his presence. She had never truly admired this side of him before, having always been more attuned to his compassion, his unfailing patience.

But now, she found herself watching him as she never had, from the eyes of a spellbound girl. Her lips parted for air, her hand curling around the cold stone of the balcony, and for a brief moment, she was lost in the sight of him. Her husband, she thought. Remarkable.

He caught her. His grey eyes flicked up, meeting hers, and though he had pretended not to notice at first, a flicker of amusement crossed his face.

With a playful grin, he raised his hand and beckoned her with a single finger.

She felt her heart skip, heat rushing to her face. Shaking her head quickly, she broke the gaze, ducking away as if she’d been caught in some intimate moment, her mind reeling from the sudden rush of feeling. She liked the excitement, the pulsations—whatever it was—a lot.

Claere had been standing so still, so intently focused on Cregan, that when she finally turned to leave, she nearly collided with a nearby servant. She staggered back, her hand brushing against the woman’s arm.

"My apologies," she murmured, eyes downcast as she quickly regained her footing. The servant, wide-eyed and unsure of how to respond, merely dipped her head, and Claere hurried off, her cheeks burning as she escaped into the corridors, her heart still racing.

Down in the yard, Cregan caught the whole exchange. He watched as she retreated, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Got her good, my lord," one of his men said with a grin, leaning on his sword. "Thought she might’ve fallen right into you this time."

Cregan’s own smile was barely contained. “She’s no doe to be startled into my arms."

"A dragon, my lady is," one of them laughed.

“Yet it seems she has taken more than a few looks at her huntsman,” another chimed in, and the others chuckled.

Cregan shook his head, though the light in his eyes betrayed his delight.

"She’s got a mind of her own," he said, turning back to the practice, though his thoughts were still on her. He pointed his sword at his men. "More stubborn than any of you lads."

As they went back to training, the conversation shifted, and for a while, Cregan focused on the clang of swords and the weight of his shield. But when Claere crossed his mind again—her shy retreat, the way she had tried to disappear after that small, flustered moment—he couldn’t help but feel ten pounds lighter. The way she was beginning to see him differently was a triumph in itself. A sweet adoration that bloomed outside of auguries and omens.

As the sun began to set, his men’s teasing returned in full force.

“Mark my words,” one of the older guards called out as they packed up for the day. “It’s about time Winterfell welcomes another Stark. A summer child, heh?"

Cregan wiped the sweat from his brow, smirking as he sheathed his sword. “When it happens, I’ll let you pour the first ale—if you can still lift the barrel.”

Subsequently, as he stood before his small council, the rising tension returned. The air in the room was thick with unease, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows over the stone walls. Every mention of the dragon princess seemed to knot their nerves tighter. They were still wary, questioning what Claere had seen beyond the Wall. While she had spoken of it to Cregan in private, with words that rang true to him, the men around the table were not as easily convinced.

“What does it mean for the North, my lord?” one of the men snapped, his voice laced with accusation rather than fear. “She flew beyond the Wall, into lands none return from. Not even crows. She’s not like us. Who knows what kind of darkness she brought back?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the small council, emboldened by the man’s sharp tone. Another voice, colder and crueller, chimed in. “We’ve heard the whispers, my lord. Bloodmagic, hexes—things no Northerner should meddle with. What if she’s hiding something? What if her silence masks the real threat?”

The room stirred with growing boldness, the men exchanging conspiratorial glances as if they had forgotten whose hall they were in. One of them leaned forward, his eyes narrow and calculating.

“The people are afraid, and fear breeds rebellion. The longer you keep her here, the more they’ll question your judgment. Is that the kind of lord you want to be remembered as? One who brought a Valyrian sorceress into Winterfell?"

Their words were sharp as blades, probing, testing his resolve, as if daring him to falter.

He did. Cregan’s patience snapped. He rose to his full height, his shadow stretching long across the room as his eyes darkened like storm clouds brewing overhead. The council fell silent immediately, the weight of his authority pressing down on them. His voice, low and controlled, carried the kind of steel that had made men follow him into battle without hesitation.

“I will make myself clear once and for all. Claere saw nothing,” Cregan said, his words cold and unyielding. His gaze swept over the table, landing on each man in turn. “Nothing but ice and desolation. There is no curse on my wife. She flew beyond the Wall and returned for one reason: to feed her dragon. And that dragon now sleeps outside our walls, not as a harbinger of doom, but as her loyal steed."

The men shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but none dared to meet his gaze. His presence commanded the room, the force of his conviction quelling any further protest. Still, one of the older lords, his voice a murmur barely above a whisper, tried to speak again.

“My lord, we mean no disrespect, but if—”

Cregan’s hand slammed down onto the table, cutting the man off. The sound echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap.

“Enough! I've had it all!" His voice was as sharp as the Valyrian blade at his hip. “Another word of dissent against Lady Stark’s sound mind, and I swear it upon the old gods and the new—heads will roll.”

A deadly silence followed his words. The men around the table bowed their heads in submission, their once-nervous glances now replaced by wide-eyed fear. They knew Cregan well enough to understand that his threats were never idle.

He straightened back up. “Claere Stark is of this house, of this land. She is your lady. You will treat her as such. If any of you think otherwise, say it now and face me.”

None spoke.

"Fair choice. Then it is decided."

He dismissed the council and as they hurried out of the hall, their whispers stilled in their throats. Yet, even as they left, Cregan stood alone by the fire, his jaw clenched. For all his power, for all his belief in Claere, a shadow of doubt clung to the edge of his mind. She had shared little of her journey beyond the Wall, and though he trusted her with his very life, the silence that followed her return weighed heavier than he dared to admit. Something remained hidden beneath her quiet resolve. Something he could not yet see.

Later, in the hush of their chambers, the flicker of firelight danced across the stone walls. Claere sat by the hearth, pricked fingers deftly stitching the embroidery she had been labouring on for weeks. It was still sloppy work, as Cregan loved to tease her about. He lay with his head in her lap, watching her more than the flames.

These evenings had become their tacit routine—a time of shared silence that he had come to treasure. The peace wrapped around him, soothing the doubts that lingered, though they rarely exchanged words. In these quiet moments, he felt most at ease, their closeness needing no explanation.

Tonight, however, the silence felt different. Claere's hands paused in their careful craft, her gaze dipping as if gathering her thoughts. The fire crackled softly, but it seemed distant, overpowered by the tension in the room.

“Are you burdened by me before your council?” she asked, her words hesitant, hedging.

Her fingers stilled on the embroidery, resting just above Cregan’s brow where his head lay on her lap.

Cregan’s brows furrowed, his eyes searching her face. He understood what she was trying to say—her isolation, her distance from the little ones, their fear. It was finally getting to her, as it did to every person despairing in silence.

But he only shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Claere, I’ve carried steel, fire, and the weight of a thousand dead Starks on my shoulders, but you?” His thumb traced the side of her leg, playful and reassuring. "Your heft is that of a feather compared to all that."

Her eyes met his, doubt still lingering in their violet depths. "I hear them talk to you. Endlessly."

He snickered. "Well, you should join next time."

She pursed her lips, dismissive.

He rubbed her knee beneath his cheek, voice lowering. “Let them talk. Their empty words mean nothing when they’re blind to the truth. What matters is what you've done despite it all. Tending to the hold, hunting... the glass gardens. Their opinions change nothing.”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but before she could, he suddenly pounced, tackling her to the ground with a fluid grace that left her breathless. His arms wrapped around her waist as they tumbled, her startled gasp filling the room before it veered to their soft, unrestrained laughter.

"Cregan!" she managed, trying to push him off with little strength behind her effort, her hands half-heartedly pressing against his chest.

“You thought I didn't notice?” he teased, hovering over her with ease, his broad frame casting a shadow. His smile was wide, mischievous, as though he held a secret she had yet to discover.

“You’ve been watching me train, princess. And rather intently, might I add. Devouring me with those enchanting eyes.”

Claere’s cheeks warmed at his words, the colour blooming faintly against her pale skin. It was an expression he loved—a rare slip of emotion that made her otherwise cool demeanour seem fragile.

“I have not—”

“Little liar,” he chuckled, lowering his head toward hers, close enough that his breath ghosted over her lips. “I caught you staring more than once. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

She tried to avert her eyes, but his hand came up, cupping her jaw in his roughened palm, guiding her gaze back to him. Her protests died on her tongue, replaced by uncertainty. The playful glint in his eyes softened, a deeper warmth replacing it. He was in no rush now, not when her heart raced beneath him, not when the space between them grew thinner by the second.

Her breath hitched, and her usual blankness seemed to melt away, giving way to the bare bones of Claere—joy, tension, the edges of a smile twitching at her lips.

“I was simply appreciating the view,” she mumbled, her eyes darting away.

“The view, is it?” Cregan’s grin widened, mischief in his tone. “And here I thought your attention was elsewhere.”

She huffed, trying to maintain her composure. “I’m capable of admiring more than one thing at a time.”

He arched a brow. “Though somehow, I think it wasn’t my swordsmanship that had you swooning. Something under my plates? Or perhaps... my breeches?”

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above hers. Their laughter had long died out, the air between them thickening with tension, but it was the kind that felt like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

He could feel her heartbeat quicken, her breath coming in soft, shallow puffs, and it was all he needed. His voice dwindled to a near-whisper, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth with deliberate slowness.

“Say my name again.”

Her violet eyes flitted up to his from staring at his lips. "Why?"

"I'd like to hear it from your mouth."

She breathed out, "Cregan."

He needed no more invitations. He closed the gap, crushing his lips to the ones that were spoken for in his name, with the care that gainsaid his size like she was a glass doll he wanted to protect. But the kiss carried more than just tenderness—it was a slow burn of the long-awaited as if he had been waiting for this moment for years. And in that kiss, he felt her response, moving her lips with his to mimic him, graceless but sweet in her own way.

As they pulled apart, her eyes fluttered open, dazed and unhesitant. She blinked up at him, lips slightly parted, and though she didn’t say a word, he could see the answer written in her expression—a soft, implicit permission.

It wasn’t long before Cregan had pulled the heavy furs from the bed, laying them out on the stone floor to make a makeshift bed. His coarse hands stretched toward her in an invitation that was far gentler than anything he had ever given her before.

Though Claere hesitated, bringing her hand to her chest, a shadow of reluctance crossing her face. “My Lord, I—"

"No, I want none of that. Speak like my wife." He abraded at her courtesy rather than anything.

"Cregan," she corrected quietly. "I don’t want to be a young mother."

An invisible fist gripped his throat. He hadn’t expected her to voice such a fear, although some of him understood. He didn’t need to hear more to know that the idea of maternity, of the expectations it carried with it, terrified her in a way she would not easily admit.

Looking at her now, so frail in her admission, he realized that what he wanted most wasn’t bound by obligation or lineage. He didn’t need heirs or any responsibilities others might want to place on them. It was her. He wanted her. Just her.

"Nor I, a young father," he shared in a rumble of breath, stretching his arms further for her.

"Until then we'll simply be us," he promised.

It was all the assurance she needed. Bearing a relieved grin, she placed her hand in his, letting him pull her into the warmth of the furs.

Claere sat on her heels, back to him, and piled her thick silver braid over a shoulder. Cregan, much obliged, opened her bodice and petticoats one by one while she sat motionless, staring into the flames. He caressed the lune of her spine, his entire hand spread over the span, her skin burning under his touch, unmarred, smooth, seeming like silk stretched over glass.

She glanced at him, uncertainly gliding off her sleeves, now bare-skinned and impassive. As if prompted by the strings of a puppeteer, she slid away from her dresses and laid back on the furs, shutting her eyes. It fell far from what Cregan had envisioned, his wife lain for him like awaiting a death knell.

Rather, he raised a quizzical brow at her. "What are you doing?"

Claere opened her eyes, startled by the question. "Isn't this what you wanted?" Almost like she was trying to puzzle him out, calm and detached. "You can... take me now. I know what is expected of me. My maidenhead is unsullied."

Cregan blinked, utterly taken aback, and then a soft chuckle escaped him, one he didn’t intend but couldn’t help.

"Take you," he repeated to himself, incredulous. His grin widened, full of humour and fondness. "What do you think this is?"

Instinctively, her hands went to cover her breasts. Her brows furrowed, confusion spreading across her features as she squinted at him, her cheeks flushing faintly.

"Is this not what happens between a husband and wife?" she asked, her voice no longer carrying the confidence she had tried to summon.

He sighed, pulling her hands away from her chest, gentle but firm. There was warmth in his gaze, despite the humour. He threaded his fingers through hers.

"Aye," he said softly, "but not like this. You’re not spoils of war, Claere. I am no king to conquer you. Or your enemy to face."

Her shoulders, once tense, unwound as she looked up at him, understanding him.

"No," she agreed.

With a tender smile, Cregan reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. His hand moved down to her cheek, cupping it gently, and he looked her in the eye.

"I will have you in love, or I will not have you at all."

And so it went—their night of perfect pleasure, ruptured only by their awkwardness about what followed next. Platitudes fled replaced by yearning, Cregan ripping at his padded tunics and eager to bring her onto his lap until the distance was insignificant. She went all too gladly, bestraddling him, and he guided her hands from his waist to his neck.

Claere followed his lead with a tentative curiosity, her body flush against his chest. But he didn’t rush her—didn’t demand. Instead, he reached for her hands, gently guiding them from his thighs, where they’d instinctively gone, up toward his neck.

His fingers wrapped softly around hers, urging her to trace the roughness of his stubble and the solid strength of his shoulders. To the lines on his chiselled chest and the bow of his lips.

“Here,” he whispered. “I want your touch, all of you.”

Her breath hitched as her fingertips brushed over the nape of his neck, hesitant but trusting. He guided her the rest of the way, showing her the places that made him shiver beneath her touch, the places he wanted her to claim as her own.

He gently closed her warm hand over his hardness, her eyes flitting up to his, confused.

Their foreheads pressed together as he sighed, his eyes half-lidded, savouring the feeling of her palm around his length. It was a distinct kind of familiarity—intimate in a way that felt more sacred than godly vows. In a trail of white-hot kisses up her neck and claiming her lips once more, he adjusted her over his lap, until she was centred right over him.

Their eyes met—he melted, burned, raged, all but perfection until mending and finding the right symphony. At that moment, no one could've loved someone the way he was loving her.

In a single movement, she plunged down, perhaps some inherent impulse, and he buried himself deep inside her. Deeper, until every fragment of space in that heat between her legs was swelled with him. Her face strained as she welcomed him, and a rasping cry muffled into his neck.

"I have you," he reassured breathily, past the stars that roiled behind his eyes, holding her at her head and waist. "I have you now."

She nodded hard against his shoulder.

"Move for me, my love," he urged.

It wasn’t possession in the slightest, not when they made those noises, not when they collided like that; especially her, like she had mounted her dragon and taken to the skies. No, this was release. This was frustration that needed to end. This was her coming undone before him, subject to sensations like she was untethered from the world itself, weightless in a way she never knew she could be. The wrath of fire and the patience of ice found a way to coexist between them. They simply were fire and ice.

Cregan's hands slid up her sides, panting in husky grunts, rough nails digging into the smooth skin on her back, anchoring her deeper into him. He revelled in the way she responded, the way her lips parted for a breathless gasp, her fingers twisted in his hair, and how his name fell from her lips like a prayer. He bore her unravelling braid like a pearly rope around his wrist, tugging her back to grant him access to her throat. Sweet and sweeter, like nectar. He expected smoke and soot when he kissed her skin.

Every gentle rock of her saintly hips sent a shiver down his spine, her breath growing shallow, her violet eyes fluttering closed as though the world had fallen to ash around them. Here, in the bare intimacy, Claere was simply herself, vulnerable and powerful all at once.

For once, there was no restraint, no hesitation. She wasn’t holding anything back, and neither was he.

“Look at me,” he whispered, voice rough and ragged, needing to see her, to meet her gaze as the distance between them disappeared entirely.

Her eyes fluttered open, heady with lust but shining with something more—conviction, maybe, or something even deeper, something he knew they both sensed but hadn’t quite named.

At this moment, they weren't simply lord and lady, wolfblood and dragonblood—they were something else, elsewhere entirely. Bound not by titles, but by the intensity that had grown between them since the first time they met. She was his match, his equal, and he swore he would follow her to the ends of the earth if only to touch her like this again.

It was as though every wall she'd ever built came crumbling down. She didn’t resist it—couldn’t, really—because with him, there was no need to hold on. The pace became feverish, rushing quicker, desperate to chase that high. Her breaths came faster, and her heart raced, but none of it felt overwhelming. She let herself fall apart for him in a sharp, trembling cry, clutching him tight.

He smothered his gruff groan and expletive into her shoulder, getting a mouthful of her hot skin, conscious of the consequences through the dizzying drop, and gently pulled her off him to empty his spend into his breeches. The waves of pleasure ravaged him, he could hear the blood coursing in his ears as he embraced her to him with an arm, coiled taut yet loosened soft, all at once.

They came down together, back to their continent, back to Winterfell, back by the fire, as a tangle of limbs over the fuzzy down, slick in sweat and gasps. Claere’s arms stayed wrapped around Cregan’s neck, her breath still coming in soft, dreamy puffs against his skin. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, not easing her grip, as if reluctant to let go of the warmth they shared.

Cregan’s tough hand continued its slow, soothing path up and down her back, tracing the soft ridges of her spine and the delicate curve of her ribs. He kissed her jaw, her temple, the spot just below her ear.

“Claere,” he murmured against her skin, his breath warm, “I could stay like this forever.”

Again, his words went by unheard. It so happened that he got used to it, that sometimes she just refused to leave her head.

As they lay in the warmth of the furs, the world beyond nothing but a memory, Claere’s fingers moved dreamily through the air, tracing invisible lines as if drawing constellations on the weathering ceiling. There was a faraway look in her eyes, as though her thoughts had taken flight somewhere beyond the stone walls of the keep.

Cregan’s eyes followed the gentle dance of her fingers, the way her hand swayed back and forth, almost in a trance, lost in some quiet reverie. He could feel the soft rise and fall of her breath against his chest, each exhale like a whisper of the wind, and yet her mind seemed elsewhere, reaching toward a distant idea.

“Do you ever wish we could just… fly away?” she asked softly, her voice drifting like her fingers, her words delicate.

Her eyes remained on the imperceptible path she was tracing, not daring to look at him just yet. Cregan felt a small tug at his heart, the way she asked not with fear but with the consequence of hope, a dreamer trying to keep her visions alive in a world that so often crushed them.

He let out a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to catch hers mid-air, stopping the slow, swaying motion of her fingers. He grasped it gently, his thumb brushing the back of it in calming strokes.

“Fly away?” he echoed, a teasing smile curving his lips as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “With Luna or..." his voice dipped lower, "have I replaced her as your favourite mount to ride?"

A small, breathless laugh escaped her. "The wolf in the North indeed."

He bit at the skin of her jaw and pulled. "I strive to please, princess."

“Not leave for long. For a while,” she murmured, as though speaking of some impossible place, a dream she couldn’t quite grasp.

Cregan’s brow softened, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. He understood that yearning in her voice—the wish to escape Winterfell, the duties, the judgment—but he couldn’t help but grin at her. Sometimes, he'd think the same.

“Well then,” he said with a playful glint in his eye, “perhaps one day I’ll steal you away to Dornish warmth. Summer beneath a blood orange orchard. But I’m not sure the wolves would forgive me for that.”

Her lips quirked, a soft smile touching her face, though her eyes remained far off, still seeing that distant place. For a girl who owned a dragon, she ought to be well-travelled. Dorne must've been one of the many places she must've flown to.

Cregan leaned in, his forehead resting on hers, their breaths mingling.

“Tonight, I believe you belong right here,” he whispered, his voice low and affectionate.

Her fingers, no longer suspended in the air, curled around his, the trance broken but the dream still lingering in her gaze. She shifted closer, her bare skin brushing against his, her head resting on his chest, the far-off look in her eyes slowly fading.

"Yes," she eventually said, soft and certain. "Here is good."

Cregan kissed the top of her head, his lips brushing the silken strands of her hair, and as she nestled deeper into his embrace, he whispered. “Always here.”

She traced wistful, circuitous patterns on his chest, a fleeting touch that soothed the storm inside him. The words were unnecessary now. He knew, and so did she. The quiet between them was no longer a vacuum—it was full, full of everything understood, a second sight they both shared, woven between heartbeats and breaths.

Outside, the winds of winter howled, but within, they had found their haven. Now, that was enough.

X

still a little to come, I promise! hope you felt luuuuurv!

question of the day for those of you still here: what song reminds you the most of claere? what song reminds you most of cregan & claere?

taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @lv7867 , @cosmosnkaz , @beingalive1 , @piper570 , @tigolebittiez

thank you all so much for your support and comments! it's what drives me to write these days <3

[damn-stark]

Chapter 23 Mother I’m tired

Chapter 23 of Moonlight

A/N- Daemon you big softy

Warning- swearing, some violence, talks of pregnancy and blood, angst!!, fluff!!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 463-465

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“Dear Princess,

I hope this finds you well.

Well, actually, I hope this finds you at all—

You scoff in amusement and muster a faint smile.

—We're separated by two different sides of this war so I find writing to you quite difficult, but if you ever find yourself back with your mother you’ll read this and know that you’re on my mind with every step I take throughout this relentless war.

The truth is I want rid of you. You are a married woman and no matter how much I desire the death of your perfect husband, life is cruel and may spit in the face of my desires. It already stomped on it when you had to leave to marry him, so it may pierce its hateful blade in my heart and hurt me even more so.

Alas even if I know I’m in world pain clinging onto a fragment of hope that fate will unite us for the rest of our lives, I still hope. I still wait for any word from you, or about you like a hopeless fool. Which is why when I got the message you sent with the brother from the Night’s Watch, my breath got caught. I’m gladdened by the fact that you’re doing okay, I hope it is true, words from the mouths of others can only assure me so much, and I know you too, I know the mask you put on in front of the masses.

Then again I suppose it’s necessary for people like us, now more than ever, but that is why I hope that you continue to be okay. Or really as okay as one can be after losing so much.

I am sorry, darling. My heart and my thoughts are with you. I know how much you loved your brother. He was a great and honorable man—

No matter how much you wanted to hold back, tears break out of your eyes and pour down your face, staining the silks that cover your pillows. Tears that come from a deep and great sorrow that you have refused to feel since Jacaerys death, but bombard you now over old words from a man you adore. Because of course he out of everyone you know can break the shell that shielded you from feeling deep and heavy grief that you didn’t want to feel.

And why would you want to feel it? You had already endured so much pain, why would you want to deal with a much greater one? One you could possibly never recover from?

But he made you feel it. Him, and being back with your family made you feel all the hurt.

Ever since you’ve stepped foot in King’s Landing all you have felt is a great and paralyzing depression. Ever since you fell into bed it seems like you can’t will yourself to get out of it, or will yourself to get even a short nap. You’re just awake staring at the ceiling thinking about who you lost and who you love. It’s as if being with Aemond, being away from all that reminds you of who you can’t see anymore helped you avoid the pain, but now that you’re away from Aemond and away from any excuse to distract yourself, the pain has increased tenfold.

It makes you want to stop reading the letter to at least avoid feeling a sliver of pain even though you have already been hit with stormy wave after stormy wave with no clearing in sight.

Then again how can you stop mid-way when he took time to write to you and took a risk for him and yourself?

—He did not deserve the fate he got. He deserved a good and long life, I believe that and I am sorry he didn’t get it. I’m sorry you had to watch him take his last breath, but then again I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else by his side. He loved you, I saw that. He cared deeply for you, I saw that too. Jacaerys loved you, I hope you know that darling.

Just like I hope you know that I wish I could relate to your pain, it would make your suffering a little less, but I can’t even fathom your pain. Even still I want to try, please let me try. Don't isolate yourself, please. If not me, confide in someone else, I just don’t wish you to be alone, okay?

With that said I do hope you keep making a name for yourself, My Princess.

I hope that fate puts us on the same side so we can fight side by side, that would be the greatest honor of my life.

Until then, or until we win this war.

Cregan.”

More tears stream down the curve of your cheeks, tears that bring out sob after sob and choke you up until you have to bring yourself to a stop to catch your breath.

After that, when you can find a way to stop, you stay in bed and Vanessa lets you, giving you space to wallow in your sorrow even though she worries. She tries to get you to eat, but a bite is all you take, choosing instead to lay back in bed with the balcony door and every window open, welcoming in the brisk autumn air that blows the curtains inwards and only makes you snuggle deeper in your blankets as the flowing curtains blow in all around you.

Vanessa thought the letter from Cregan would lift your spirits, but it only worked to sink you deeper, to the point she feels helpless on how to help you at least get up and get dressed or to at least go visit Helaena since she oftentimes finds a way to make you smile without as much as trying.

She almost finds herself thinking that Aemond is the solution. Yet even if he is, he could never join your side to console you, so she has to make your mother your solution. She needs you to make up because it’s something she knows you both desperately need. After all, she’s seen how much your mother has missed you, and she oftentimes finds her carrying one of your rings, or an object that reminds her of you since she doesn’t have you. So she knows you both need each other more than you both can say with words or simple aching looks.

Nevertheless, just as she tries to leave the room to go find the Queen, a knock raps on the door, piquing your interest.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and push yourself to sit up as the visitor opens the door and reveals that it’s Rhaena and Baela.

“Cousin…” Baela’s greeting trails off as she sees you still in your nightgown. “You missed breakfast,” she says so slowly as she shares a worried glance with Rhaena that you miss since your attention drifts to Ser Jason.

“Ser please come in,” you order, making him stiffen and look at Vanessa with confusion before he very slowly and awkwardly makes his way inside whilst you finally get out of bed.

“It's cold in here,” Rhaena points out as she studies you and is quicker to make out why you’re caught under such a gloomy spell. “Let me close the windows and the balcony door.”

You pass her a mindless hum and meet Ser Jason halfway to study his neck right away, finding the bruises Aemond left him less prominent, but still marked on his skin.

“How’s your head?” You ask as you let your fingers hover over the bruise, causing him to swallow back nervously.

“Uh, I-it’s fine,” he stammers as his eyes are glued to you. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Spending my time in the cell at Harrenhal let me heal without strain.”

You meet his gaze with concern and let your hand fall on his shoulder, which he follows and keeps watching.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him softly. “He…” you trail off and can’t find it in yourself to say that Aemond didn’t mean to because deep inside you know he did. You can’t defend what he did. “He hurt you, and I know that you’re going to say it means nothing, but you are my sworn protector, not his. He shouldn’t have treated you like that, I’m sorry.”

Ser Jason quickly parts his lips but just as he draws in a breath to retort, he doesn’t, instead he drops his gaze and says, “thank you.”

He then proceeds to lift his gaze to your belly and frowns. “Are you alright? Alys said you had a scrape on your side.”

You breathe out deeply and nod. “I’m fine. It was just a stumble.”

“You fell?” Baela blurts, bringing a tense silence to the room that you don’t fill and don’t want Ser Jason to fill, but alas, he does.

“Prince Aemond pushed her.”

You shoot him a threatening glare, but he doesn’t falter. He’s proud.

“He did what?” Rhaena snaps and steps forward. “When? Why?”

“Is that why you left?” Baela bounces off her sister.

“You said you caught yourself on something,” Vanessa also adds her two cents, making you clench your jaw before you rebuttal.

“It was an accident,” you defend yourself but Baela cuts in.

“That’s what they all say. Where is he?”

You shake your head and quickly interject. “No, it was. Harrenhal…has a way of playing tricks on one’s mind. He wasn’t himself. He would never hurt me. Never.”

Baela scoffs and rolls her eyes and just before she can argue Rhaena clutches onto her arm and gives her a warning squeeze that makes her keep her mouth shut.

“I’m fine,” you assure all three women. “And the twins are fine, so please leave it be.”

Baela draws in a breath to argue, but alas Rhaena forces her to stay quiet, letting you return your attention to Ser Jason.

“If you need it, rest, alright?” You cut the conversation short since he found a way to annoy you. “Thank you, Ser.”

He bows his head and turns around on his heels to walk off, making Vanessa do the same to leave you be with your cousins. Yet once you are alone you ruminate in a tense silence that no one can find a way to break.

You all get closer to each other but the silence lingers and mingles for a while until Rhaena is the first one to break the silence. “Are you okay?” She directs at you.

You spare her a glance and nod. “Yes, I am. It was just a scrape.”

“No,” she quickly counters. “I mean are you okay?”

There’s no need for clarification, you realize she’s referring to the puffy eyes, the nightgown you still sport, the unmade bed, and the untouched breakfast Vanessa left in hopes you would finish.

“I,” your voice trembles. “I will be. I think. I just…I miss Jacaerys,” you let yourself say out loud for the first time, causing tears to well up in your eyes and start to sting in both Baela and Rhaena’s eyes since they too feel the same way—“I really miss my brother,” you add with a quiver in your voice, making Baela nod softly before she interjects with a crack in her voice.

“Me too.”

You meet her gaze and hold it, finding the same grief in her eyes and in the eyes of Rhaena.

You all share the same grief and now that you all know and see that you all feel the same way, you mindlessly come together and embrace, finding a sense of relief in your shared grief, in the shared tears you all shed, in the warmth of your embrace, and in your beating hearts thumping in sync against each other.

For so long the grief you held was shoved back. You were more mad than sad for so long, and even if you had wanted to be sad one day, you would have cried by yourself when you wanted to be comforted because Aemond would never get it. He hated your brothers, he hated what and who they were. He would have hugged you if you asked, he would kiss your head and rub your back, but you wouldn’t share the grief you share with the girls now. You would have grieved alone in the arms of the man you loved while he probably thought Jacaerys death was good riddance.

Not Baela or Rhaena though. You all understand each other and genuinely comfort each other in the silence that stays until you break it with a question you can’t hold back. “You’re not mad at me, are you? For leaving?”

You would ask if they’re mad at what you’ve done to House Strong and to support Aemond, but you wouldn’t care if they were because it’s not something that you give any doubting thought to. It happened and it’s in the past. All you care about is if they’re still mad that you left.

“No,” Rhaena reassures you, and then Baela adds her own thoughts.

“Not anymore.”

You chuckle softly and pull away to share a very faint but relieved smile. “I’m happy to be with you two again.”

Rhaena grabs your shoulder and offers you a much sweeter smile. “I’m happy you’re back where you belong too.”

Baela hums in agreement before her smile widens. “Why don’t we help you get ready for the day, hm? Get you out of your nightgown so you may feel better.”

You scoff but can’t help but let them do what they please, finding yourself enjoying the moment. It’s like a clearing in the dark storm, especially when Aerion is brought to you and joins you and the girls.

Yet a small clearing is all it is, a beam of light that breaks through the dark clouds but doesn’t rid the storm. The storm still swirls and keeps your mind and spirit dim. You still want to sulk in your bed and not do a single thing, but alas you’re distracted and thankful for it.

A part of you forgets the war happening past the city. You’re making a sweet memory with your cousins and live in the obliviousness for a short moment until the door opens and your mother walks in, bringing in the reminder of the travesty of war.

“Ma!” Aerion exclaims and grins as he points at your mother making her way into the room. “Ma!”

Your lips twitch to a smile at the reaction your son gives your mother, and you can’t help but press a gentle kiss on the back of his head before you look at your mother with a fading smile and growing concern.

“Your Grace,” Rhaena, Baela, and you greet your mother, bringing a short smile to her face before she directs her attention at just you.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she interjects as she comes to a stop a few feet before you.

“No, we’re done,” Baela responds. “We wanted to braid her hair but we left it for later so we didn’t take up her entire day.”

Your mother hums in comprehension and lets out a deep breath before she continues. “Then I hope you don’t mind that I steal the princess from your company.”

“Of course not,” Rhaena doesn’t hesitate, bringing an awkward smile to your lips—“I can take Aerion,” she adds and doesn’t linger back before she walks over and takes your son from you. Which he doesn’t mind, he goes willingly and passes your mother a happy smile.

“We’ll see you later,” Baela directs at you and then turns to your mother to curtsy before she follows Rhaena out, leaving you and your mother alone in your chambers that is riddled with a very deafening silence that neither of you know how to break. Should you linger in the silence until the tension leaves? Or just break it altogether?

What should you say first?

There’s so much you need to say—

“You look well in silver and black,” your mother breaks the silence, drifting your gaze to her and then back to your gown to stroke over the wrinkles.

“Thank you,” you respond softly and blink to slowly look back up at her, finding one of your rings attached to a gold necklace around her neck but not daring to comment on it.

“Could you accompany me to where we keep Balerion’s skull?” She finally starts to clue you in as to why she’s here, making you nod softly in agreement before following her out of your chambers and toward your destination, ending up in another deafening silence that lasts longer than before.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let Alicent see Aerion every day at dinner time,” your mother brings up, answering that certain question that you had in mind. “She requested spending time with him and she’s behaved so I let her. I hope that’s alright with you.”

You quickly respond with a nod and then follow up with a reassuring response. “Of course, that’s fine, after all, she’s also his grandmother and regardless of how she’s behaved with me she does treat him well and loves him. Besides, he loves her to bits, so I know he loves spending his time with her.”

Your mother scoffs. “That’s perhaps one of the only redeemable things about her,” she adds. “She loves her grandchildren and seems to treat them far better than she does her children.”

You hum and add an agreeing statement. “Yes, I agree.”

Silence follows after that and accompanies you the entire way to where Balerion’s skull is kept. Even when you come to a stop before the skull of the great dragon, the silence lingers with neither of you knowing what to say first. You just watch the flames dancing on the candles that surround the skull until a candle sitting in front of you dies, letting the smoke rise in an attempt to touch the high ceiling.

“Is it true that you are immune to fire?” Your mother finally asks something she’s been anticipating asking since the first whisper was heard.

“Uh, yes,” you give her a clear answer and avert your gaze. “I…didn’t mean to keep it a secret, I just…wanted to know what I was exactly before I told anyone.”

“The books,” your mother whispers as she shares the dots she connected some time ago. “That’s why you wanted to know about our histories.”

You nod gently. “Yes, but they contained nothing useful,” you say and slowly meet her gaze, finding her eyes full of wonder before they’re stricken with a flicker of sadness.

“I’m sorry I did not know before,” she interjects and glances at one of the dancing flames. “I should have. I’m your mother.”

You shift closer to her and tilt your head to the side to find her gaze and quickly console her. “No, I only recently found out myself. I would have told you. You would be the first person I would have told, but I was scared of what I was. I thought I was some curse, some demon,” you pause and can’t help but smile at the irony of that word because now you embrace such a name. But alas your smile then fades and your face returns to your previous expression. “I have learned to embrace it now though. Watch…” you trail off and lift your hand to tug the sleeve down and then put your fingers in the small candlelight.

Your mother gasps out of instinct, but when you don’t flinch and your flesh doesn’t burn, an awestruck breath gets caught in her throat whilst her eyes glimmer with the same awe.

“The Smallfolk only got to spread what I am because…I burnt a house down,” you admit with some embarrassment. “And Aemond, well he caught me, but it was actually such a relief for him to know…” you trail off and pull your hand back, letting your sleeve fall back in place.

“He made me feel seen and understood, he continued to love me for it and made me feel strong and untouchable…until…all it came to that day at the Gullet,” you didn’t mean to take the conversation to such a dark place, but you couldn’t help it. You can’t help the feelings you’re hit with, and you can’t stop them either. You don’t even try now, not now, not here because you’re with her, your own weakness that lets you let go of this invincible person that you want everyone to know you by as the moment slowly embraces you with a comfort you ached to feel.

“I left the moment I found out what was transcending,” you continue and look at the candlelight before you, unknowingly bringing light to your guilt and grief that rolls in like an angry wave—“I only stopped once to fix my armor but I continued after that and I was still…I was,” you stammer as a thick ball of emotions start to form in your throat. “I was still late. I tried to be there on time.” You nod and snap your watery gaze at her, seeing that her own eyes are starting to water.

“I did. I tried to help him. I got him out of the water, but I-I couldn’t save him, but I tried. You have to believe that I did. You have to believe I wanted to find Viserys. I would never hurt them, mama,” you cry and clutch onto your own hands to plead with all that you are. “I tried so hard. I did. I did. Mama, you have to believe me.”

Tears break out of your mother's eyes and her heart, what little is left, breaks for you, for the way you break down and beg her to believe you even though she never ever blamed you for a thing, or even thought that you had something to do with what happened at the Gullet. It’s why it’s easy for her to finally close that space between you and grab ahold of your face.

“I-I,” you can’t even continue because your tears are choking you and making it hard to breathe.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says words you barely believe but don’t take for granted. It’s like music to your wounded soul. “And I never thought it was. You tried, I know that. I heard it, and I appreciate it with every inch of my heart.”

“You do?” You question her, making her nod gently with a wobbly smile before she slides her hands down to grab your shoulders first and then slide them back to pull you in for an embrace that makes you stiffen and question if it’s real.

For so long you thought you would never feel her embrace, for so long you thought she turned her back on you, and for so long have you been mad at her. So now that you feel her arms wrapped around you, keeping you protected against her, you’re caught in disbelief.

“Mama,” you mewl, and after you realize that she really is hugging you and that it really is given with so much love, you return her embrace with a tight hold. “I…really miss them.”

Your mother nods in agreement and her shoulders shake as she does, letting you know with that alone that you’re sharing the same grief. You’re estranged souls finally connect and comfort each other in your sorrow. You only break the moment so you can pull back and continue sharing what you need to tell her.

“I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I have been such a bad daughter. I’m sorry.”

Your mother draws in shaky breath before she shakes her head and breathes out so she can share what has been weighing her down too. “The fault is not on you alone. I have some blame too. I should have told you about your father, I trust you, he trusted you and I should have not kept that from you out of all people. I’m sorry I did, and you have every right to be mad at me for it.”

“No,” you cut in and bring your hands down to hold hers. “No. I'm not mad anymore. I forgive you, I do.”

A smile twitches on her lips but she’s far from feeling content so she continues. “And I’m sorry it made you feel the way it did. You, My Love, are loved beyond measure. Your father and I,” she says and strokes your cheek. “Have loved you since we found out we were expecting you. You are my first love and my strength. I love you in more ways than I could ever put into words.”

Tears accompany her words, making you lift your hands to wipe them off her cheeks as you cry too.

“I love you my Sweet girl. I love you so much. I could never forsake you, never. You need to know that, you need to remember that,” she presses, causing you to let out a sob as you nod in comprehension.

“I love you too mama,” you muster between sobs. “I know I don’t say it as much as I should, but I do. I Iove you.”

She grins before she presses her forehead against yours and leaves you both finding comfort in your silence and in your presence until your tears dry and your breaths don’t shutter anymore.

“Besides apologizing, I also came to tell you something else,” your mother fills the silence, piquing your curiosity even though you have a clue as to where she’s heading.

“It's a choice that I should have always chosen since the beginning but I let myself get controlled by the men around me,” she continues and grabs your hands firmly. “But I am Queen now. Things are as I say and no one will change my mind or manipulate my choice. I want you to be my heir.”

There it is, right in your reach, all you ever wanted. At long last.

No more wishing, no more questioning what and who you are. You will be heir now. You will be Queen. It’s all you ever wanted and as every word echoes in your head, and you realize that your desires are finally becoming true, you are fascinated by the proposal, by the idea that will no longer just live in your head. It will be real and how can you not be fascinated? How can you be anything but happy and proud?

You’re taken by the moment, by the joy of it all that you’re blinded by your bliss and can’t think of anything else. Not there, not yet.

“Okay,” you whisper with a sweet smile. “I will be your heir.”

Your mother grins and cups your cheek to caress it.

“But what of Aegon and Joffrey? Won’t daemon be upset that you’re picking me over Aegon?” You can’t help but ask, making her scoff as she brings her hands down to grab yours.

“No, we talked about it. He doesn’t mind. He…cares about you, you know? In his own way,” she says, making you scrunch your nose—“just…try and be friendly. He’s really turned over a new leaf. He wants to try.”

You hold her gaze with disgust, but he also didn’t do what you thought he did so you perhaps have judged him too harshly, so it wouldn't hurt to try. For her though! Only because she wants you to.

“Alright,” you reassure her and make her eyes glimmer with joy. “And before we go,” she continues. “There’s something else. Something that I need to pass down to you now that you’re my heir.”

Your eyebrows pinch together and you wait in silence for her to answer your curiosity.

“It’s about a prophecy passed down from ruler to heir since the reign of Aegon the Conqueror. It's a prophecy about the Prince that was Promised—”

“They will help defeat the dead that comes with a long winter,” you cut in after you recognize that famous name, causing your mother's eyes to widen with shock—“Yes, I have heard of them. We must help her, we must light the way for her.”

Your mother’s eyebrows furrow in confusion before she expresses it. “How do you know?”

You glance down for a brief second and scoff softly. “Friends. A red priestess, and Alys, a witch friend who resides at Harrenhal.”

Your mother huffs. “So you know her too? Daemon knows her too.”

You meet her gaze and flash her an amused smile. “She’s great, she helped me. And she let me see the Prince that was Promised. It’s why we need to win this war.”

Your mother nods. “Yes, we can only defeat the dead if the realm is united. It’s why our victory is dire. We need to do what we must to guarantee our blood continues so there’s hope in the future.”

You swallow nervously as you know what she’s referring to when she says, ‘we need to do what we must’. You know she’s referring to Aemond when says those words, and knowing it makes your chest heavy.

No matter what happened, regardless of why you left, you…still love him.

“I know,” you whisper and avert your gaze for a second before you meet hers again and offer her a faint assuring smile. “I know what we need to do.”

Your mother draws in a deep breath and holds your gaze with pity for a second before she nods and leans in to press a kiss on your head.

“Get ready for dinner later, okay? I want you to meet the dragon riders and I want to present you as my heir,” she lets you know in which you can’t help but nod in comprehension before you bring up one last thing.

“May I invite Helaena to dinner? I know she’s your prisoner but she's also your sister, and besides my aunt, she is very dear to me, so may I invite her to dinner?” You ask and bat your lashes, causing your mother to sigh even though she wasn’t going to choose anything else but to agree with you.

“Thank you.”

Now with the apologies and the unspoken words that were hidden in the depths of your souls, and shared out loud and over with, you then make your way to Helaena before you can return to your quarters.

“Helaena, sweetling it’s me, may I come in?” You speak against the door, and not so long later a voice echoes.

“Come.”

The guards open the doors for you, letting you be greeted with the sight of not only Helaena but Alicent in golden chains that are clasped around her ankles and wrists.

“Helaena,” you greet her as you rip your eyes from Alicent to look at your aunt with a warm smile whilst she quickly gets up from her cushioned seat in front of some insect cages and meets you halfway to grab your arms.

“I knew you would return,” she whispers, making you grab her elbows.

“It's good to see you again,” you say back before you step back, letting her study your belly.

“Look at you,” she points out and pats your belly. “So big.”

You grin and nod before your face falls as you bring up her situation. “Are you okay? Have they been treating you well?”

Helaena nods before stepping back and then returning to where she was. “Yes. I’m not allowed to see Dreamfyre, but I can roam the Red Keep, and stay in the gardens as much as I like. And Daemon has been kind as well.”

Daemon?

You look at her with confusion before you share your emotions with Alicent with a shared glance, and then address her only because you have to. “Alicent,” you bow your head and then look at the little girl reading by the fire. “Jaehaera.”

Said girl lifts her eyes off her book and flashes you a grin. “Hello! You returned!”

You nod and head over to her. “I have and you have gotten bigger it seems.”

She nods eagerly. “Yes! I grew an inch, mother says!”

You grin. “I see that. I hope Aerion has been well-behaved. You have watched out for him have you?”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I try, but he always wants to be with grandmother. But she does let me help her feed him. The only bad thing is that he always gets messy.” She pouts and stands up to put her little hand on your belly. “I suppose if you have girls they won’t be so messy.”

You giggle. “All babies are messy at one point. You were too.”

“Was I?!” She exclaims giddly. “I do not remember, but then if my cousins are girls will they play dolls with me when they’re older? Grandmother says Aerion will have to train with swords and sailing instead of playing with dolls.”

Considering she'll probably phase out of playing with dolls when the twins are old enough to play with her you don’t think so, but you don’t want to break her little heart so you let her hear what she wants. “If they’re girls I’m sure they will, but I’m sure you and Aerion can bond over dragons when he’s old enough, hm? Or books like me and your uncle Aemond.”

She shakes her head with a disgusted face. “That would be boring.” She retorts, making you snort and get reminded of her father as she makes that facial expression.

“Well, dragons it is then.”

“They’ll be the same age!” She points out and you nod in agreement.

Jaehaera then slides her hand off your belly and falls back in her cushion, letting you make your way back to Helaena, but addressing Alicent. “I hope you are well.”

She looks at her chains and then meets your gaze and mutters. “At least I can be with my family.”

You have so much that comes to the tip of your tongue but you manage to bite your tongue to avoid arguing.

“You and the twins?” Alicent asks.

You caress your belly and nod softly. “We’re fine. Healthy.”

Alicent’s gaze drifts to one of Helaena’s insect cages and hesitantly brings up a question. “And Aemond? If you’re here then that means something is wrong.”

You sigh and hesitate before you give her a curt answer. “He’s not hurt, he just seems to be descending into something that’s gotten out of control.”

Alicent nods stiffly as she blinks repeatedly and doesn’t answer, letting you then give your attention to Helaena. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to come to dinner later. My mother wants to present me as her heir to her court at dinner so if you would like to come you’re more than welcome.”

Helaena drifts her gaze from the insect she’s inspecting and sighs deeply. “Thank you, but no. There will be people I don’t know and who will all look at me. I would not be comfortable, besides, I enjoy dinner with my mother, Jaehaera, and Aerion. You can tell me what happened on the following day,” she doesn’t try to put it nicely, she’s abrupt and unforgiving. Which doesn’t bother you, it’s just the way she is.

“Alright,” you breathe out and take a seat beside her to ask her what she’s collected, but Alicent then sits across from you and reaches over to take your arm.

“Will you not stop him?” She blurts with a widened look spewing fear and concern. “Help him? This descent into madness will only make Daemon or one of the others go after him, and we both know that Vhagar is not invincible. Not when it comes to Daemon.” She throws out desperately as she sinks her nails in your arm.

“He wants Daemon to go after him, don’t you think I have tried to warn him? To try and lead him to a different path?” You counter as you yank her hand off your arm. “I have tried,” you press with annoyance that was quick to form. “But he doesn’t listen. He wants this path because of you. The path Aegon, Daeron, and Aemond are walking down is because of you. Not me, you,” you hiss, making Alicent pull her head back as she seems to get offended and surprised at your blunt accusation.

“If you hadn’t been so hell-bent on undermining my mother my brothers would be alive and your son’s lives would not be put at risk,” you spat with your gaze narrowing as your annoyance turns to frustration that’s been building up. You don’t know why exactly, perhaps it’s just your own gloom, but you have been feeling it forming within you, wanting out but now knowing how.

“But you set them down this path, and now that it’s gotten out of control you fall to your knees and beg for mercy?” You grimace with the corner of your lip curled. “Face the reality, Alicent. Face your mistakes or—”

“So you wish to see Aemond dead?” She cuts you off abruptly and leans toward you. “Do you wish to accept that reality?”

You have given that reality much thought. It consumes you a lot of the time and you know that it’s a possibility. You would be ignorant if you didn’t, but when it comes to accepting it you do act ignorant.

“If your love for him is real, that is.”

“Of course it is!” You snap back with tears in your eyes. “I love him, how dare you throw that at my face? You out of all people?”

Alicent gasps and blinks repeatedly in disbelief as if she had been smacked across the face, ending up speechless, much like you. Albeit you’re not quiet out of shock, your anger makes you quiet and makes you pierce a glare into her before you stand up and turn to Helaena.

“I will come see you tomorrow, Helaena. Maybe we can go for a walk in the gardens, hm?” You ask and she slowly looks at you without meeting your gaze to give you her response with a nod, letting you then turn and storm out of her chambers with a tormenting ache that you thought you got rid of. At least for the rest of today, but no, Alicent helped it come back and this time it hits you with so much more force that if it wasn’t for the dinner you need to attend, it would have knocked you down, but alas even if you waver, you don’t stumble, you don’t fall, and you don’t break.

——

*LATER*

“…I intended to save this gown for after the war. When the Queen won and was crowned before the masses, but alas, you are heir and will be named heir. There’s no other time to wear this gown like now,” Vanessa rambles excitedly as she doesn’t even help you with the gown anymore, she had already helped you put it on, she is currently applying your makeup, but she can't stop talking about the gown. She’s perhaps more excited than you are that you’re wearing it. And you’re trying. You’re trying to be excited and shake off what plagues you, but you’re tormented by your own agony, your grief, your guilt, and your sorrow that you can’t forget.

But the question is why? Why do you have to feel so unhappy now that you have what you wanted? You’re no longer reaching for it, you have it in your grasp, and now that you do, now that you feel its beating heart in your grasp you can’t muster a genuine smile. You can’t feel the warmth of bliss and excitement.

You want to, you try, but no amount of strain can make you recover that initial joy you felt.

“Perfect. Beautiful,” Vanessa praises you and then pinches your cheeks before she steps back to continue admiring her work. “I just need the necklaces. I left them in the other chambers. I will be back!” She throws out and then turns to run off.

Once Vanessa is out of your chambers you slowly turn your seat and face yourself on the vanity mirror to admire the way the golden dragon scales hug your torso and stretch over your belly. You admire the multiple white pearl chains that are hooked around your hips and cascade over the lavish black silk skirt, while also connecting to more chains that strap around your black hanging sleeves that are attached to the back of the gown so it looks like your sleeves are wings when you put your arms out.

You then slowly scale your eyes up to your face and look at the light makeup that decorates your face. You admire Vanessa’s work, causing the corner of your lips to twitch to a smile, however, your eyes then catch the lipstick smudged on your bottom lip just a smidge and you carefully fix it with your fingers.

Albeit when you try to wipe the mistake more lipstick smudges, making you scoff in annoyance before you press the tip of your fingers harder against your skin and wipe harsher.

However, the smudge only worsens and the mistake doesn’t get fixed so you wipe harder and harder, feeling your throat slowly starting to burn and your eyes filling with tears until you can’t take it anymore. You can’t hold back anymore. You can’t stay strong anymore. You fall, you stumble, and you break, dragging your hands off your lips and smacking your face again and again in attempts to wipe the light layer of makeup off your face because it’s all a mistake; you being heir, holding that title after years of yearning is a mistake because there’s no point.

What’s the point? You ask yourself before you scale your hands up and tear the golden pearl circlet off your head and mindlessly smash it against the vanity mirror out of agony, out of grief, and out of guilt, thinking over and over again what is being heir worth?

What is it all worth? What is it all worth?!

What is it all worth without them? Without Jacaerys? Without Luke? What is it all worth with no one to love you? And you don’t mean in the way your family loves you, but in the intimate way that Aemond loves you? And or the way Cregan loves you?

Being heir and then being Queen, is all you wanted. You dreamt of it, wished for it, but now that you have it you can admit that it’s worth nothing. All those years of longing to be acknowledged no longer exist within you because most of you is already dead. All that’s left is what?

You look at the mirror between your fingers after hitting it and breaking it, and after pressing your bleeding hands against your face, and slowly drag your fingers down before you pull your hands off your face and look at yourself. What you see beyond the blood-stained face is someone grief-stricken, someone angry, in agony, and some hollow husk of who you used to be.

That’s who and what you are. That’s all that’s left.

You miss who you used to be, just like you miss your life before the war tore it apart. You miss your brothers and the way Aemond was before his mind spiraled. You miss Cregan, and most of all you miss…being happy. You want life to go back to the way it was.

Alas…you have to move onward…it’s a harsh truth to face but there’s no other alternative you can take.

Thus you reach over to grab a damp towel off the bowl and wipe the blood off your face, realizing that you’re only damaging the towel even more with the bleeding cuts that the shards of glass made on your palms—Damn.

Before you can get something to tend to your wounds, however, Vanessa walks in and when she sees the state of things she comes to a quick stop and looks horrified. You mirror her look out of guilt for ruining her work and speak on it because you need to. “I’m sorry,” you mutter and look at her with a look of hurt. “I’m sorry.”

Vanessa swallows back thickly and then snaps out of her stupor to approach you hastily. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she assures you and cups your hands. “Let’s tend to your hands and do it again. We have time. It’s okay.”

You look at her in disbelief and she notices so she lifts her hand to stroke your cheek, reassuring you that she’s not really upset that you ruined her makeup but just playing it off for your sake. She’s genuine, and she’s more careful compared to before because before her eyes seemed to have been shielded since she failed to see your sadness so clearly clinging onto your face and painting such a vivid picture in your eyes.

“You look beautiful,” she speaks softly this time around once she finishes your makeup for a second time. “Eat okay? Mingle, I have found that Addam Velaryon is quite the charmer. Enjoy yourself. It’s what Jacaerys would’ve wanted.”

Your breath hitches but you don’t break, you simply nod faintly before you linger on your cushioned seat and then get up and leave, attempting as you go to get rid of the hold your sorrow has on your features and replace it with serenity and bliss so you can look grateful because you are, but usually there’s a glint of grace and arrogance in your eyes that you don’t feel ashamed for feeling, or feel ashamed to admit that you carry such feelings.

Alas, when you’re in the throne room, as your name and title are announced to the guests that turned out to be more than you thought, to your family that has turned into a small group, and to the musicians you didn’t think would play tonight, all you can muster is feigned nonchalance backed with a sadness that makes your eyes gleam against all the twinkling firelight that keeps the darkness away from the great hall.

They see you as you make your way to the main table, and you see them not even trying to feign their shock, their utter disapproval of you being able to waltz in without consequence after you sided with Aemond.

They have every right to disapprove of you, but they are not the Queen, they don’t make decisions, and they’re simply inferior. They're plebes compared to you and your family. They can shoot you as many dirty and disapproving looks as they want. They can whisper behind your back, but they have to bite their tongue and watch you sit beside the Queen as if you have been here supporting her the entire time.

“Your Grace,” you greet your mother one more time now that you’re seated. “You look very beautiful tonight.”

Your mother smiles softly and pats your hand. “As do you,” she doesn’t fail to redirect before she moves her hand down to stroke your belly before she reaches for her goblet and gets up, silencing the whispers that had already filtered the hall in such a short time.

“I would like to firstly, thank everyone for joining us tonight, it means a lot to me,” your mother addresses the guests, turning their heads and grabbing their attention. “And now I would like to present my daughter, my firstborn, and your Princess, as my heir,” she announces and looks down at you, catching your glimmering eyes expressing your appreciation and your affection. “There’s no one more graceful, more tactical, more smart, and strong as you. I’m proud of you, my girl. You will be great.”

Your eyes water, a genuine smile appears on your face, and there in your chest, you feel something jolt. “Thank you,” you whisper in such a soft way that only she and your grandfather next to you hear. She then raises her goblet and other people raise their cups, but your attention falls on a plump man overly decorated in shiny gold chains and rings and dressed in over-the-top expensive clothes.

You remember him from Dragonstone, he wanted you thrown in a dungeon. He’s the rider of Silverwing. It’s Ulf wearing all the money he’s received since he became a dragonrider. If only all that money could buy him class, he eats like a commoner.

Nevertheless, he catches your gaze, and when you know he’s looking as if springing back to life you slowly raise your nose in the air and look at him with a piercing glare under your lashes, like a predator looks at their prey before capturing them.

He swallows thickly and as if possessed by your husband's spirit, you shoot him a menacing glare and a wicked smile seconds before Daemon raises his up and grabs your attention.

“To the heir, I look forward to sharing the battlefield with you so I can see for myself what the Blood Dragon is really capable of,” he says with a growing grin, making you glance at your mother before you look back at him and offer him a smile that he mirrors, which is…weird, you’ll admit, but he’s making an attempt to make amends, so you don’t look away or let your disgust make an appearance, you take his smile. Once he’s back in his seat your grandfather doesn’t hesitate to rise from his seat and raise his goblet in the air, catching you by surprise.

“To the heir, and my Siren of Driftmark,” he says to the crowd before his eyes fall on you and a small smile tugs the corner of his lips. “I still tend to make Aerion my ward, but it seems now that he will be your heir, one of your twins will have to be my heir…”

He still plans to keep your children as heirs to Driftmark? But what of Addam and Alyn? Vanessa called Addam a Velaryon, so you were right, he is the bastard son of your grandfather and is now legitimized, so your grandfather could make any of the two the heir. Yet he kept his word, after all this time, after all you’ve done.

Perhaps you were quick to feel betrayed, and quicker to judge.

“To your health, and the health of my great-grandchildren,” your grandfather finishes, making you grin softly, and when he sits back down you pat his arm before you caress it, receiving a small smile from him in return.

This time rather than hearing mocking toasts filled with spite, breaking into a fight just before you can take your first bite of food like the last big dinner you were a part of, the music starts back up again, and the transition from toast to dinner is smooth. You’re thankful for it but also crave some mayhem in between your state of sorrow and the constant torment that you give Ulf every time you glance at him.

There does come a moment where your gaze finds a different pair of eyes that are darker than Ulf’s, kinder too, but you don’t attempt to make him squirm, nor do you threaten him with a piercing look alone. You actually avert your gaze out of shame for being so harsh on a man who was miles away when you spited him for being someone he had no control over. You let Aemond and your own insecurities get to your head. You admit that.

How shameful and stupid.

“You know, my sweet,” your mother interjects as she puts her goblet of wine down and you set your fork down. “I am Queen, which means I hold the power to…” she trails off and swallows back nervously before she continues hesitantly. “Annul your marriage to Aemond.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and look down at your plate of food to manage the shock that hits you as if you heard the most absurd thing in your life.

“We could marry you to someone kinder,” your mother continues to say through your obvious shock as if she wants to move forward with something that’s just meant as a suggestion. Is it not? “Someone worthy of you. Someone like…Lord Cregan Stark.”

You blink and look at her with your eyebrows softly pinched together, noticing a small playful smirk tugging on the corner of her lips as if this is some joke. And you understand where her joy comes from after all, you basically confessed your love for Cregan that time she snuck into King’s Landing, but doesn’t she know how hard it really is loving two people?

Does she know how hard it is to even fathom the thought of letting go of one to go to the other?

You’re torn between your love for Aemond and Cregan, doesn’t she know that? Doesn’t she know your conflict?

“Or she could marry a Martell prince,” Daemon suggests as he leans forward to be a part of the conversation. “They’d be idiots to turn down the proposal of an heir. And a marriage to Dorne would at last unite the kingdom, and give us all our strength for,” he pauses and passes you and your mother a glance. “…the future.”

You drop your gaze to your food and grab your fork with a tight grip. You don’t pick up any food, you just scrape it along the plate with your jaw clenched and your gaze pierced because even if they’re suggestions, it’s still your own life that they are so easily talking about. No matter how smart it would be to at last unite Dorne to the kingdoms, and or how much you once wanted to marry Cregan, is leaving Aemond really worth it?

You think of him, picture his face in your mind as clear as day and all you can imagine is how betrayed he’d be. You’d break his heart and him, is it really worth all of that? There’s still a fighting chance…minuscule maybe, but you have to believe there is no matter what the future has in store for you.

It’s a hopeless desire, but you are hopelessly in love with Aemond no matter what.

“I…” you interject with the attempt to reject your mother or just answer with something that would get her to abandon the conversation, but when she looks at you she does see your struggle and interrupts you.

“Think about it. I just wanted you to know that you’re not stuck, you have options, okay?”

You drift your gaze and let your jaw unclench and your eyes soften. “Okay.”

She offers you a reassuring look before she goes back to talking to Daemon, letting you stare back at your food and remind yourself to take deep breaths.

Being surrounded by so many people and such lively music is perhaps overwhelming after being cornered in Harrenhal for four months. Seeing your brother's seats be occupied by two men from the pits of the city is also perhaps too much for your mind to grasp. You look up from your plate on occasion and catch yourself expecting to see Lucerys and Jacaerys both laughing and talking with each other, or their respected partner, so when you see strangers on their seats it’s like…getting your breath ripped from your chest over and over again.

Perhaps this is why it was easier to stay with Aemond as long as you did, you remembered that they were gone when you were away from home but now that you’re home their ghosts haunt you at every corner.

But oh, you try to look content. You mingle with whoever wants to talk to you, your mother introduces you to Ser Hugh and officially introduces you to Ser Ulf, and you do note that Ser Hugh is much more etiquette than Ser Ulf, but they are both still low-born, they are not to be trusted. You can’t get yourself to trust them. As to Addam? Well, it’s complicated, but should you really trust him completely?

You can’t be sure yet.

“Is this not all you wanted?” Daemon startles you as he joins you in some lonely side of the hall.

“Once,” you sigh. “Once upon a time I wanted to be Queen, I wanted to be my mother's heir. Once upon a time, when life was…much more simple,” you find yourself sharing with him without straining or trying to find a way out.

“Good,” he surprises you by saying. “Not wanting to be a ruler doesn’t guarantee you will be good at it, but the crown is a heavy burden and when you don’t want it it’s easier to treat it that way.”

You scoff and the corner of your lips twitch to a teasing smile that he catches.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mutter and look away to hide your smile.

Daemon huffs before he steps forward to stand in front of you now rather than at your side where you can’t meet eye to eye. “Your mother says we have a friend in common at Harrenhal.”

You flash him a smile but don’t respond with what he seeks. “Helaena mentioned…in a way that you talk. Why?”

A faint smirk twitches on the corner of his lips before he responds bluntly. “Much like our friend, she can see glimpses of the future. She appeared to me in a vision once, and now we're both here. I would be foolish to take her gift for granted.”

You nod softly and without a shift on your face you lean forward and at this particular moment disregard any attempt at reconciliation. “If I hear that you have hurt her in any way you will see for yourself why it is that they call me what they call me.”

Daemon doesn’t falter, nor does he get upset, he looks at you with a smirk that now spreads wider on his lips. “Noted.”

You huff and move away to stand beside him instead.

“Did she show you the future on that Weirwood tree?” Daemon asks, not letting you go just yet. “The witch?”

“Alys,” you clarify and turn to face the crowd. Daemon turns with you and you both catch your mother glancing over here and smiling when she sees you both interacting without looking upset—“yes. If only the glimpses of the future were clear.”

He hums in agreement as you both watch your mother from where you stand. “What did you see?” He probes.

“Myself, fighting for my mother. A son…born to me sometime in the future…he talked to me,” you muse with a growing smile of admiration. “Just like I'm talking to you now. I don’t know why…maybe he’s a dreamer or something else. Alys wouldn’t tell me, she said knowing too much is dangerous so that's what I am left with. That, along with the Prince that was Promised, and the dead that come with a long winter.”

“I saw her too,” Daemon interjects, making you shift your eyes to him. “She survived fire like you, but she didn’t look like you. Maybe—”

“No,” you cut him off. “It’s not me. What I have is unknown, Alys doesn’t even know. Blood magic perhaps, I don’t know.”

“But it’s something that will pass through our line,” Darmon says and meets your gaze with a serious gaze. “If you are not who was promised then it comes from our line. Yours, mine. We don’t know.”

You shake your head in agreement and then draw out a deep breath as you look ahead again. “We don’t know but we know she’s coming. My son said I would be the spark that would light a greater fire. Alys said it too, but…how can I? I’m with child and I can barely muster the energy to climb out of bed now that I’m here.”

Daemon stays quiet for a moment and in his silence you think perhaps you overshared. You didn’t mean to in the first place, but now that you know what you said perhaps you did and he doesn’t care.

“You’re already there,” he then fills the silence, stopping the worry of pouring your heart out on someone who couldn’t care, and stopping you before you can find an excuse to leave. “You just need to keep burning brighter, and the only way you can do that is thinking of who you’re fighting for.”

You look for them again. Jacaerys and Lucerys. You look at your mother, Baela, Rhaena, and your grandfather. You think of Aerion, your unborn children, Joffrey, and Aegon. And even Cregan comes to mind as you think about who it is you fight for.

“They will keep that fire alive. You must fight for their future. That’s why you need to keep getting out of bed. You can worry about the rest after we win,” he finishes, bringing tears to the corner of your eyes.

You don’t follow up with anything, but he knows you understand. He sees the tears crawling down your cheeks and he knows.

“You must know,” he speaks softly. “I am grateful that you saved Aegon and you tried to look for Viserys.”

More tears keep coming out as you hear what he mentions.

“You tried. You fought, and they sing about you like a great legendary dragon warrior…your father would be proud…just like I know your mother is.”

You inhale sharply and keep quiet, but he knows his words worked the way he wanted them to. He can walk away content after that even if he leaves you weeping.

Thus you walk away before someone can see you and think the wrong thing or worse, come and pester you with unnecessary questions.

When you find yourself outside of the hall you stand in front of the tall windows and try to calm yourself down before you return inside.

You can’t let yourself think of much or you’ll go down a spiral so you try and keep your mind off anything that will upset you at the moment, and hope not to take too long, but alas moments later someone carefully joins you in front of the window. At first, you think it’s your mother, but when you peek at your side you’re surprised to see Addam.

“Are you alright, your Grace, I saw you crying,” he says and proves you were not quick enough when you walked out.

“Uh, yes.” You nod and drop your hands from your face. “Yes I am Addam, thank you.”

Addam’s gaze lingers on you, you can feel it burning on your side before he slowly looks ahead, letting you steal a glance, and sigh out of guilt. “So…you are my grandfather's son?” You ask to get the rumors confirmed.

“Well,” he pauses and debates answering. “Yes. Bastard son.”

You shake your head and correct him. “You’re a Velaryon. You’re no longer a bastard under the law.”

“Perhaps,” he answers right away. “But I am. No law or name will change it.”

You hum and clasp your hands together, debating whether to apologize for a behavior he probably didn’t even notice, or leaving it be.

You feel like apologizing. He was so sweet the first time you met.

“I didn’t mean to steal your father's dragon,” he blurts and turns your gaze to him. “He came to me. I don’t want you to think that I did it on purpose.”

There it is again, that jolt in your chest.

“Addam,” you whisper. “My father is dead. My father died before you bonded with Seasmoke, he wouldn’t have bonded with you otherwise, so Seasmoke belonged to no one. We can’t own a dragon, we form a connection and they are loyal to us, we are one until either of us dies, but they’re not cattle or pets. He wasn’t ours to claim, so don’t apologize or even feel guilty. Feel special, he went out of his way to find you, I never heard of a dragon doing that.”

Addam scoffs as he drops his head, and a smile sneaks on his features.

“You should forgive me,” you chose to say. “I was upset at you and Alyn because I thought you would replace my son's inheritance. I was jealous and I spited you because of it.”

Addam’s gaze finds you and you find his. After a few seconds, he breaks out into a chuckle. “I didn’t even know,“ he admits. “So I suppose there’s nothing to forgive, besides you’re a princess you have every right to be—”

“No,” you cut him off before he can finish that statement. “Untrue. Being a princess doesn't mean that I’m above criticism. I mean sometimes I do feel entitled and have every right to be, but not when it comes to being cruel…to you. Good people.”

“You don’t know me,” he quickly rebuttals. “I could be cruel. The cruelest of cruel.”

You snort and chuckle. For the first time in so long you laugh from the depths of your stomach.

“I don’t believe that,” you say between laughs.

“How come?” He questions, making you take a deep breath to calm down and then answer genuinely.

“It’s in your eyes.”

As you say that his eyes soften and that grin falls to an awe-struck smile.

“And eyes never lie if you know how to read them,” you add. “I know. I see you now and through them, I see your good heart,” you say and gently tap his chest with your fist. “You’re good.”

“Thank you,” he whispers timidly.

You offer him a kind-hearted smile and then pull your hand away to drop your arm back at your side. When you’re both looking out the window and see how the night covers every aspect of the outside world, you stand in a…comfortable silence. It didn't last but no matter how short it was you still felt at ease.

“Can I ask why you left?” Addam asks. “Your mother was Queen, you had every chance to return to her side.”

You draw out a deep breath and mutter. “I was being selfish,” you avoid the truth to avoid problems. “I got upset at my mother and I was a selfish and bratty daughter, that's why I left…I'm a bad person.”

“If that made a person bad then the world would be full of bad people,” he gives his opinion as he doesn’t fear looking at you as he speaks up. “Regardless of the situation, it’s normal to get upset at parents. You’re young, and they make mistakes. Being upset doesn’t make you bad. Besides, you made up now right?”

You nod.

“See? That’s what matters.”

Your breath shutters but you don’t cry this time, you keep looking out at the window with a sense of bliss. Yes, that’s what it is, bliss.

“Can I ask you something now,” you don’t shy away from bringing up, maybe you should, but it feels right because he reminds you of your beloved brothers. “Why are you not dancing? There’s many fair ladies there. And there’s also beautiful Lady Rhaena. We won’t get many moments like these so it’s best to take advantage of them. Who knows maybe you’ll end up being wed by the time the week ends.”

He scoffs and then laughs before he tilts his head towards you. “Well, I don’t know how. I didn’t take dancing lessons like you.”

You scoff. “Okay, yes I took dancing lessons. I had to, and I liked them,” you share with a smile. “My uncle Aegon would annoy me, but luckily…my Aemond would always save me and always be my dance partner. So I can tell you that the most important thing is to not step on your dance partner.”

“That would be terrible,” he says and you hum before you skip over to stand before him and offer him your hand because you have that need to…enjoy yourself like you used to because of him. Because he’s such a sweet reminder of everything nice. “I’ll show you. Just follow my lead.”

Addam hesitates but he doesn’t overthink your offer, he places his hand over yours, letting you secure your warm hold over his before pulling yourself closer to him to firstly, grab his other hand and place it on your waist and then place your other hand on his shoulder.

“Now there’s many other dances, but this is the most common and basic one. This one will work fine for now,” you say before you step toward him first, noticing how he keeps his eyes focused on your feet.

“Alright,” he whispers under his breath.

“The second most important thing is to follow the beat of the music,” you follow by saying and listen to what’s playing in the hall, hearing a song with a fast beat so you grow mischievous and can’t help yourself. You move quickly to follow the rhythm and surprisingly enough Addam is quick to catch up and not stumble or step on you.

“Great!” You praise him.

“You tried to mess me up,” he points out with a half grin.

You shake your head and deny such claims. “No, I’m merely following the beat of the music.”

He hums as he nods before a teasing smirk tugs on his own lips and he doesn’t fail to match your enthusiasm by spinning you around, making you laugh. When you face each other as you only grab onto one hand now, it’s like you speechlessly come to an agreement before you dance wildly as if in tune with each other's dancing hearts. And since the corridor is alone you make the corridor your dance floor and dance up and down it.

You let yourself get carried away. You smile and laugh without guilt, without sorrow, and without agony clinging onto you. You let go for the night because of Addam.

——

*A COUPLE WEEKS LATER*

There’s…no sight of Astraea resting near the castle—she must be hunting.

Aemond descends from his dragon in some isolated space where his dragon can fit and strides toward the castle without worry at first. Yet as he gets closer and closer and doesn’t hear commotion echoing from within the walls he picks up his pace, finding his heart skipping a beat before that too picks up its pace.

But why should he worry? You’ll be here, he just didn’t leave enough men for the commotion to travel out, and Astraea is hunting…

With that repeating in his mind to reassure the growing pit in his stomach, he takes a deep breath and keeps his quickened pace. When he makes it within the castle walls he only has one objective in mind, seeing you, so he doesn’t go out of his way to search for any guards, he doesn’t check for the witch or Ser Jason, he makes a beeline where you’re supposed to be and already imagines how you would react when you see him.

You won't be happy, after all, he left you locked in your quarters. He did one of the worst things possible but all he needs is just to see you. He’s been on his own for far too long, all he needs is to look you in your captivating eyes, he just needs to feel your warmth, and hear your breath so he knows you’re alive. That’s all he wants, you don’t have to talk to him, he just needs to see you. That’s all his heart has ever yearned for.

Yet when he turns the corner to reach your quarters, he comes to an immediate halt when he sees the decaying bodies of your guards. The blood seems to be a stain on the ground now so the men weren’t just killed…they’re old…

He calls out your name and waits for a response. When he doesn’t hear your voice call out to him he races to the room and throws the doors open, finding two more bodies inside. One seems to have been wounded on his neck and the other was impaled. Was it you?

No, no, no…

He wants it to be you who killed these strange men that are not a part of the guards that he left behind, but his fears take control and his mind begins to make him think that someone else hurt you, so he quickly spins around on his heels and runs out. He calls out your name at every turn hoping you’ll be in another room, that someone else will hear and come out, but deafening silence is all that responds to his desperate calls and his thumping heart is all that fills his ears. It almost plays tricks on him. He swears he hears your voice travel through the corridors, but when he follows what he believes is your voice he finds nothing.

There’s no one. Nothing, but emptiness and a reminder of what was of this castle. That is until he runs into the Godswood and finds what he was looking for in the burnt bodies discarded on the ground, and the swinging bodies hanging from the white branches.

He doesn’t want to believe you left this lovely mess. He hopes something else did it so he can save you and find you, but what else could leave bodies black and nothing but bones? Who else would hang burnt bodies on the Weirwood tree, but you?

You followed the ways of the Old Gods after your stay in the North. You pray to the weeping tree and enjoy basking in your peace in the Godswood, so no one else would leave these bodies hanging from the tree but you.

You killed those strangers in your chambers, you had Astraea burn these bodies in the Godswood, you fought the trouble he meant to protect you from, and you lived.

There’s no other way around it. His mind places some doubt, but he knows you’re capable so he believes wholeheartedly that you lived through the ordeal. However, a part of him wishes you would have been in trouble so he could have came and saved you because at least if he came and saved you, that would guarantee you staying by his side. It would mean that you didn’t leave, but you did…you left.

YOU LEFT!

He tears his sword out of his sheath and swings at the weeping face again and again with more anger backing each swing every time, and with tears slowly clouding his eyes every time his blade would hit the Weirwood tree.

Once he’s panting and his tears stream down his face he lets his sword fall to the ground and he stands there mindlessly looking at the wounded tree with tears in his eyes and his eyebrows knitted together in anger whilst heavy pants leave past his lips.

A part of him expected you to find a way to leave. You’re restless, you don’t belong locked away in some tower, but he just wanted to protect you. He saw you die every night in his dreams while he was here, and he hurt you when he was lost in some trance, so all he wanted was to guarantee your safety. He didn’t want you to leave and leave him alone in this world. He…just wanted what was best. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he didn’t intend for you to leave him alone like his mother, his sister, and his brothers have.

“Damn it,” he hisses and falls to his knees in front of the Weirwood tree, feeling abandoned and betrayed, but still feeling a longing to see you. Even if you left him he still aches to feel your arms embracing him against you, he wants to hear your whispers against his ear and desires most of all to see you so you can meet his gaze as if nothing else existed in the world but him and you.

He searches for the memory of your enticing gaze in the Heart Tree, unbeknownst to the fact that you are looking at the Weirwood tree in the Red Keep’s Godswood, and also yearning to see him. You also search for the memory of his gaze in the Heart tree, as if the weeping face held the memory of each other's gaze.

“Exhausted from terrorizing my homelands already, Prince?” A voice breaks the silence, ripping him away from his thoughts and making him stand up rapidly and turn swiftly to find none other than the witch Alys.

“You!” He bellows and stomps over to her to grab her by the neck in order to be threatening, but she doesn’t flinch. She meets his gaze and snickers before she answers a question he doesn’t have time to ask.

“She left home. She’s where she belongs.”

Aemond swallows back thickly and looks at her with slight disbelief before he reaffirms his grip around her throat and sneers. “Bring her back. Tell her to come back.”

Alys wraps her hand around his wrist and yanks his hand off her throat before she deadpans. “No.”

Aemond scoffs but she interjects before he can snap back.

“She will be back. You will see her again.”

The corner of Aemond’s lips twitch to a smirk but she smirks back and that makes his fall as he grows uncomfortable.

“You will both return to this very place soon. She has to so she can continue down her destined path.”

Aemond is curious to ask more and ask what she truly means because she wouldn’t look so taunting if there wasn’t some deeper meaning, but alas he doesn’t ask because he doesn’t like her or trust her like you do.

“Girls,” Alys blurts and makes him blink out of shock. “You will have twin girls. I thought you should know.”

His lips part as a soft gasp escapes past his lips.

Does this revelation mean that Helaena was wrong? Will he live after all?

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- When you so badly want your sister to be wrong you become delusional 🤩

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