#Cregan stark x Fem!reader

[damn-stark]

Chapter 33 Ding dong the King is dead!

Chapter 33 of Moonlight

A/N- I hope you guys like it!!

Warning- PTSD, ANGST!!!, swearing, violence, blood, and DEATH. 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- 549-561

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There’s always something so beautiful about snow storms, whether it's big or small, quiet or loud with their howling wind, and delicate yet sharp icy flakes of snow all individually unique in design.

Maybe spending 25 years living in the cold and distant land has warped your mind into believing that the bitter snow falling over the piles of snow is enchanting and comforting, but it doesn’t make your statement any less true.

The question is would you spend any time outside in the storms like many of the locally born citizens do? No, you still crave warmth and a sun so hot that the only way to cool down is by being embraced in a cool and never-ending body of water—that has never changed in all your years. However, once in a while, when the winds aren’t as sharp and strong, you do like to walk into the swirling snowstorms to be a part of its dance. Is it perhaps a little mad? Some people don’t think so, they say you’ve embraced the Northern lands and its beautiful qualities. Whilst other people think you have gone completely mad for basking in such conditions. You, albeit don’t think so, in some ways it’s comforting. And you’re not the only one who thinks so it seems.

On your way to the Godswood, you come to a stop as you catch a pair of footsteps leading to the gardens. They’re slowly getting buried under the sheets of falling snow, but you don’t need them to guide you. You know the way and thus you take the path toward the gardens rather than following your original path.

Once you find yourself passing the archway that leads to the gardens, there in the center you find a young man hardly covered by any furs. Which is a bit daring, but he does say that he’s not bothered by the cold like you are.

In any case, you make your way to the young man, letting him hear your crunching footsteps so he can be aware of your presence rather than interjecting to gain his attention. When you fall by his side you steal a glance at his face molded into his usual state of soft melancholy almost as if he’s years ahead of where he actually is. You then follow his line of gaze to the statue that stands at the center of the garden.

You like to give credit to the bunch of Blue Winter Roses that surround the statue for stealing all the attention the vivid and enchanted garden has to offer. However, others insist that the statue steals the attention from the garden because it’s you.

Now you are a bit of a vanity, even in your old age, but your statue always has a way to make you feel flustered. Maybe it’s the meaning behind it because when you get reminded of it you swoon like a love-struck idiot. Or maybe it's because you look at the face carved on the marble stone and hardly recognize the young woman you look at. Whatever it is you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing yourself every time you enter the gardens

“Did your father do a good job at commissioning me? Or was he terribly off? From what you know I mean?” You finally break the silence and speak over the howling wind.

The young man, and your youngest child out of seven, Torrhen, tilts his head and then stretches his arm out to dust some snow off Astraea forever wrapped around your shoulder. “I think Astraea turned out smaller than she was.”

You snicker, and a warm and sweet smile that could melt the wall of ice tugs on his sweet face.

“Yeah well unfortunately the sculptor did not have enough material to sculpt her true to scale. Maybe as my dying wish, I’ll have someone sculpt her to size.”

Torrhen chuckles. “I’m afraid it would take up the entirety of our home,” he comments, making you shrug.

“You could move somewhere warmer.”

He scoffs lightheartedly, but then that smile that painted his face slowly fades away, making your own smile fall as you grow worried.

“What was it this time?” You probe as you gently cup the back of his neck to offer him some comfort since you know that his dreams and visions take a toll on him. More so now that he’s older and they get more vivid.

“Just…” Torrhen trails off quickly and drops his head to look at the rings around his fingers.

“If you don’t wish to tell me that’s fine,” you assure him as you cup the back of his neck. “Just tell someone. Your brothers…your friend. Just don’t sit on it. Keeping it all inside will eat away at you from the inside out.”

Torrhen slowly drifts his gaze to you, letting his glimmering eyes lock on you before he sighs and looks at you with sorrow.

“You may see glimpses of the future, but, my boy, you can’t change it. Don't tear yourself apart trying to piece it together.” You try to offer him some advice from what he’s told you in the past.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know I can’t change it, but what if by not trying something changes? What if I doom the future? Should I not at least try in the same way I helped you when you needed it?”

Alys says Torrhen is a greenseer, and you know he’s also a dragon dreamer the same way Helaena and a few before him were. He’s cursed with the knowledge of the future, and of the past, and because of it he wants to be so much more than what he already is. Is it to silence his visions and dreams? Or is it to simply help in hopes he can change the unchangeable?

Maybe it's both, you don’t know. You just know that it takes so much away from him and it’s in a way that you can’t truly help him feel better.

“You can’t change the future Torrhen. Everything you see is a story,” you try to offer him some consolation. “You told me that. Alys told me that. And I will remind you again because it’s not your job to change the future.”

Torrhen sighs deeply and you slide your hand down to stroke his cheek.

“You already helped me get here, is that not enough?” You ask and hum softly.

“Did that not lead to change?” He quips and looks down at the snow as more snowflakes pile on.

“No,” you rebuttal. “You guided me. You shed a light on my already marked path.”

Torrhen keeps his head hanging and mutters. “If only I could have helped more.”

You sigh and cup his cheek to tilt his head up. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy. As hard as my past was, I have made peace with it now.”

“Have you?” He asks with genuine concern as his dark eyebrows knit together.

“Yes.” You nod. “All of it. I am haunted by some parts of the past, but I’m afraid I cannot change that. And it’s okay because I found my way through the noise.”

Torrhen hums and you add on quietly.

“Some people did not like the way it happened, but…”

“It had to be done,” he finishes for you, making you smile sweetly before you nod gently.

“Yes. Yes, it did.”

——

*NOW*

Twenty-five men were marked for death, and twenty-four of those men were killed for being loyal to the wrong man. You only took care of slaying one of those twenty-four men, but you wish you could have added a second to that list. If not more than five, at least a second man who was marked for death, but alas, you did choose poison as your weapon of choice for a reason.

Besides, Ser Cane says if people had seen you slay Aegon, everyone would turn against you even if it was deserved or not. Not because they love him; the smallfolk hate Aegon, and almost all of the people working in the Red Keep hate him too, but you’ve already committed a great sin they judge you for, and kinslaying Aegon would have only given the right excuse to go after you. Thus you let the poison take the credit for his death to let the people always wonder who gave him said poison.

The knowledge that he’ll die is your only consolation and the one thing holding you back from taking his life with your own bare hands. However, you won’t let the tightness around your throat loosen, not until you see his dead body, and see for yourself that he’s no longer breathing and his heart is no longer beating.

Until then you return to the royal apartments to take care of one last person before you can reach the throne, and that’s Alicent. The mother of the broken king and the one person still blindly supporting him after all this time.

You actually find her and her handmaidens on the serpentine steps heading back to her chambers.

“Alicent,” you call out even though you know she can hear the echoes of footsteps and rattling armor as you approach her with your men.

“Your Grace,” she responds quietly before she turns around and blinks as she goes wide-eyed at the sight of you and your men in your shining armor. “What’s the meaning of this?” She cries out as she takes a step down to get closer to you.

You tilt your head up and glance out the window as Astraea flies by to remain close to protect you if need be, and also be a menacing presence from the outside.

“I’m sure you have an idea,” you mutter as you take in the warm sunbeam that casts through the window. “You are not as dumb as you feign to be.”

Alicent scoffs as her eyes stay locked on your face finally giving an ethereal glow against the sunlight. Even though the silver chains cascade over your face and shine brighter, your beauty is far more spectacular as the grief and agony is replaced by pride, malice, and determination.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she snaps, pulling your head down so your eyes can fall on her once again. “Why don’t you tell me.”

“Your Grace!” A voice calls out from the bottom of the steps, followed by hurried footsteps that echo as they approach.

Once the guard finds you they hand you your Valyrian sword Blackfyre, and the Valyrian dagger your grandfather Viserys used to carry before Aegon got a hold of it.

“Thank you,” you tell the man before he scurries off and leaves you alone with Alicent once again. This time as she sees you hang the sheath around your shoulder, she lets herself grasp what’s going on and why the Red Keep has gone so quiet all of a sudden.

There is a moment where she wants to be in denial but then the men behind you depart from their spot and charge after her guards like a pack of ravenous animals. After her guards drop to the ground with their blood spilling over the stone steps she looks rightfully horrified. You can see her mind racing behind her eyes, but rather than asking for her last remaining son, the target of this coup, she asks about someone else first. “Jaehaera? Where is she?”

You hook the daggers sheath around your waist first before you reassure her. “She’s safe. She was taken to safety with my children and my brother. Don't worry, no harm will come to her.”

Alicent blinks repeatedly and lets out a deep and shaky breath. Silence then follows in which you don’t try and fill it. You let her gather her thoughts which is a kindness she doesn’t deserve, but alas, it does go with the punishment you have for her.

“And,” she quietly speaks up and brings her hand to her lips to gnaw on her cuticles. “Aegon?” She lets herself ask a question that has an obvious answer, but what mother would she be if she didn't at least try and be oblivious just once in hopes she’s wrong?

Nevertheless, you don’t answer right away, cementing that horrifying truth in her already battered heart. Instead, you unsheath the dagger and raise the Valyrian weapon to look at the reflection you don’t recognize looking right back at you.

“This is the dagger you used to go after my mother,” you interject, making Alicent gulp. “With this dagger, you demanded the eye of my little brother because he defended Jace and me from Aemond,” you mention and lean the tip of the dagger toward the scar on the side of your face that Aemond made that day.

“And sure,” you continue and twirl the dagger around as you break away from your spot and slowly start taking steps toward her. “Jace did take a blade first, and that wasn’t good, I admit it, but,” you sigh and snap your eyes to her from behind the chains that cascade over your face. “Have you thought that if it wasn't for your animosity toward my mother, none of this,” you say as you spin the blade around to also talk with it. “…would have happened.”

Alicent’s face falters from its grief to flicker on disbelief and more horror at the sound of your true words.

“Helaena would have married a good man,” you mention to pierce her heart. “A man that could have loved her, and a man that she could have loved. Aemond,” you pause, and your breath trembles as you think about him. “My Aemond could have met his daughters and could have raised his children. He would’ve been such a kind and good man if things had been different.” You say as you reach her and tilt the dagger toward her, making her grow stiff and start to take labored breaths as she thinks the worst.

“Daeron,” you scoff. “Would have still left to be someone’s ward, but he would be alive and not in two pieces—did you know that I intended to bring you his head.” You chuckle and watch her bottom lip tremble. “But I got hurt and his head rotted in my saddle bag. Which ruined it by the way. It was a good leather saddle bag too.” You pout and watch her quietly break into tears so you mock her crying face for a brief moment before you grow serious and pierce a menacing glare into her.

“So much potential wasted,” you scoff. “All because of your jealousy and your pride. You were Queen and you let yourself be puppeteered by men. What a shame your children had to pay the price.”

Alicent gasps as she weeps harder.

“And you,” she says in between gasps “Will you rule or let men rule in your stead?” She tries to counter spitefully in an attempt to catch you off guard, but you only smirk.

“My brother will rule. Not because men demanded it because if I wanted to I would have grabbed them by the balls and told them to shove it, or,” you snicker. “I would have burned them. Whichever fate they decided they wanted, I have a dragon and I am Targaryen with fire-made flesh after all, but alas, my dreams aren’t what they were two years ago. I’m tired,” your voice falters along with your smirk. “I just want to raise my children and grieve in peace.”

Alicent faces you with her chin up and trembling, but she still tries to keep herself poised.

“Anyway. If things were different Aegon would not be dead, but things aren’t different and he’s dead now.” You pause and take a step back to let her take a moment to process what you told her even though in the back of her head she already had started to grieve for him.

“You’ll be given the chance to say your goodbye,” you offer her kindness. “Which is much more than my mother had. Four of her sons died and she never got to see them one last time. They were all lost or eaten.”

“Gods,” she whispers and you glance back at the sunlight peeking through the window and shake your head. “No. There are no Gods. We were abandoned a long time ago. Put her in chains,” you change the subject and direct your orders at your men. “And bring her to the throne room. Ladies,” you direct at the handmaidens. “You may go. No harm will come to you.”

The flock of handmaidens offer you a shaky curtsy before they run off just in case you decide to take back your mercy. However, they would have been wrong because they aren’t your target. Your target is just what remains of the Greens.

“Oh, and Alicent,” you add in a much more serious and angry tone. “Just so you know, you will live on. If you don’t want to eat you will be fed. If you even think of a way to end your misery short it will be diminished. You will live the rest of your life in chains, and you will be living to regret the path you took in this life. Don't worry though…I’ll let you see your grandchildren so don’t mess that up.”

You nod slowly and let out a deep sigh as you hold her watery gaze before you let your men take her as you put the dagger back in its sheath, and then turn around swiftly to march toward the Throne room.

On your way there you pass by a green banner sporting a golden dragon and you're riddled with disgust and rage at the mere sight. Before, when you would pass by them, you would be riddled with the same emotions, but you could never do anything about them but grow angry and disgusted by the sight. This time you grab the edge of the banner and yank it off to signal the death of Aegon’s tyranny and the beginning of a new reign under the rightful King, who sports the original and proud black banner with the red three-headed dragon.

Finally, Aegon Targaryen, Second of his name, and his Green faction are dead. Finally, there will be peace in the realm, and finally, you may know peace as well…

Albeit…when you approach the Throne room. When you slowly trudge down the great hall, passing cold sunbeam after cold sunbeam with your eyes never parting from the lonely throne made of swords, you realize that you don’t know what peace really means.

You reach the steps that lead up the great throne and slowly ascend them watching how the sun seems to play a neat trick by smiling down at the Iron Throne with its bright and illuminating hue as if passing a message from the gods of their contentment. Yet you fail to feel that great thing because it costs so much to attain and you lost so much of yourself to take it back from the enemy.

If only your brother Aegon could claim his prize now so you may find peace and bless your sights by no longer having to see the throne so much blood was shed for, but alas, Aegon the Younger is but a boy. You have to continue laying your eyes on the Iron Throne and rule in his stead. At least until this noise of war and the aftermath of it is resolved.

“Your Grace,” you recognize your grandfather calling out as he walks into the throne room.

When you turn around you see him approaching you with a couple of his own men.

“Lord Corlys,” you greet him and climb down one step.

Said man comes to a stop at the foot of the steps and after a labored breath he shares what brought him to you. “All of Aegon’s men have been slain…”

You smile at the news, but he takes another deep breath, making your smile fall, and making you look at him with confusion.

“And the Riverlords are approaching the city gates,” he announces, perking the corner of your lips to a genuine and bright smile.

“That was quick. The thought of battle must have excited their spirits. Alas, they’ll be disappointed to know that there is no more fighting.” You scoff and peer back at Ser Cane. “Have it seen that they’re greeted properly and brought here immediately, I would like to greet them with their new king.”

Ser Cane offers you a comprehensive nod before he marches off to do as he’s told, leaving you alone with your grandfather to ask him one single question. “What of Aegon? The second?”

Your grandfather glances at Alicent in a far corner and then returns his gaze to you. “Dead. His body is being brought here as we speak.”

Your eyes flicker down and you let out a relieved sigh and nod gently as you let your mind and your heart progress the news. Not out of shame or regret. You could never feel bad for killing Aegon. The news just feels surreal that’s all.

No matter how much you thought of it, and even though you had given the news to Alicent before it could be confirmed, hearing that the man responsible for so much of your pain is at last dead and no longer here to terrorize you and the realm, is surreal.

“Have my brother brought to the throne room,” you direct at your grandfather. “I’ll greet our guests.”

Your grandfather hesitates, but he does as he’s asked, letting you descend the steps and stride out to the courtyard with an army of Velaryon men and houseguards at your back. It’s not to intimidate the Riverlords, but more so it’s a show of power to everyone who inhabits the Red Keep, and those Smallfolk who will sneak a peek inside the castle gates. You’re actually more than eager to welcome not only men who you spilled blood with, but also friends, and lately, you’ve been in dire need of friends who don’t scorn you.

It's why you wait for them at the courtyard with the castle gates open, and the house guards standing in parallel lines, because you want them to know that they are welcome, and because you want to show them as proper of a welcome as you can muster.

And once the Riverlords finally reach the castle gates, your stiff stance loosens, and your serious demeanor falls as a warm smile starts to spread on your face.

“Welcome!” You greet the Riverlords riding at the head of their endless train of muddy warriors.

“You stand in the presence of the Queen Regent of house Velaryon!” Ser Cane’s voice booms as he climbs off his horse and walks to you as you make your way to the Riverlords

“Here we came salivating at the thought of our next fight,” Lord Benijcot Blackwood is the first to interject as he hops off his horse and bows first before he meets you halfway. “But instead, we’re greeted by The Blood Hound not covered in blood, and saying that you are now Queen Regent. What’s that about?”

You flash him and the rest of the Lords behind him a proud smirk. “King Aegon is dead and the Realm is now under the rule of the rightful ruler.”

Murmurs are passed throughout the crowd and you can see that their faces start to brighten with excitement, but you cut them off before they can celebrate just yet. “Let’s talk inside, My Lords.”

The boy Lord offers you a sly grin before he turns and lets Lord Kermit and his younger brother Ser Oscar Tully greet you with a proper bow before you shake their arms with the same warm smile.

“I hope the greeting was to your liking.”

Lord Oscar huffs and shrugs cockily. “Ladies kissed our feet and threw their napkins at us.”

“It’s beats getting swung at as a greeting,” Lord Kermit chimes in, making you chuckle softly before you move on to greet the other Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands. After you’re done and intend to lead them inside, Lady Alysanne Blackwood, aunt to Lord Benjicot, and Lady Sabitha Frey, come forward tugging at leads.

“Your Grace,” Lady Alysanne, or Black Aly as she’s called, yanks at the lead to pull forward her prisoner, Ser Jason, whilst Lady Sabitha pulls forward none other than Lord Larys—“we came across these men past the city trying to escape by horse.”

You drop your eyes on the pair of men and take a long look at them before you step back and raise your chin to look down at them between your lashes with a cocky and malice look.

“My Lord. Ser,” you greet them both with a hint of amusement. “Why am I not surprised you tried to flee? Here I thought you weren’t going to do me no more wrongs, My Lord,” you spat and snap your eyes to the crooked man.

“As if you would have spared my life the moment you took back the throne in your mother's name,” Larys rebuttals correctly because it’s true, you were going to kill him the moment Aegon died.

“No, I wouldn't have spared you. That’s right,” you say without shame and start to stalk around the men brought to their knees. “But you tried to kill me and my children. And I would be stupid as to trust you. I do applaud your attempts at fleeing though, but alas, cockroaches are not immortal.” You snicker and then shift your eyes to Ser Jason and immediately scowl rather than look smug.

“Once a coward always a coward.” You huff and look up at the sky mere seconds before Astraea’s shadow casts the courtyard before she flies over and lets everyone know she’s close and ready for any command you might give her.

“Death by dragon fire is far too quick,” you interject and blink before you look back down at the men before you. “So another death sentence will be thrust upon you, and no, you may not have a trial by combat. You will, however, challenge your death sentence,” you explain and Lord Benjicot and the other lords and guards around you grow eager as they know what’s coming.

“In two days you will face each other in a bloody game where you will fight to survive.”

Lord Larys drops his head as all the color flushes from his face since he knows now that he’s a dead man.

“The first round is against each other and then the winner would face me,” you continue smugly and tauntingly. “But I did promise Lord Benjicot he would get to participate in the next game, so,” you sigh and flash them a wicked grin. “Be prepared.” You shimmy your shoulders before you peer back so your own men can come forward and take the prisoners to their dungeons.

“Thank you, my Ladies,” you offer Black Aly and Lady Sabitha before you take another step back to get a better look at everyone from the ground. “Now if you will all come inside with me, I have a few words and an announcement to share,” you let them know with a faint smile before you turn on your heels and march inside with the Riverlords, men and women you fought alongside with, Velaryon men, house guards, and Ser Cane, all marching behind you. Another and a more tremendous show of power that has passing servants reeling to the shadows, and has other bystanders catching their breath as they watch the great show of strength marching down the halls.

Now no one dares to sneak any dirty or judgmental looks your way with the army of bloodthirsty men at your back. They all make way for the Queen and her allies without realizing what’s happened, but all those who are clueless will know soon enough, and those who did have a clue about what transcended only get a firm confirmation when you all walk into the throne room and get greeted by the dead body of King Aegon Targaryen, and the mournful wails of the Dowager Queen.

For some, the body is harder to see than others, but they all know what they see. There’s no denying or asking questions, it’s really him. King Aegon is lying dead on a bier beneath the Iron Throne, and as you reach him you grow rigid and feel your breath catch in your throat.

Once again you’re struck with surreal disbelief. More so now as Aegon’s poisoned body is before your very eyes.

After all this time. After all the fighting, and after losing so much, there he is no longer drawing breath, and with no beating heart—you make sure that his heart is no longer beating by pressing your hand on his chest to prove to yourself that he’s really and truly dead.

It’s truly unbelievable how someone so terrible could have lived so long to terrorize the world, but now…now he’s dead, and your mother's ghost still haunts you.

You see her now too standing at the other side of the bier. Her blue eyes are stuck on you, but she’s not burnt like many times before. She’s as beautiful as she was the last time you saw her, but she wears a melancholy look on her face.

“Welcome,” you let your voice carry out throughout the hall as you remove your hand from Aegon’s corpse and pull your eyes away from your mother's ghost to look at your brother with his caretaker—“My Lords and Ladies. My fellow comrades, and everyone else who finds themselves here today,” you say as you slowly move away from the bier to approach your brother. “I know some of you came here expecting a fight, and I’m sorry that you were disappointed, but there’s no need to be upset because I can now offer you peace.”

You approach your brother and he finds you right away and leans toward you to stretch out his hands so you take him instead.

“I know it’s confusing as to how we achieved it,” you continue and finally face the attentive crowd. “But you don’t need to look far. It’s all of you who made it possible. It’s because of every single one of you that there’s at last peace in the realm, and the tyranny of Aegon the Second has come to an end! So thank you for fighting, and thank you for sacrificing so much. It wouldn’t be possible without you and what you did every day for the past two years.”

You offer them a proud smirk that’s illuminated by the sunlight casting inside.

“Queen Rhaenyra might not be here to bask in the triumph or proudly wear the crown on top of the Iron Throne, but her blood will,” you carry on and glance down at your brother Aegon, and caress his cheek as he rests his head on your shoulder. “The reason you fought so hard did not go to waste when she died, it lives on in him. Aegon Third of His Name. Queen Rhaenyra’s last remaining son will sit the throne as your King.”

Gasps fill the hall and you walk to the Iron Throne before you cut off the whispers already being shared. “I would have taken the title of Queen, but…” you pause and swallow thickly. When you reach the foot of the throne you face the crowd all before you and draw out a deep breath before you continue to address them. “I can admit that when my brother grows of age he will make a much wiser King. He will maintain peace with his wife Jaehaera Targaryen.” You nod and caress your brother's back as he refuses to face the crowd as he hides his face in the crook of your neck.

“They will make a great King and Queen with the guidance of wise men and women who have learned from the past. I know it and I swear it to all of you. So,” you roll out with a growing smile, and pride in your voice. “Ring the bells for Aegon the Second is dead, and cheer for your new king, King Aegon the Third!” You exclaim and flash them all a beaming grin.

The crowd does as you say, finding nothing wrong with your brother taking your place. They embrace the change with an explosive cheer and their feet stomping against the ground as they chant for their new King.

“LONG LIVE THE KING!”

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

The exhilarating bloodbath you had promised in two days’ time unfortunately had to be delayed with so much aftermath to be handled.

For example, the garrison at Dragonstone was defiant to denounce the dead king. It took three days for them to finally give up and it was not out of their own will, the people working at the castle took up arms as they slept and killed some whilst they delivered others to Alyn as prisoners. You almost had to fly out there with Astraea to flush them out, but luckily people stood up against the traitors and returned the castle to its rightful king.

Next, since your brother is young and unable to assist in any way you’ve had to send ravens to Oldtown, the Reach, Casterly Rock, and Storm’s End, promising them pardons and safe conducts as long as they rode down to swear fealty to their new king.

And lastly, you had to deal with Aegon’s body as it was decaying faster due to the poison in his system, but you couldn’t be there. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction of having someone else besides his mother attending his funeral. Nor could you give him a traditional Valyrian funeral, no matter how much Alicent asked, your pride and everything besides couldn’t permit him to be burned away with dragon flames. So his body was turned to ash by traditional fire, while other people besides his mother watched because Ser Cane says that the people hoped to witness the bad omens and hatred his reign brought burn away with him. After there was nothing left of him you had his ashes lost at sea so he may drown in darkness for all eternity.

After that was handled at last you could bring your focus back on your prisoners and the bloodbath you promised, making it like a disturbing reward after so many long days.

“Silence!” A speaker makes his voice loud and booming to silence the eager crowd of Rivermen, lavish Smallfolk, Velaryon guards and soldiers, and the men from here.

“You are now in the presence of her Grace, the Queen Regent of House Targaryen, Lady Baela of House Targaryen, and the Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands!”

Applause and cheering breaks in the cold air that drifts through the crevices and gaps permanently marking the once great Dragonpit, but most of that shared excitement comes from warriors you fought side by side with, and men from your own Velaryon home. The Smallfolk made their discontent for you obvious with silence, displeased stares, and a cold stiff welcome.

However, you can be petty too, so you summon Astraea to accompany you; out of protection, intimidation, and well, now that the Dragonpit is ruined there’s room for her to sit behind you, so she descends from the thick grey clouds threatening to bring rain to the city, and forces those Smallfolk who refused to spare you any kind of kindness to clap and welcome you with a frightened and feigned excited welcome.

“Welcome!” You address the crowd. “And first off, thank you for joining me today. I know the wounds of war are fresh, and this may be the last place you want to be, so thank you. Now I promise—no I swear.” You flash a feigned beaming smile. “That I will not disappoint with today's trial.” You say with a grin before you look down at the guards below and offer them a quick and stiff nod that sends them away to bring out the prisoners in chains.

“Here before you,” you continue as you step toward the edge of the high designated and roped-off area to look down at Ser Jason and Lord Larys with a slow-forming glare—“…stand two traitors, Lord Larys who not only betray his Queen and his King by switching sides to where he deemed fit, but sent assassins to kill me and my unborn children.” You scoff and the corner of your lips form to a scowl, while the crowd share gasps of shock and disgust.

“And the other is Ser Jason Waters. My former Sworn protector who took the cravens course by turning his cloak the moment I needed him most. Perhaps if he had done his job and been braver, my mother would be here, but he…” you trail off and swallow thickly. “…turned his sword against me and delivered my mother, your new king, and me to our enemy.” You finish with disgust and dig your glare into him before you step back into the shadows to avert your gaze from his pathetic face.

“Thus for their crimes, they will face each other in a fight to the death. The winner will then face Lord Benjicot Blackwood, and if they win against him their life will be spared, but if they don’t then…” your trail and huff with a smirk since it’s easy to fill in your silence.

“Ser Cane,” you say over your shoulder, and right away your sworn protector approaches the edge to throw down two sharp metal swords for the prisoners to use.

“Guards take off their chains. Gentlemen take your weapons, and my beloved audience grab your seeing glasses, place your bets, and feast your eyes on the spectacular blood trial to the death!” You exclaim and thrust your arms out in the air, causing the crowd to fill with a blood-pumping and ravenous excitement that erupts throughout the Dragonpit.

“Oh,” you add and glance down at the men. “And gentlemen may you be the last.” You flash them a mischievous smirk before you step back to take your seat.

“Ladies, may you want to place your bet?” Ser Oscar Tully interjects right away as he pushes himself off his seat to lean in between you and Baela.

“This fight obviously already has a winner,” Baela counters as she looks over her shoulder. “To bet my coin on this fight would be an insult.”

“An obvious scam since Ser Oscar has obviously lost his earnings at the brothels,” you remark lightheartedly and look away from Ser Jason trying to show Lord Larys some mercy to twist around and look at the young man with a teasing smile. “Isn’t that right, ser?”

The young knight grows as red as his hair but he manages to quip. “Here I thought you were busy.”

You shrug. “I’m Queen Regent and you are my guest, I have to be informed of your whereabouts before they blame me for anything that may happen to you,” you rebuttal since Lady Alysanne Blackwood has spoken against you over Aegon’s death, calling it a coward's weapon. She nor any other discontent lord have outwardly pointed their finger at you, but they do suspect it.

Which in their case they would be right, but they don’t dare and accuse you.

“Hm,” Ser Oscar hums before Lord Benjicot bounces in.

“Fine then bet for me. Unless you think I might lose against your former sworn protector?” He presses with a quirked brow.

You scoff and pass him a faint smile before you turn around and face the arena below, catching Ser Jason still being reluctant to swing at Lord Larys—“I know you will win but I am Queen Regent, I cannot be seen placing bets.”

Lord Benjicot chuckles and grabs your shoulders before he looks at Baela. “You my Lady?” He probes.

Said woman glances at him and sighs before she hands Lord Kermit her bet, making the boy lord snicker and shake your shoulders before he looks at your sworn protector.

“You, my infamous Blood Hound? What way do you lean toward? Or does your ranking as the Queen Regent's protector forbid you from such a sin?”

Ser Cane keeps his eyes scanning the Dragonpit for any potential dangers, but he doesn’t keep quiet. “Oh you’re sadly mistaken my young lord, I have made no such vow. I placed my bet,” he says nonchalantly. “And her graces bet as well,” he adds in a quieter voice, making Lord Benjicot hit your shoulders before he laughs in your ear and then throws himself back to his seat.

Now as all your attention is on the prolonged fight you notice that the crowd is getting upset for the lack of a fight from either man. Thus without passing any command, and speaking from your intertwined connection, you have Astraea let out an annoyed roar, forcing the men to move forward and lift their weapons.

Nevertheless, anyone with a brain would see how this fight would end. It was a rather pathetic fight, but you didn’t want to give Lord Larys the satisfaction of a quick death. You wanted to make him suffer so you had him fight, and lose.

Yes, Lord Strong did try, he swung his sword, but Ser Jason is quicker and smarter given he’s playing with his life. The traitorous knight kicks in Lord Larys twisted leg, sending him to his knees before he lunges forward, and swings his blade across Larys neck to bring his life to a violent end.

The crowd immediately cheers, but they’re not enthusiastic about this fight. Nor are you. A faint proud smirk tugs on the corner of your lips, but that's all you muster, pride for the now-dead traitor. You’re not excited that Ser Jason won and you don’t want him to think you are, so you quickly proceed to clench your fists and your jaw as you keep your gaze on the arena below to await the next fight just like the rest of the audience.

The moment Lord Larys is being dragged off the arena, the crowd starts cheering for the young Lord Benjicot, unaware that they’re only stroking his ego and overfilling him with an almost boyish excitement.

“Good luck nephew,” Black Aly directs at the young lord, but he only shrugs her off.

“As if I need it!” He exclaims as he jumps off his seat and shrugs off his cloak before he walks down and stands before you.

“Your mother will be avenged and you will have your justice today, Your Grace.”

You offer him a sweet smile and stand to your feet to grab his cheek and then lean in to press a light feathered kiss on his other cheek. “Be careful, my Lord.”

The young man offers you a sheepish smile as his cheeks grow a light shade of pink that he hides by bowing his head. “Your Grace.”

You slide your hand off his cheek to let him turn away and eagerly descend to the arena. Once he reaches the last barrier he hops over it and lands on the ground, raising a cloud of dirt that he quickly breaks by striding forward.

“It saddens me to let such a talented man go to waste, but it also makes me glad that I’ll be the one to do it.” The young lord interjects as he unsheathes his sword and begins to slowly trudge around the traitorous knight like a predator stalks its prey as he grins and swipes his tongue over his teeth before he makes the first move by swinging.

Albeit Ser Jason quickly blocks his attempt just like the next, and the others that follow.

The young lord chuckles softly out of amusement before he shoves Ser Jason back, and then follows by thrusting his blade forward to try and pierce the traitorous knight. However, Ser Jason jumps to the side and captures his arm, and pulls him closer, making you hold your breath.

Lord Benjicot proceeds to slap his hand on Ser Jason’s shoulder and quickly thinks to headbutt the traitorous knight, letting you draw out your breath and rise off your seat as Ser Jason stumbles back whilst his nose starts to bleed.

After that the young lord doesn’t rest, he swings up, but Ser Jason throws himself back and swings his sword up, making the metal swords clash and ring against the silence. Ser Jason then proceeds to stretch his other arm out to capture Lord Benjicot’s wrist, making the young lord react quickly by pulling a dagger out and swinging, however, Ser Jason captures his wrist yet again.

“Come on Ben!” Black Aly exclaims as she rises off her seat.

And as if fueled by her encouragement the young lord snatches his dagger arm away from the knight's grip, and lets his sword go to twist his wrists and grab the Lord's hand. He then lunges forward to twist the knight's arm back.

Yet the man turns his body and tries to thrust his sword, but Lord Benjicot lets go and slides back, leaving himself unarmed and leaving Ser Jason the chance to win his fight now.

With that in mind, you slowly rise off your seat, catching the traitorous knight's attention and turning his face towards you.

“Yield boy,” Ser Jason warns the young Lord in between a deep breath whilst he keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze with a piercing and venomous glare.

“No,” Lord Benjicot seethes before he runs forward and swipes his weapons off the ground, forcing Ser Jason to turn around and once again face his opponent.

“You will die today Ser,” Lord Benjicot tells the traitorous knight before he kicks dirt up at the knight, clouding his vision so he can charge forward and swing low.

However, the knight had quickly shielded his eyes and slid back out of the way, leaving each other open once again. This time they proceed to swing at each other and once again they clash against each other's swords with each block. Neither can gain the upper hand until Lord Benjicot thrusts forward with great strength, managing to scrape the knight's side, but not knocking him down. The knight ignores his wound and twists down to swipe Lord Benjicot off his feet.

The crowd all reacts with gasps and you stand on your feet while you walk forward and hold your hands tightly together.

“Yield!” Ser Jason yells at the young lord, but the young lord is proud. Even more so as he’s facing his opponent, so he just flashes him a crooked grin and shakes his head before he raises his leg and kicks Ser Jason back to the ground.

When the young Lord pushes himself back to his feet he quickly stomps his foot on Ser Jason’s ankle, causing a crack to echo throughout the Dragonpit before Ser Jason cries out, providing a tense air that makes your heart start to race.

“Do it, Ben!” Black Aly cries out.

And so Lord Benjicot stomps toward Ser Jason’s side. You grab the rope and lean forward with your eyelids slowly peeling back as you grow excited and eager yourself.

“Come on, come on,” you whisper, hearing Astraea shift in her spot before she raises her head.

“I told you,” Lord Benjicot tells Ser Jason. “You’d die today.”

Ser Jason swallows back thickly and his breath shudders as he breathes out, but he doesn’t let his sword go. He looks Lord Benjicot in his eyes and lifts his chin, making the young Lord scoff proudly before he thrusts his sword down.

Nevertheless, just as the young Lord is going to pierce Ser Jason. The traitorous knight uses all his will to throw himself up and shove his own sword up as he also grabs a hold of Lord Benjicot’s collar and pulls him down against the tip of his sword.

“Ben!” Black Aly exclaims and runs to where you are.

“Heh,” Lord Benjicot chuckles, making you and Black Aly share a worried look

“Smart,” the young Lord praises the knight while he fixes his grip around his blade. “But. I. Will not. Yield today.”

Without moving his side away from the tip piercing into him, or adding anything else, Lord Benjicot presses his sword through Ser Jason’s unprotected belly and pushes deeper and deeper into the man’s flesh until he hits the ground.

You let out a breathless chuckle, but before you can catch Ser Jason’s reaction or anything else on that matter you’re called out with urgency. “Your Grace!”

You groan and snap around. “What?” You growl in annoyance.

The innocent messenger bows and then takes a breath before he shares what brought him here. “Lord Stark is approaching the city.”

Just like that, you lose all interest in the fight and Ser Jason’s death. Your heart comes to a sudden halt, and a surprised breath leaves your lips.

“H…how? He was still days away? How did you miss him and his caravan?” You throw your questions out of panic and sudden worry.

“We didn't,” the man says back in his defense so he wouldn’t get in trouble. “He’s coming alone with just a few of his men. He rode ahead of his men.”

Alone?

You nod lightly. “Okay. Thank you, I’ll return to the Red Keep now.”

The man bows his head and turns to rush back out, letting you turn to face the arena and make sure that Ser Jason is dead and that Lord Benjicot is okay and not dying.

“But a scratch!” The young lord cries out as he thrusts his arms in the air which only makes the crowd get carried away with much more excitement.

“Good,” you breathe out and turn to his aunt. “Lord Stark is approaching the city. Stay with Lord Benjicot while he has his moment and then join us in the throne room.”

Black Aly doesn’t argue besides your indifference. She nods and you then walk away to address the people you came with. “I know you all intended to celebrate Lord Benjicot’s victory, but Lord Stark is approaching the city, so our duty comes first, meaning we now have to welcome him as I welcomed you. So please if you will return to the Red Keep with me that will be very much appreciated,” you finish and walk ahead, making Astraea rise off her spot and flap her wings to ascend to the skies, and follow you as you make your way back to the Red Keep.

Once you’re in the throne room, Aegon is brought to you and the hall slowly fills with Lords of the Riverlands, your current Small Council, and others who are a part of the court.

Maybe that’s why the throne feels so stuffy? Or maybe one too many hearths are blazing?

You remove the silver chains you wore over your face and fell like a glistening veil, leaving your silver circlet on your head that matches the chest armor wrapped around you. Yet it doesn’t make it any easier to breathe properly (not like the chains were a problem to begin with).

Maybe it’s the chest armor itself? Maybe Vanessa put it on too tightly?

No. You just need to breathe. Breathe. Breathe…

After a while, as the sun is starting to set and shining brightly through the tall windows behind you, creating an almost mythical aura around you, the doors are opened and in marches none other than Cregan.

“Lord Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North!” The guard announces and you slowly let your eyes fall on his presence, noting right away that his grey eyes are hit by the same shining sun setting behind you, causing, for the first time in a while a warmth to unfurl over your chest, whilst your heart skips a beat as if reviving your withered soul before it slowly picks up its pace as he gets closer to the steps that lead to the Iron Throne, and that you stand on.

Now it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t blinded by the mere sight of your presence before the sun even hit his eyes, because he was. For so long he could only rely on words from the mouths of others to know if you were well or not, and words from strangers were never enough. They couldn’t compare to the sight of you before his very eyes. So now that he’s walking down the great Throne Room of the Red Keep, nothing interests him more than you.

You are the sole keeper of his attention; you and your flesh body untouched by any illness, or crippled by any wounds. You are the sole captor of his breath as the sun shining behind you makes you look divine, and your eyes giving off a sparkle without the touch of any light give his longing heart much-wanted relief.

“You stand in the presence of King Aegon of House Targaryen, Third of his name, and his Sister, the Queen Regent, of House Velaryon!” The guard shares and proves right the news Cregan had heard on the road. Now, the warmth that your presence spread over his heart fades, and he once again turns cold.

“Lord Stark, welcome to Kings Landing,” you interject loudly and with a genuine smile on your face. “I am surprised to have you here so early. It was said you still had a couple days left to reach the city.”

Cregan’s grey eyes bounce to your grandfather, Ser Perkin, Baela, and all the guards that stand in front of you and Aegon before he returns his gaze to you and makes his deep-set frown prominent.

When you notice you blink and swallow nervously before you drop your smile, and your own warmth washes away.

“The North Remembers, my Queen. I came here to make good on my promise to your brother Prince Jacaerys, by ending this war in favor of the slain Queen Rhaenyra,” Cregan’s voice booms while his dark eyebrows start to pinch together, painting his usual hardened expression on his face.

“You come too late, My Lord,” your grandfather chimes in for you as you take note of Cregan's voice and his grey eyes brewing a storm that chases away all the rest of the warmth he held for you just now. “For the war is done, and the King is dead.”

Cregan clenches his jaw and lowers his chin to pierce his cold glare at your grandfather. “By whose hand and at whose word, I wonder?”

Your grandfather doesn’t give his answer away with his eyes, instead he answers as he holds Cregan’s gaze. “By the Queen Regent and the rest of the small council.”

Grey eyes fall on you, and you try to challenge his hardened gaze, but your eyebrows falter and your eyes can never express the tension. Just yet.

“It seems you have a lot to say Lord Stark, and this may not be the place to say it for we will surely bore the court,” you interject. “Swear fealty to your new king and we may retreat to more private chambers.”

Cregan parts his lips to argue, but he sees that you’re right so he lets out a deep breath and walks forward to get down on one knee and reaffirm his loyalty to your brother King Aegon, making the tension only rise now that everyone knows what followed.

“Return the King to the royal apartments, have him continue his teachings,” you tell his caretaker, and then watch him be carried out with an army of Kingsguard surrounding him.

Once your brother has left the hall you turn to the audience. “You may go my Lords and Ladies of the Court,” you say before you then shift your attention to Cregan and the others. “Lord Stark and my Riverlords, follow me.”

When you file out, any attempt to get a word in between you and Cregan is blocked as Ser Cane follows at your tail and other guards accompany him. That’s if Cregan even wanted to try and talk to you directly before you reached your intended hall, he’s upset and it’s not hard to guess why.

Cregan is a proud man and even though his honor falters when it comes to you, when it comes to matters of his duty as Lord, that’s where he doesn’t falter. So even though you wished to speak to him, you don’t know if he wanted anything to do with you. And you can’t even read him because you’re separated by a barrier of men up to the point you reach the hall.

Now all you have in return is a high tension that lets you truly harden your face to mirror Cregan’s.

“If every one of you believes the war is truly done, you are sadly mistaken,” Cregan gets right down to business before the other lords can even finish filing in. “Others may have started the war, but I intend to finish it. I will continue South and crush all the remaining Greens who placed Aegon the Second on the Iron Throne, and fought to keep him there,” Cregan continues to share his plan with such a burning passion that he doesn’t often share with the masses unless provoked. Other times his fire would burn you too, but right now all he does is start to irritate you.

“First I will reduce Storm’s End, then I will cross the Reach to Old Town. Once the Hightower has fallen I will take my wolves north along the shores of the Sunset Sea to pay Casterly Rock a visit,” Cregan finishes expressing his passionate plan, leaving the other Lords untouched by his own flames.

“A bold plan,” Maester Orwyle says cautiously, but with no intention to back up said plan.

“Storm’s End, Old Town, and Casterly Rock are as strong as your own army, if not stronger.” Lord Kermit interjects with disagreement, gaining Cregan’s attention, and letting you share a speechless look with Baela. And even though you both haven't reconciled since your fight, you still have the instinct to look at one another to share your disbelief and her taunting.

“Neither castle will fall easily. If it all.”

“Lord Kermit is right,” Lord Benjicot echoes the young Lord, which brings your attention to Lord Benjicot and makes you realize that you hadn’t noticed when he returned from celebrating his victory at the Dragonpit, until the moment he spoke. You were so lost on Cregan to remember about him.

“Half of your men will die, Lord Stark,” Lord Benjicot adds in an attempt to warn Cregan, but he is in no need of it. He wasn’t as inexperienced or as young as they were.

“They died the day we marched, boy,” Cregan mutters in a deep and intimidating voice that again, would have made you burn and get all flustered, but right now, you find his persistence annoying.

“The killing has gone on too long,” your grandfather tries to ease the tension Cregan had bombarded everyone with. “Rhaenyra and Aegon are dead. Let their quarrel die with them. You speak of taking Storm’s End, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock, my lord, but the men who held those seats were slain in battle, everyone. Small boys and suckling babes sit in their places now, no threat to us. Grant them honorable terms, and they will bend the knee.”

As if the words of peace have gone to deaf ears, Cregan presses his hands on the tabletop and leans forward to argue. “Small boys become large men in time. And a babe sucks down his mother's hate with his mother's milk. Finish these foes now, or those not in our graves in twenty years will rue our folly when those babes strap on their father's swords and come seeking after vengeance.”

Much one like the other, your grandfather isn’t easily defeated either. He talks in your stead as you choose to remain seated and silent to listen to the arguments thrown across the table.

“King Aegon said the same and died for it. Had he heeded our counsel and offered peace and pardon to his foes, he might be sitting with us here today.”

The crease in between Cregan’s eyebrows only grows deeper as he scowls before he spats back. “Is that why you poisoned him, my Lord?”

You don’t react. You can’t because it would give away the truth behind Cregan’s remark, and since he can read you with ease, you know he would gain the answer to his accusation that your grandfather ignores.

“Small wonder why you are called the Sea Snake,” Cregan continues as he glowers. “You may slither this way and that way, but, oh, your fangs are venomous. Aegon was an oathbreaker, a kinslayer, and a usurper yet still King. When he would not heed your craven’s counsel, you removed him as a craven would, dishonorably, with poison…and now you shall answer for it.”

You look at Cregan with confusion and share that same emotion with Baela and the other Lords before the doors burst open and Cregan’s men barge in pointing their swords at the guards with the intention to what? Take over? Do another coup? Take the power right from under you?

No! You have sat in silence long enough. You have let Cregan drag on and accuse and insult your grandfather, but you will not be made small. Not by him. And you surely won’t let anyone take your power. Not anymore.

“Enough!” You bark and slam your hands on the table to steal everyone’s attention. “Who do you think you are?” You hiss as you slowly stand up and dig your glare deep into his grey eyes that falter at the sound of your voice.

“Do I need to remind you who you are, Lord Stark?” you spat and slip away from your seat to start stalking toward him with Ser Cane passing you Blackfyre as he trails behind you. “You are a Lord. You are not King, nor are you The Hand. You are not a part of the small council. You are a Lord. You cannot come into my brother's castle and demand this and that, or throw accusations at his Lords. You cannot have your men barge in my halls like these are your lands.”

Cregan’s glare falters again as he feels taken back by your fire directed at him. You get angry at him, but never have you gotten this mad that you look at him with a threatening and burning glare, or talk to him like you don’t know him. So hearing and seeing you be so enraged at him throws him off, and has him pushing himself away from the table to watch your every move as he can’t help but feel more enticed by your show of power and fearlessness.

“You may be a dear friend, Lord Stark, but don’t mistake my kindness. I will arrest you as a rebel and if you still don’t stand down I will reduce your men to ash,” you roll out with ease, and this time Cregan snaps from his stupor. He mirrors the fire of your glare and also starts to stalk toward you, however, to anyone paying close attention neither of you are tense. Your shoulders are resting, and neither of your bodies scream the need to lunge for an attack even if you hold your Valyrian sword.

“Just as you reduced those innocents to ash?” Cregan remarks thinking you’ll falter, but you just hold your head high and defend what you did.

“I had the courage to do what was right for our realm. I brought security by burning away any chance for the people to rise up against the crown after they killed the dragons. I brought justice after they killed my brother and chased their Queen out of the city. I returned fear after they joined a false prophet. And I will do it all again,” you roll out of your tongue almost seductively. “So tell me, Lord Stark, do you want to meet the same fate?”

Cregan scoffs and you meet each other halfway, but your proximity doesn’t make either of you falter under the pressure of each other's warmth or tension that is quick to spring up as your lips are close, and your hands are closer.

“I want justice too. The same as you, My Princess. I made a vow I intend to follow not only as a friend to your brother but as Lord to my Queen. This war is not done. No matter what anyone says. Not even you.”

His eyes show a flicker of warmth, but it was quick to vanish as you don’t break.

“Are you babes in swaddling clothes, to be cozened by flowers and feasts and soft words?” Cregan then directs at the other Lords around the table. Those he wasn't accusing.

“Wars end when the defeated bend the knee and not before.” He berates them, and you tilt your head and keep your eyes on him as he’s looking away—“Has Oldtown yielded? Has Casterly Rock returned the Crown’s gold?”

Silence follows and you spare a glance at the other Lords, but immediately look back at Cregan to await the next words that will come out of his mouth just in case you need to take measures you never thought you’d use against him. And well, you also can’t keep your eyes away. His scent is intoxicating and his eyes tempting.

“The Stormlanders were beaten and don’t have the strength to field another army,” Lord Kermit protests, but nothing changes Cregan’s mind.

“Aegon sent envoys across the narrow sea, any of whom might return in the morrow with thousands of sellswords.”

“All of whom were sent offers of pardons,” you cut in, but Cregan just rebuttals.

“Queen Rhaenyra believed herself victorious after taking King’s Landing…”

You finally avert your gaze and clench your fists.

“Aegon thought he ended the war by feeding his sister to a dragon,” he continues and only infuriates you further. “Yet the Queen's men had remained, even after the Queen herself was dead, and Aegon was reduced to bones and ashes.”

“I said the war is over, Lord Stark,” you interject with spite and without looking him in the eyes. “Rise your sword against me if you dare to challenge the King's word, but I will not have you take control, nor intimidate my guests.”

Cregan’s eyes fall on you, but you don’t look up. You clench your jaw and keep looking away. A moment of silence follows where all you hear is Cregan breathing as he remains close.

“You are right, I am just a Lord. I don’t have much power here, so I demand to be Hand. I will question the people who might have had a hand in killing Aegon because I want the same as you, to get rid of any seed of rebellion before it can take root. What do you think people will do when they see that there are no consequences for poisoning a king?” He asks, but you don’t answer, letting him add on. “Besides, I intend to keep my promise to your brother.”

Your eyes start to sting at the mention and the softness of his voice, so you draw in a deep breath and look to your grandfather for guidance. And since it was between agreeing or bloodshed, he passes you a stiff nod, making you draw out a deep breath and roll your head up to meet Cregan’s attentive gaze.

“You will be my hand, but if you raise your sword against us again you will be punished,” you mutter before you face the others. “Meeting dismissed.”

Without lingering you pass your sword to your sworn protector and then turn on your heels to storm out in a huff, making sure Cregan noticed.

And of course, he did notice. He watched you leave and didn’t dare to miss a single step. He has the intention to follow, but with you as upset as you are he knows to wait instead. Even though you would have welcomed his company right away.

Alas, he doesn’t follow.

——

*LATER*

“How dare he come here and…” you trail off as you feel at a loss for words. “…he,” you grumble and shake your head out of frustration, letting Vanessa finish for you.

“<Vex you?>” She quips in Valyrian so neither the guards nor the servants would hear you and spread it like gossip. “Fluster? Or make you feel hot?>”

You snap your gaze to her and roll your tongue along the inside of your cheek to hide your amused smile. Vanessa however, knows you well so she nudges your arm and smiles proudly at herself since she made you smile

“Annoy me,” you quip and roll your eyes. “He comes here and tries to take command of the place as if he doesn’t know the struggles I already face by simply being a woman!” You remark and throw your hands out. “Had there been more men there I would have been shoved aside…” you trail off in a whisper as you lower your head to let out a deep sigh.

“No matter how good they are, men can still be inconsiderate and for Lord Stark, his duty comes first,” she tries to comfort you, and you listen to her, but you think about Aemond too; he could be selfish but he would have put you first.

“That’s right,” you whisper and draw out a deep breath to push that matter aside before you get enraged again. Instead, you bring up another matter. “I thought that I would take the twins and Aerion for a ride on Astraea…the twins haven’t met her and they’re getting older, I don’t want them to be scared of her.”

The corner of Vanessa’s lips tug up softly and her eyes widen with disbelief as you’re finally starting to warm up to your children.

“That would be a great idea,” Vanessa encourages you. “I could come with you to help you.”

You offer her a sweet smile and nod. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Vanessa mirrors your gesture, letting that be the last thing you see before you set your eyes on the Red Keep’s Godswood, and someone else; Lord Kermit Tully playing his lute as he sits against the Weirwood tree.

The moment the young lord notices you and your company trailing behind you, he drops his lute and pushes himself to his feet to bow your way. “Your Grace,” he greets kindly.

Once he stands at his given height, and you meet his dark blue eyes that appear almost black under the shadow of the Weirwood tree, you return his kind greeting with a warm smile. “My Lord.”

You then glance at the holy Weirwood tree with its bold red leaves, and then look back at Lord Kermit with his striking red hair and your smile widens. “I was taught that the Tully’s followed the New Gods, am I wrong?” You probe as you walk away from your train of people to be closer to the young lord who isn’t as young as his brother is; he’s actually the same age you are, but you still consider him young because you like to think you still are even after all the lives you’ve lived these past two years.

“No, no,” he shakes his head and lets out a nervous chuckle whilst he steps back and starts to grow as red as his hair. “You are not. We follow the Seven, but at home, I like going to the Godswood to find silence, or practice my lute where there are no others who I can curse with my awful playing.”

You chuckle and his eyes widen in disbelief, whilst he seems to only grow a deeper shade of red as you continue to fluster him.

“Then I apologize for disturbing your peace,” you tell him lightheartedly with a faint smile playing on your lips. “I will leave, but I need to tell you that I think you play swell. Now, and at the campfires when we camped together.”

Lord Kermit scratches the back of his neck and drops his head as he laughs nervously. “Well, I was drunk then so I don’t think it counts.”

You huff. “Drunk men tell true words. So I think the saying would go for your playing.”

Lord Kermit laughs and you giggle before you get closer with no true intention to actually leave. “You’ll have to play around a campfire soon so I can sing. All these duties have really stressed me out, I need to release it somehow.”

The young Lord's eyes snap up and his lips part with more surprise. “Are you sure that I would be the right man to follow your singing?”

You nod eagerly. “Yes of course.”

Lord Kermit scoffs softly and bows his head. “You flatter me, Your Grace.”

You offer him a wider smile and then turn to face the Weirwood tree, making the young Lord bend down to collect his lute off the ground. “I will leave you be—”

“No, stay, it’s really, truly fine,” you assure him and reach out without grabbing his arm. “I would like the company. I don’t mind. Without my brothers or my aunt, the castle is…really just too big and haunting.”

Lord Kermit blinks repeatedly in surprise, but after those swirling emotions pass he can’t help but smile softly as you’re welcoming his company. You, the Queen Regent.

“I also…want to thank you,” you continue and turn your head to have him in your sights. “When we were in that meeting you stood your ground and had my back when you could have sided with Lord Stark. I know he can be intimidating, so…thank you, My Lord. It really means a lot.”

Since the young lord keeps getting hit with surprises he doesn’t respond right away. His shoulders fall from their tense hold that you put them in whilst his eyes meet yours before he parts his lips. “It’s my duty to my Queen. And my King. Besides, I trust you. We fought together at Tumbleton. It’s not every day a royal fights with their armies, especially not ones made of Rivermen and Northmen, so having you there fighting with us while you were with child with twins no less,” he clarifies loudly so you can hear his awe—“was truly inspiring. I will always support you and respect you until the end of my days.”

Maybe it’s because after so much heartache and trials and tribulations all you want is someone to tell you kind words, or maybe it's because he’s sweet when he’s sincere, but your eyes water and your smile wobbles at his simple words. “Thank you, My Lord.” You whisper and inhale deeply as you look back at the face carved on the white-wooded tree.

“By the way, how are your twins? Your dragon took you and we never saw you until we arrived here,” he interjects in the short silence you left in your own awe.

“Fat,” you let him know giddily. “They have no wars to fight or meetings to lead, so they eat all day. They’re fat.” You giggle, making the Lord nod in comprehension and smile proudly.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it, and envious, maybe.”

You continue to laugh and just continue to heighten his disbelief.

“Well, you know you do have your liberties. Your brother sure knows how to use them,” you retort and he huffs and rolls his head away.

“My brother,” he scoffs. “He’s young and full of temptation. He also doesn’t have to carry the same weight I do as Lord.”

You hum and he mindlessly starts to rub his fingers together as he continues. “But I suppose as an older brother it doesn’t really bother me. In a lot of ways I’m glad I’m the only one cursed with the burden of Lord.”

Your heart skips a beat and your brothers come to mind. Not Aegon, your other brothers, the ones you grew up with.

“Yet another burden we carry as the oldest don’t we?” You whisper just loud enough so he can hear. “No matter what, we always want the best for them.”

“Like a parent,” he adds what you were thinking. “But I suppose this burden isn’t as heavy as the others.”

The corner of your lips pulls up and you nod slowly in agreement. You get ready to add on with a different comment, but then you’re interrupted. “Your Grace.”

You and Lord Tully turn around and you see Cregan walking over without caring to wait to be invited over. He just stomps over with his eyes hardened and focused solely on Lore Kermit.

“My Lord,” Cregan greets the young Lord in an intimidating way that makes the young lord grow stiff once again.

“Lord Stark,” Lord Kermit greets the man and bows his head.

“I pardon the intrusion, but I desire to speak to the Queen Regent, alone,” Cregan doesn’t waste a second to get right to what he wanted.

“Of course,” Lord Kermit gives in and turns to face you. “Your Grace.” He bows his head.

You offer him a sweet smile and reach over to take his hand in yours, causing Cregan’s eyebrows to furrow deeper.

“I hope we talk again soon and not just to share a song,” you tell him, making the young Lord's breath falter as he looks between your united hands, and your eyes softened and looking at him with kindness.

“Of course, your Grace,” the young lord agrees quieter and offers you a quick smile before he pulls his hands out of your grasp and walks away.

The moment he’s past you you face the Weirwood tree again with your hands clasped and your nose high in the chilly air, while Cregan watches the young Lord leave until he’s finally out of sight and no longer in earshot.

“No smile for me?” He quips lightheartedly as his eyes fall on you and he acts as if he didn’t just challenge you in that meeting room.

“Or do you plan to take a third husband? Maybe the third one is the one?” He adds in hopes of gaining your attention and getting you to smile and laugh, but you continue to avert your gaze and just draw out a long and deep breath.

“You made me look a fool in that meeting hall,” you remark without any sort of warmth.

“You’re upset,” he mutters and drops his head to gather his thoughts since you want to pick on the matter.

“Of course I’m upset,” you rebutt bitterly and snap around swiftly to face him. “You waltz in like you own the damn place and try to take it from under me, Cregan. Do I mean nothing? Do those deep insecurities I trusted you with not matter, huh? Because you tried to undermine me. You.” You hiss and hit his chest with the heel of your palm. “Out of everyone,” you then mutter softly as your disbelief overpowers your rage. “Why you?”

Cregan slowly faces you with his eyes caught in a storm and his eyebrows furrowed, letting go of any warmth he also walked over here with.

“Because there was injustice done in the Red Keep,” he remarks. “And I’m not talking about you burning part of the city, but the poisoning of the King.”

“The king?” You scoff and look at him like he’s spewing madness. “The King was broken. He was a usurper, an abuser, and a sick man—”

“Perhaps but he was still the King and your husband and you went behind his back and—”

“And what planned a coup?” You cut him off just like he cut you off. “Those are fair. That’s no injustice unless your loyalties were never with my mother.”

Cregan’s eyebrows pinch deeper as your words hit his ears. “You know that’s not true,” he defends himself and flashes you a second of disbelief in his grey eyes. “I am loyal to your mother, but I also know when an injustice has been done and so should you. Love or not poisoning a king rather than facing him is a treason that you should punish.”

You scoff and step back, letting him bury his eyes deep into your gaze and see what he failed to capture before. Your own part in the entire ordeal.

You don’t need him to throw you any accusations. You see him start to question if it was truly you or not with the way his eyebrows unfold and his eyes widen just slightly because you can read him too.

“Would he have not deserved it?” You ask without admitting to any of his suspicions that are growing behind his eyes. “Besides what was known about him, he also carried the crime of killing my mother. Right in front of me,” you say as you take your step forward once again so your heartache can be as clear as day.

“He killed his own sister. No amount of crying or begging stopped him,” you continue as your voice gets shaky and your eyebrows knit together while your eyes start to fill with tears. “He killed her. I saw her get eaten until there was nothing left of her. I screamed, I tried to run over and save her because I can withstand fire, but when it came down to that moment in time, all I could do was watch her burn to death, and then get eaten until there was nothing left of her but a single limb. A limb that I have not gotten back yet to burn by the way,” you add grimly.

Cregan watches you with pity, but it doesn’t change his mind. His duty still comes before his pity for you.

Thus you continue to try and sway his stubborn mind. “So tell me now Cregan if he did not deserve what he got? Would you not want him dead if you still heard your mother’s screams?” You ask in the same haunting way that you spoke in before, bringing a chill to the back of his neck as well as bringing a deafening silence.

“Because I hear her screams every day. I hear her cry out for help, but the thing is that she never actually cried out for help. It’s a figment of my traumatized mind,” you can’t help but cry. “And because my mind is so messed up I see her too. Her burnt corpse. And not just when I sleep, but when I’m awake. In dark and enlightened corners alike. I see her die at every waking moment of my life, and every day that she dies I die with her because the truth is that whatever was left of me died that morning with her. Every bit of who I used to be. My soul and my heart. So tell me if Aegon would have not deserved his tragic end? Tell me, Cregan!” You press him sharply.

Said man swallows thickly and keeps his eyes on you as he sighs and lowers his head. “He deserved to die, but not that way,” he keeps arguing, making you scoff in disappointment.

“Ask me then,” you spat and sniffle as you slowly raise your chin and point your nose in the air as you await his accusation.

“Was it you?” He asks and hides his own hurt over having to ask you.

You sigh deeply and look him in the eyes to lie. “No, but if you wish to interrogate me, do it. If you wish to question everyone in the Red Keep, do it. Do what you need to do, Lord Stark. Kill me if you have to, I have nothing left to lose anyway. It seems I lost everything I loved anyway.”

His lips part as a breath escapes him, while you steal one last glance at him before you turn away with tears crawling down your face and walk away.

“Wait,” he calls out, but you ignore him and keep walking as you keep crying quietly.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Cregan baby…

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 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[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.

---

Thank you all for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated 💝🐺 Guys, please visit the other content I make! XOXO ❤️‍🔥

[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 i)

a/n: I suppose this series will be a short one, 4 parts maybe? I just love Claere so much - she's my little unhinged weirdo :')

It was a rather secluded and quiet affair, the marriage between Claere Velaryon and Cregan Stark. There were no great halls crammed with noble witnesses, no bright banners flying high to announce the union of two ancient houses—only the low rustles of the breeze through the pines and the crackle of a distant hearth as the vows were uttered.

The ceremony took place beneath the watchful eyes of the old gods. The holy weirwood tree loomed with its gnarled white bark, etched with time, and ruby leaves swished in the cold Northern breeze. Claere, a priceless dream draped in rare emeralds, silver silks, and white furs akin to seafoam—a nod to her Velaryon heritage—eclipsed against the stark landscape of Winterfell. She made up for the glitz and grandeur that this lifeless gathering lacked.

Cregan Stark, silent and relentless, took her freezing hand with the kind of sworn resilience that marked Northern might—his bold grey eyes sceptical of the bride before him. Though the match had been arranged by the Sea Snake, the union between them was regarded as special—one for the histories. Theirs was not a marriage forged in the fires of splendour but in the subtle rendition of what they each represented: a union between sea and snow, Velaryon and Stark.

No songs were sung, and no cheers erupted, but in that stillness, something more meaningful lingered.

Cregan was first informed of Rhaenyra's second child and only daughter as if she were a fleeting nymph from a fairytale, a cold mystery whispered from beyond the Wall. "She is adrift in dreams," his maester had told him. Claere Velaryon possessed all of her mother’s fabled graces—from her haunting violet eyes and white-gold hair to the sharp, aquiline features that marked her as pure Valyrian. Her skin, fair and translucent as glass, only furthered the ghostly aura that surrounded her.

If summer snow had ever reincarnated in his time, it would have been Claere Velaryon. The rumours spoke of a 'beautiful freak', chiselled like an ice sculpture, who sang like the sweetest lark, whose fingers danced effortlessly over the harp, filling halls with melodies as delicate as her presence. She was drawn more to solitude and the quiet company of the stars than to her brothers, most of her nights spent soaring high above the world on her silvery dragon, Luna—hatched in her cradle and enormous beyond her years.

The whispers had reached him long before he’d ever seen her. She doesn't eat food, prefers the taste of human flesh and blood, they had said, each rumour darker than the last. She once tried to stab her uncle in the heart. She dabbles in blood magic with that wretched dragon of hers. Some claimed her visions could only divine the worst of futures, and that she would cut herself to the bone just to understand pain. It was said everything she touched withered into the gloom.

Cregan swallowed against the rising dread. He had been pragmatic in agreeing to this union, believing the support of the ancient Targaryens would strengthen the North. Yet now, as he stood face to face with the girl cloaked in a bizarre silence, he wondered if he had invited his own destruction. The North had weathered many storms, but this... this felt different. He had faced wildlings, dire winters, wars, and beasts, but Claere Velaryon might be his greatest unknown yet.

Perhaps this alliance, this bond forged for power, would be his ultimate undoing. The Sea Snake must’ve played him for a fool, tying him to a sorceress masked as a Valyrian princess.

As if her touch had stung him, Cregan recoiled and returned his hands to his sides, a flicker of unease settling beneath his skin. The girl’s violet eyes stayed distant at his reaction, focused on some invisible realm beyond the godswood, oblivious to the accusations that swirled around her name like storm clouds. Never meeting anyone’s gaze, she stood perfectly still, frigid as the legends surrounding her, the direwolf sigil on his chest holding her attention.

When the quiet ceremony was over and it was time for goodbyes, the weight of the moment settled heavily on them all. Soft whispers filled the air as hands were clasped, and final glances exchanged. The warmth of shared vows had already begun to fade whilst the mother and daughter, her three brothers and their grandsire traded farewells. Cregan wavered close by, observing his new wife's interactions.

No one cried except the youngest brother, Joffrey, who had refused to let go of the princess. Everyone around her, her own kin, had kept their distance in approaching her.

"Who'll sing to me now, Claerie? The moon song?" Her little brother wept, shedding his tears into her fair silk gown.

Claere’s eyes moved from her tear-streaked brother to the rest of her family. Her voice was glacial, her expression more bored than curious.

"Why does he cry?"

A brief pause passed between the lot of them.

"Because he... we will miss you, sister. We might not see each other for a long time." It was young Lucerys who eventually answered her, his tone painfully understanding. He must be the forbearing one among them.

"Then do not miss me," Claere said to them simply. "It is not my wish to cause you pain till then."

Her certainty unsettled them, a silent dismissal that left her words hovering unanswered. She seemed unaware, perhaps unconcerned, that her family could not comprehend her detachment.

"I love you, Claerie." He buried his face deeper into her gown, as if afraid she might vanish from his arms. Claere remained still as if brooking her brother's overflowing love.

There it was—a twitch in Claere’s blank eyes, a flicker of something almost human. She glanced down at Joffrey, and with visible reluctance, patted his head. The gesture was mechanical, lacking the warmth he sought. A moment later, Jace stepped forward, his hands firm as he pulled Joffrey away, his actions laced with an unspoken fear that any more time in her presence might invite something unwanted.

"Will you stay with me?" Claere asked them, though her voice, usually collected, wobbled just enough to betray the edge of apprehension.

"Not for long, my girl," Rhaenyra said to her, her smile strained, hiding some secret discomfort. "Your home is here now. You will grow to love this place and your husband. I am sure."

"A cage of stone and ice," she murmured, her gaze distant, as if already relinquished to the cold halls of her future.

Rhaenyra's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She was unduly firm. "You speak too soon, Claere. You are a Velaryon and a Targaryen—power runs in your blood. You will learn your duty in time."

"And you'll have Luna on your side," Luke appeased her in vain. An unspeaking, fire-breathing beast for a companion. His tender heart did not hold a candle to his blind faith.

But Claere said nothing more, her expression as stony as ever. The distance between her and the life she was meant to embrace felt as vast as the sky beyond.

Cregan watched the exchange in silence, the chill in his chest deepening with each word. His worst fears were confirmed. Claere was a stranger, even to those who should have known her best. They spoke to her as if she were something fragile, something... unnatural.

A freak.

And now, she was his.

X

No one was more reluctant than Cregan to spend his first night with his new bride.

As far as obligations went, he had managed to ban the sickening tradition of a "bedding ceremony" from the occasion, much to the disappointment of some. The thought of parading the princess through a crowd of leering men felt like an abomination, yet even without that outlandish formality, he still felt the burden of duties and expectations ploughing down on him like an axe.

His familiar chambers felt chillier today, the fire crackling weakly in the hearth as Claere stood near the window, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. She was silent, as she had been throughout the feast, her face betraying little emotion. She refused to eat, revel in wine, or even speak. She had managed a quiet nod after well-wishes, sometimes pressing her lips tight to pass for a smile.

He recalled, with an involuntary tremble, the black rumours that had plagued him during the dinner. The mention of how his wife’s tastebuds were supposedly tempted not by the fine meats and ales of the North, but by the flesh of those who dared to covet a single glance from the Velaryon beauty. Fattened soldiers who sought her favour and found only their doom.

It was absurd, indeed. And yet, as he glanced at Claere, so still and detached by the firelight, Cregan couldn't shake the disturbing thought. What sort of woman had he brought into his home?

The distance between them felt more than just physical—it was as though she existed in another world entirely, one he had no access to. He didn't know what troubled him more: her silence, or the eerie calmness with which she met her fate.

As Cregan set down his ancestral sword and shrugged off his heavy fur cloaks, Claere moved to him with quiet resignation. Her fingers began to undo the delicate laces of her nightgown, her motions disconnected as if compelled by some unspoken assignment. The fabric slipped, gathering at her shoulders, poised to fall, when Cregan's voice broke the tense stillness.

"There is no need for that," he said sharply, cutting through the air between them, the words coming out quicker than he intended.

He stepped forward, his rough fingers gently, yet firmly, adjusting the cloth back over her bare skin. Every inch of paleness he touched was smoother than the silk she adorned, warmer than the ice-cold fingers he had held in the godswood.

Claere blinked, startled, her violet eyes searching his face for the first time that night. The vigour of that shade disarmed him for a moment before he looked away. Yes, she was his wife, but more than that, she was a mystery. And he was a man who distrusted what he could not comprehend.

"Rest. That is all for now," he added, softer now, the command awkward in his throat.

Claere scrutinized him still, her sharp gaze unrelenting as if she could unearth the truth behind his stoic mask. When she spoke, her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"Is there another you hold dear, my lord?"

He sighed, sinking into a cushioned seat by the hearth. "No," he replied, his tone careful, meeting her eyes with conscious composure. "And you?"

A strange smirk flickered across her face, the barest twitch of her lips. "Everything I hold dear gave me away like a pawn on a board."

Her words struck him like a blow, twisting his gut with an uncomfortable pang of pity. He allowed for her loneliness as if somehow, he was responsible for it. Yet, a strange foreboding hung in the air and kept his response locked in his throat.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the flames, fists clenching against the armrests as the fire danced and crackled, its warmth doing little to ease the cold knot of guilt growing in his chest.

"I understand you favour peace and quiet," he began carefully, his words lingering in the space between them. "But would you consider sitting with me tonight?"

Claere, staring at the shadows cast by the firelight, turned her gaze to him. Her eerie eyes, unnervingly calm, gave no indication of her thoughts. For a moment, he regretted speaking.

The pause stretched, and Cregan felt the silence chew at his nerves.

"Why?" she asked finally, her voice as undisturbed as it was empty, as though the idea of companionship was foreign.

He hesitated, searching for words. "I thought it might ease... the strangeness of the night." His eyes flickered to hers. "For both of us."

Claere’s lips barely moved as she gave a soft hum of acknowledgement. The stillness in her made him wonder if she felt anything at all, and a deeper anxiety stirred in him.

Without answering, she crossed the room, her movements as fluid and graceful as a phantom. She sat across from him, her gaze never leaving the flickering flames. Even now, such a short distance felt insurmountable.

"Ask away, my lord," she said quietly, reading into him deftly. "I do owe you many answers."

Cregan’s gaze faltered as Claere contested, and for a moment, the heat of the fire did nothing to chase away the chill crawling up his spine. Something was unnerving about the way she stared at him, something impenetrable, as if her pale eyes held some ancient secret he wasn’t meant to uncover.

"Do you hear them?" His voice was low, almost lost to the sound of the crackling wood. "The whispers about you."

Claere’s expression remained unchanged, her face as still as a porcelain mask. "What do they say?"

"They say that I was a fool to take a girl like you," he said, keeping his emotions hidden. "A girl who walks in dreams, who doesn’t belong to this world. They fear you."

Her gaze did not move an inch, unaffected by his claims. "People fear what they do not understand."

Every rumour, every whispered story of her strange tendencies crept back into his mind, grinding at his resolve. The tales of oddity, rituals, and things best left unspoken—they clung to the air between them.

"Are you afraid of me, my lord?" Her question cut through the silence like a blade.

Cregan swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart lurching in his chest. He wanted to say no, to deny the concern that gripped him, but something in her gaze made him feel exposed, powerless in a way he had not been before. He forced himself to meet her eyes, but the intensity there—the dark, unfeeling stare—made him feel as though he were sinking into a frozen lake.

His jaw clenched for a moment, as though wrestling with the words he ought to say to her. He leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter, but no less intense.

"I will not be made to live in dread of my wife," he countered firmly. "Though, beyond question, those words waver my trust for you. Upon your integrity. Time will tell."

For the first time, a glimmer of something passed over her face—a brief crack in the mask. Hurt? Confusion? Whatever it was, it was fleeting. Claere tilted her head slightly, studying him from head to toe like one might a curious specimen. He shifted back into his chair, unease unfurling in his stomach.

"You should be afraid of me," she said softly. It wasn’t a threat, but a statement, as if she were merely acknowledging a truth he had yet to accept.

Cregan did not sleep a wink that night. His ancient sword, Ice, lingered closer to him than expected, leaning on his bedside. He laid utterly still as Claere slumbered gingerly, uncaring of the shadows that danced around her, like a tarrying chill that would not leave him alone.

As the sun crested over the horizon, spilling its golden light into their chamber, there was one thing he made certain: Cregan understood that his fear was not of Claere herself, but of what she represented—an unknown force that defied everything Winterfell was. Truth and unity.

X

As the days wore on, Cregan Stark found himself perpetually on edge, his mind halved between the secret suspicions that crept through Winterfell and the cold reality of his new wife. Claere moved through the castle like a careless sprite, floating just beyond reach, drifting from room to room, always apart from the people around her. She left a wake of uncertainty in her path, tales trailing behind her like a fog.

Scarcely did she remain grounded; more often than not, she soared into the skies with Luna, her dragon, a creature so tremendous that many in Winterfell whispered it had outgrown the older beasts of war—Vhagar's equal in size and perhaps ferocity. The sight of it, gleaming silver scales slicing through the frozen air, sent shivers through the keep. Claere’s infrequent appearances at suppers left the hall feeling incomplete, her absence punctuated by muttered resentments from the courtiers and smallfolk alike. The duties of a lady to Winterfell—tending to the hearth and home, overseeing the castle’s workings—were not simply ignored but utterly abandoned.

And yet, Cregan could not bring himself to care. As long as Claere caused no disturbance, as long as she kept to the law, she was no hindrance to him.

As it went, Cregan had not slept in her bed since their wedding night. In fact, they had barely spoken. Claere had quietly suggested moving to a nearby chamber, giving him "his breathing space," as she put it, and he hadn’t objected. He offered up the one with arched ceilings, for when she dabbled in her music, and nearest to the enclosure where her dragon was housed.

Her peculiarities deepened with every passing day. In the dead of night, her harp’s haunting refrain would echo through the passageways, its melody weird and hypnotic. At other times, he would hear her soft footsteps racing through the corridor, out into the courtyard, lost in her dreams until dawn. Most of his courtiers noticed her out on the ramparts after nightfall, laying across the roof—how she got there was a mystery—and staring at the sky for hours on end, speaking to herself. But most unsettling of all were the obscure songs she would hum—songs that danced on the edge of his consciousness, unnervingly poignant, yet cruel in the sweet voice they reached. As if she were singing of things far beyond this world.

Blood and shadow, ice and flame, Sing the tune without a name In the frost, their voices hum Of dead unseen, of eyes aglow Of footsteps deep beneath the snow Ice will crack, and winds will wail, Have you seen the end unfold, the secret that never sleeps?

Claere's songs instilled an image of the most unspeakable cold he knew, distant woods beyond the Wall, where horrors awaited, ready to engulf the unwary. Sometimes, the songs became too much, stirring a dread in him so deep he would storm down the hall, ready to confront her. But each time he did, within her room, like a figure of utmost naïveté, she went by weathering her own storm.

This time, she had ensconced herself by the hearthside, rent of her sleeves, weaving dried winter roses across a vine.

"Did I wake you?" she had asked up at him.

His words faltered. Rather a hollow noise whooshed out his lips, his resentment fleeing at the sight of her. How could someone so callow invoke such unease?

"The hour grows late, princess," he would reply stiffly, the reprimand hollow even to his own ears. "It would be wiser to find some sleep before the morn."

"I adore the night," she had said to him. "Without it, you cannot see the stars. There are no shadows, too."

Cregan had expected to hate her. He had expected to find her burdensome, a hardship forced upon him by duty. But he did not. Indeed, he endured her and accommodated her. As unfamiliar as Claere was, there was something fragile beneath the mantle of her mystery. He found himself unable to despise her, though neither could he truly be fond of her. A part of him, born of compassion, wanted to protect her from the world that had turned its back on her. Perhaps, buried beneath her oddities, she yearned for some semblance of a connection she had never known.

It was one of the handmaidens who had come to him, trembling with unease, to speak of her lady’s growing detachment.

"She barely eats, my lord," the young girl had said. "I fear she grows weaker by the day, surviving on little more than water and grain."

"Have you asked the princess what she would prefer? Surely, our larders are rife enough to sustain her... distinct palate," one of the lords from Cregan's council interjected before he could react.

Cregan shot him a sharp, warning glare. He had long since grown weary of the whispers—the looks exchanged behind his back, the way people averted their eyes when his wife entered a room. The court treated her as if she were a curse, a spectre they wished to avoid. It only stoked his resolve to defend her, to ensure she was not devoured by their disdain. Claere was different, but she was not an object to be mocked.

The maid shifted uneasily. "I have spared no effort in this. Though, there is another issue, my lord."

The Stark lord sighed. "Aye, go on."

"Her ladies have dwindled to nought. I am only charged to tend to her meals, if not no one."

Cregan's heart sank at the thought. He wanted to believe that Claere was merely adjusting to her new life, that in time she would settle. But with each passing day, it became harder to ignore the isolation tightening its grip around her.

"And what, pray tell, has come over them to spurn their service to the Lady of Winterfell?" His voice was low but the threat in it was unmistakable.

The handmaiden lowered her head, unwilling to speak the truth aloud, yet the answer was clear enough. Fear. The court, the smallfolk, her own attendants—everyone was frightened of Claere.

When his eyes bore into her, she hesitated whilst wringing her hands. "We see strange things where the dragon sleeps. My lady's songs... people say they hear them echoing in the courtyard when there is no one."

"These slights must cease at once," he hissed, his voice barely above a murmur, but the weight behind it made the girl flinch. "Claere is a princess of the realm, moreover your lady. Any who fail in their duty will answer to me. Am I clear?"

She nodded hurriedly. "Yes, my lord," she stammered, bowing before retreating from the hall.

And when the next issue reached him, it was, once again, centred on the most pressing concern: Claere's dragon.

"We are unable to feed the beast, my lord," a nervous steward reported, his voice trembling as he stood before Cregan. "The men refuse to go near it. Even the bravest among them say they hear odd noises from its holding."

Cregan's brow furrowed deeply. "Are they afraid of a dragon doing what dragons do—eat?"

"It's not just that, my lord," the steward began, his voice shaky. "We simply do not have the numbers to sustain it. We've lost livestock faster than we can replenish, and there is not enough game in the woods this season. Our people will be left with nothing if it continues like this."

Cregan stood from his chair, pacing toward the hearth as the steward’s words sank in. Feeding Claere's dragon was becoming a task fraught with superstition and suspicion—neither of which he could afford in Winterfell. And now that dragon was a looming menace not just for its size, but even for its insatiable appetite. If they couldn't meet its needs, there was no telling what havoc it might wreak.

"I will take her out to hunt on the morrow," a hushed voice spoke up from across the room.

Cregan turned sharply to see Claere standing in the entrance, her pale little figure silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor. No one had even heard her approach.

A rush of murmurs, of "my lady" and "your grace", went across the sparse crowd in the hall.

For the first time, he noticed how discomfited she seemed with the attention on her. She had courteous bows for the little council of lords before she stood before Cregan, silvery hair left dishevelled and her thin lavender silks trailing by her feet. The toll of her attendant's dearth was evident, how she had to cope alone these past days.

“You heard all that?” he muttered to her, trying to mask the unease.

Claere nodded, unruffled. Then she mellowly addressed the rest of the council who was seated and the anxious steward.

"Luna will no longer be a burden to you," she assured. "Thereafter, I will fly her beyond the Wall. There must be plenty of wild herds there that would satisfy her. And it will keep her from Winterfell's rife supply for a time."

While the disparaged lord hung his head, Cregan's breaths began to constrict. The idea of Claere—of anyone—venturing beyond the Wall unsettled him, but the alternative was just as threatening. It was dangerous to let someone so young, so inexperienced roam in the ancient, Northern wilderness. The risks were too great, even for a dragonrider. His argument would be proved right by the last Targaryen who visited the wall, Claere's own great-great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne and her dragon, Silverwing.

His gaze never left Claere as the lords around them voiced their concern, exclaiming how unwise it was for her to embark beyond Castle Black in such perilous times. Yet, she stood before them as cold and unbothered as ever, her violet eyes betraying no hint of fear or doubt.

"You plan to hunt beyond the Wall alone, as winter draws nigh?" Cregan asked, laced with tension. "You would risk that?"

One of his bannermen, old and discerning to the dangers of the North, came forth with an incredulous look. "A Southerner such as you would have no idea of the true perils beyond Whitetree, my lady. Five hundred years have passed since the last great threat, and still, we are not entirely certain what lurks in the darkness. If it isn't the cold that claims you, it might be wildlings or worse—barbed, spindly creatures, drawn from the blackest legends."

Claere tilted her head slightly as if the lord’s words were of little consequence to her. As if she knew something about the Land of Always Winter that he did not.

"Do not fret, ser," Claere replied, gentle yet astute. "Luna is fearsome when she needs to be. She is not just any dragon—she is the last living relic of Old Valyria, a mere egg when Aenar the Exile first claimed Dragonstone. She will protect me."

Her words should have been reassuring, but they left Cregan with a hollow pit in his stomach. It wasn’t her confidence in the dragon that troubled him—it was her complete lack of concern for the threats she would face. He had seen fear in men’s eyes before, but Claere’s violet gaze was barren, as though no amount of danger or uncertainty could touch her.

"You speak of Luna’s strength as if it is enough," Cregan finally said, his voice low. "But what of your own?"

"You needn’t concern yourself with my safety," she replied, her tone as impassive as her expression.

He studied her closely, weighing his options and her obvious solutions, searching her enchanting face for some flicker of apprehension. There was nothing. It irked him to no extent. Did nothing shake her? Did nothing put her off?

"I am the Warden of the North," he bit out. "Your safety is under my jurisdiction."

She shrugged one side of her shoulder. "Then it appears we have reached an impasse, my lord."

Her words were calm and detached, as though she were discussing the weather. Cregan's patience wore thin, his protective instincts clashing with her indifference.

He strode to her side, towering over her, his imposing figure blocking them from the view of the council. Claere leaned away, her eyes dipping down, her face contorting in disquiet at his proximity. Yet he pressed on, tucking a finger under her chin, forcing her gaze back to him.

"Don't," he tried to protest.

"Look at me," he urged, his grip tightening as frustration bled into his words. "I cannot risk you for something as feckless as a hungry pet. Do you understand me, Claere?"

Her gaze flicked up to meet his. For a brief moment, it was as if she were on the verge of revealing some hidden truth, some implicit fear or vulnerability.

"You do not risk me. 'Tis I who take the risk," she said, her voice painfully even.

Cregan's jaw clenched, his exasperation palpable as he released her chin, stepping back but still glaring at her. He could protect Winterfell, the North, and his people—but her? He was not so convinced anymore.

"Fine. Do as you wish," he surrendered. "Ride past the Wall."

She offered him nothing more than a parting curtsey as if she had already said too much. With that, Claere turned to leave the room but his words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"However, I will ride with you."

For a moment, she remained still, her back to him. Slowly, she turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder. And finally—there it was.

A flicker of astonishment in her violet eyes. A break in the mask of indifference she so carefully maintained. Her lips parted, but no words came. Something deeper, more vulnerable, flickered in her violet gaze, a shadow of doubt or unease, quickly concealed again behind her calm facade.

"Why?" she asked, her foremost intuition to always suspect goodwill.

"It's not a request," Cregan replied, his tone brooking no arguments. "If you are to face danger, you will not do it alone."

Claere’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer before she gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Without another word, she turned once more and left the room, the heavy doors closing behind her with a quiet thud.

Cregan stood still, watching the place where she had just been, and where no one could see him, broke out into a triumphant smirk. This was it then, a game at which two could play. If she was a tempest, then he would be the steadfast mountain, immovable against the storm.

X

thank you for reading! idk how a taglist works but I'd love to hear your thoughts <3

[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.”

[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/

[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?!"

[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)

[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.

.

.

.

.

.

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

[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!

[aemondwhoresworld]

SOUVENIR

pairing: cregan stark x fem!reader

summary: what will happen when lord stark's wife or maybe his son, reckon found a souvenir from his old lover?

warning: minor angst, jealousy, mention of an ex-lover, use of y/n, cregan is a single dad, y/n’s lord stark second wife

word-count: 1k

mae: english is not my native language, please forgive my lag of grammar. i do use google for a translation, if any reader could help me fix some of the grammar or vocab, that would be great and i’m very appreciate it!! 🤗⭐️ this is my first fic, please forgive me if i made any mistake. i might delete soon (idk if rhis was too flop 🤗)

you and Cregan have been weds for 36 moons. although you are Cregan's second wife, Cregan has always treated you with nothing but respect, love that every lady wife deserve that affection from their lord husband, even when you know that the betroth between you and him are duty, beneficial for both houses but you cannot help but falling for him more and more. the begin of the 5 moons into your marriage life, both admitted you had feelings for the other.

right now, in the middle of winter season in Winterfell, sitting in front of the fireplace inside your and Cregan's chambers, with your favorite book open in your hand along with all the thoughts of those sweet moment that you have had with Cregan and Rickon.

“mommy, mommy look what i found” even you are not his real mom, Rickon still always call you mommy. Rickon's clear voice pulled you out of those thoughts and immediately all your attention is on Rickon holding a handkerchief in his hand, you take it from Rickon's little hands and ask

“oh what did you find Rickon, can you show it to me?” you asked softly, the boy also nodded in agreement, opened the handkerchief and you immediately saw that there were seams and very skillful embroidery inside, and of course this handkerchief did not belong to you because you had no memory of embroidering a handkerchief to give to Cregan as a gift before or not from what you remeber

when you look a bit closer at the embroidered lines, its shape resembles a man and woman, hands in hands. at this moment, you immediately recognize the male figure in the scarf is Cregan because of the Stark family's signature scarf and then when you look at women figure, you wonder who is the girl standing next to your husband?

but then a small knock on your chambers door interupted

“my lady, Lord Cregan Stark wants to meet you in the dining hall,” said the maid, Anza. before the Anza can leave the chambers, you called for her and asked about the handkerchief.

“Anza, do you know who is standing next to my husband in this embroidered scarf?” you gently asked while pointing at the embroidery. when Anza didn't answer your question, you turned to look at her with curious eyes.

"what’s up? is there something i shouldn't know about?”

“no, my lady,” she continued, “if you really want to know, i’ll tell you.”

“then just tell me then” you said

“my lady, it's Lady Celess Ashwood. an interest lover of Lord Stark.”

hearing this, you were a bit disappointed, but you had to regain your composure, stand up and tell Anza to take Rickon back his chambers because it was time for him to rest. you walked out of your shared chamber, went straight to the dining hall where Cregan was already sitting there and waiting for you, all the way from your chamber to the dining hall, holding that handkerchief in your hand with lots and lots of thoughts running through your mind

does he really love you?

or is it because he still misses his past lover?

there are so many thoughts that make you go to the dining hall without even knowing when, with a handkerchief in your hand.

“y/n” Cregan stood up, walked towards you with a gentle smile on his face, Cregan's hands gently hugged your waist, then he bowed down his head and gave a kiss on your forehead, a kiss filled with love.

“Cregan” you said and gently leaned into Cregan's hug. then you asked him

“who is Celess Ashwood?” Cregan was a bit surprised when he heard this name, its been awhile since he last heard this name but he calmly answered

“how do you know this name?” Cregan asked you with a warm voice, his toned arms still not leaving your waist. still holding onto you tightly like he was afraid that if he let go you would be blown away by the cold, strong winds of Winterfell.

“please, cregan answer my question first.”

“Celess is…” he hesitated a bit, as if he didn't want to say it

“Celess is someone i once had feelings for, someone i once loved.”

“so you still miss her? that’s why you didn't want to say it, right, my Lord Stark?" You asked Cregan with a slightly disappointed voice, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes

“please call me Cregan, we are man and wife there are need to call me that” he continue

“and no, i don't want to mention it, not because i don't want you to know, but because i think it's not important anymore. now i have you and Rickon by my side, that is my first priority.”

“then why did you still keep this handkerchief?” you continue to ask him

"i didn't keep it, love. i thought i lost it so i had no intention of finding it again."

after hearing Cregan say that, you can’t say that your moods change completly but atleast you felt relieve when you learned that your suspicions about his loyalty were completely wrong.

“well, i forgave you my husband but unfortunately for you, Rickon is the one who found it and gave it to me.”

“oh my son, Rickon is always on your’s side. i pray to the Seven one day you will gave me a daughter” Cregan joked, then pulled you in a tight embrace. then you ask

“so you have to quickly plant your seed inside me, hopefully the Seven might heard your pray sooner or later, my dear husband.” at this point, you could only laugh, only now did you pay attention to it. the dining table in the dining hall was filled with food and Cregan let you out of that warm hug

“but before we start to try and bring another baby Stark into this Winterfell, we must have to to eat first, my dear y/n.”

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

By fire and heart Pt 7.

Daemma Targaryen. Second daughter of King Viserys and queen Aemma, you're the living portrait of your mother with the character of a true dragon, as a second daughter you don't have right to the throne but certainly, you will protect your sister's succession by heart.

Warning ⚠️: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to, most of them belong to the TikTok user ccarmyy! Grammatical and spelling errors, maybe this won't be good enough but In my head the story was a good one, it's a long chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Pt 8 is here

It wasn't easy to be in the north, it took you time to make the northern people trust you, but you were persistent, you show that side of yourself that not many people are allowed to see.

You still remember those days involving yourself with the work around those lands, visiting every house in the north to learn about all of them, meeting every lord, by the end you arrived and stayed with the Stark's.

Lord Stark fell quickly for you, not only for your natural beauty and intelligence but also your bravery, your combat skills and your kindness. The rumors about a romance between you and him ran quickly around the kingdom, none of you neglected them, because in fact it wasn't a lie, you and him were more than friends, you proposed to him a future marriage alliance with the only condition to keep the promise of supporting your sister which he joyfully accepted.

The memory lives for free in your mind, you remember every detail of it.

The library was warm, empty, only you and him, sitting in front of the smokestack, he was holding your hand in his when you talked.

«My Lord, I think it's very clear that the north has become my home... I wish to stay, and for that I propose you a marriage alliance»

«Go on, tell me, princess. Between who this marriage would be?»

He was smiling brightly and playfully to you, you returned that smile while rolling your eyes.

«Don't play with me, Lord Stark, you know I talk about me and you»

He left a quick peck on your lips.

«You honoured me, my princess. I will gladly accept your hand and your conditions, but I only have one condition...»

«Tell me, Lord Stark, I'm all ears.»

«I love the free spirit of my warrior princess, having said that, my only condition, is to get married at the time my princess decides.»

Those words sent shivers, you felt your cheeks turning red, he always has been a gentleman, you would renounce your freedom in a good way if it's him who will be your future husband.

Since then, You won the loyalty and heart of the north and with that you knew you would have it at your side whenever you needed.

Your dragon, whitefyre, seems to be pleased being in the north which is almost impossible since Dragons are looking for warmer places, you started to think maybe your destiny was there, perhaps that's the reason why your dragon looks like a snowflake, white scales that shine like diamonds and can easily get lost in the clouds.

In your dreams, you saw yourself flying over the north, those lands bathed in Snow, you saw yourself running through the forest escaping from the flames of your own house, sometimes you saw yourself with a crown over your head but some others you saw yourself burning alive. Of course you never talk about what you see in your dreams because that's all they are, just dreams, but lately you've seen them becoming real, a living proof of it, your dark haired nephews, the fire and the death of some people around you, so it's a constant bug in your brain, you wonder which part of your dreams will be true, you try to have as many interpretations as possible.

You heard the news about the sea snake, badly hurt, the fever attacking him and with that, his brother Vaemond ready to feed himself with the bones of his poor brother, he always wanted to control his house.

Your aunt, Rhaenys put him in his place informing him about Corlys leaving the succession to his grandson Lucerys Velaryon. Clearly it makes Vaemond drawn in his own rage.

You haven't seen your home in a while, you don't receive letters from no one, you sometimes feel like they forgot about you and you prefer it that way, you feel free, unfortunately your happiness can't last forever.

«Dear sister, I hope deeply and sincerely that your stay in the north has been pleasing. I would wish to have more time to write about how much I've been missing you, but we will have plenty of time for that later. The succession of my son Lucerys as the next Lord of Drift mark has been put in doubt, by extension I fear Jace and mine too. I'll need you at home, Rhaenys had to fly to Kingslanding, let's hope it is not to support Vaemond's claim. We will need people to support and defeat your nephew's claim.»

You didn't waste time, you left the north the same day your sister's letter arrived, before leaving you informed Lord Stark that you will announce to the king about your engagement.

The skies of Kingslanding are empty, there's no cloud at the sight, and the warmth of the weather hits you, you land at the dragon pit, the trip to the castle is short, your guard was already waiting for you at the principal door, his face shows how angry he is.

- What is it, Sir? Is there a problem?

- I apologize, my princess, but there's no one who could attend your arrival.

You laugh, clearly no one would be there waiting for you, you take it as a sign that you're not so welcome at home anymore.

- It is fine, we didn't inform them about my arrival. Let's go to find out where they are.

Your guard nods and walks at your side, on your way you can see empty halls, you can barely recognize your home, there are no more Targaryen symbols in the walls, not even the colors of your house.

The few people you see on your way simply smile at you, some of them stop to talk with you, a little conversation and finally one of them talks about the entire court at the training yard watching a prince practicing with the sword.

- Did you hear that, Sir? I think we can take this as an opportunity to catch some attention to the real Targaryen family.

- I follow you, my princess.

And as your informant told you, almost every person of the court was there, some of them were immersed in the friendly sparring while some others noticed your presence. You approach as close as possible to the people who were fighting.

A young silver haired man with a patch over one of his eyes, he's fighting against a guard. Your common sense tells you it's Aemond and Criston Cole.

- My sword, please.

You demand to your guard.

- My princess, I think is not the right time, you're wearing a dress.

- It will make it more interesting and the young prince will look ridiculous after I win.

Not so fine with your idea, your guard gives you your sword. You can see him praying the gods to keep you safe.

You jump in the middle of the men, in a quick movement you send to the floor to Sir Criston making him lose his balance, he doesn't stand up to fight you, he simply makes himself aside.

Aemond is not surprised, he quickly goes against you, the dance of swords, punches and kicks last a few minutes, until you're on the ground, your guard tries to go and help but you ask him to stay in his place, Aemond smiles at you, his sword and yours is close to your throat.

- Give up, dear Sister.

- Never.

He uses more strength and the swords are more and more close to you. Your other hand holds the other side of your sword, you feel the cut but you don't care, you can feel the warm blood running down, Aemond sees it and the strength decreases, that's your chance while he pushes himself back you hit him in the abdomen, he falls and his sword is far from him, you jump over him, now it's your sword against his throat.

- Give up now.

He doesn't say a word but smiles at you with his hands up. You stand up and take a bow to all the lords and ladies who were observing.

«I hope you enjoyed the show, my lords and ladies.»

Your guard quickly has a piece of cloth to cover your bleeding palm. You Walk away, there's dirt on your dress, your sword has fresh blood too but you're happy with your demonstration.

You were passing by in front of a window when Suddenly you saw your sister's carriage.

You walk quickly, almost running and then you hear one of the guards announcing her arrival.

- Welcome home, Rhaenyra!

You yell as soon as you see her, you approach her, her pregnancy makes her look more beautiful than ever. You're hugging her tight when the voice of your uncle fills the silence.

- Daemma, it has been a long time.

- Uncle.

You walk to him and hug him, the scent of his hair always was your favorite, oak and mint leaves. The boys and your uncle's daughter received a quick hug from you.

- I have to warn you, our house is not anymore Targaryen territory. There's green everywhere, it's disgusting in my opinion.

- Aunt, Why are you so... Dirty?

- Your hand is bleeding.

Lucerys and Jacaerys observed and questioned you.

- I was in a friendly sparring with a certain prince. I'm fine, I think he's still practicing at the training yard.

Once inside, you, your sister and your uncle went directly to your father's chambers.

The smell of sickness fills the room, there's a lot of incense, and the room looks sad and dark.

- Father?

Your sister asks. You can see the silhouette of a thin body laying on the bed.

- Who's there?

- It's me my king, Rhaenyra.

- Rhaenyra...

He repeats almost in a whisper, exhausted.

- Yes, I'm here, with Daemon and Daemma.

- Dae... Daemon, Daemma... Daemon. Help me to sit, please.

You and Rhaenyra help him to sit on the bed, Daemon looks at his brother, your father looks like a walking skull, his skin is almost grey, he lost some teeth, for a moment you feel like the worst daughter, you left and never came back, his health is worse than ever.

- it has been a long time...

Your uncle Starts to talk about Corlys Velaryon and the war at the step stones, the petition about who will control drift mark. You want them to stop and not fill his head with all those problems, the poor man is living for miracle, he doesn't even stand up from bed without help.

- Alicent and Otto, attend those business.

- No, brother, listen to me, you have to position at Lucerys side so he will be Corlys successor.

Rhaenyra took his husband's shoulder, she also feels like it's a lot of information for the man.

- Father, there's someone we wish you met.

This takes you by surprise, the servants come in with two baby boys, silver hair, chubby and beautiful.

- Father, Daemma, this is Aegon and this is Viserys.

Two beautiful babies, you smile at everyone in the room, those babies are the most beautiful thing you've seen, the boys started to cry while your father started to groan in pain.

- I'm sorry, please, hand me my tea.

Daemon quickly gives him the tea and as soon as Viserys finishes it, your uncle takes the goblet and smells it. Meanwhile you feel like you already had enough of it. You've seen a lot, you can't tolerate one more second of your poor father's suffering.

You excused yourself and waited out of the room, you felt nauseous, the air was heavy, your lungs needed more and more oxygen.

One of your maidens sees you and runs quickly to you.

- Welcome home! Can I help you, my princess?

- Yes, please prepare me a bath, I'll be there soon, thanks Dalilah.

Your maiden leaves while you take some air, minutes later you walk to your dorms.

Dalilah is waiting outside of your chambers.

- My princess, your bath is ready but... you have a visitor in your chambers.

- Thank you, I'll attend our visitor, don't worry.

Once in, you see the thin male shape sitting on a chair.

- Aemond, what do I owe the visit?

- Why did you come back, Daemma?

You walk around your room without paying him enough attention, you're thinking about what to say, you will not speak about the real motive of your visit.

- Why do you care, dear brother?

- It seems like you're here for our nephew's business, Lucerys...

- What about Lucerys? Is he hurt?

Aemond stands up quickly and takes your arm to make you confront him, face to face, too close.

- Don't try to fool me, Daemma.

- I'm not. I really don't know what is going on with him, I haven't talked to them in years. It's a coincidence I arrived at the same time as them, can you believe that?

He leaves your arm but doesn't lose his distance with you.

- Let's suppose I believe you, then What are the reasons for your visit, huh?

Looking at him so close he looks very attractive, his jaw and his thin lips, the scar that patch can't hide well, he has a mysterious aura, you like how dangerous it feels to be in the same room as him, the adrenaline running through your body.

- Perhaps I was missing my home, perhaps I came back because I have duties to attend.

- What kind of duties?

- Marriage.

You said without thinking about it. He gives a step back and has a little smile on his lips, he observes you carefully and then looks at the books placed in a small table at your side.

- Marriage? Did you finally find a good suitor?

- That's none of your business, Aemond. I already told you what am I doing here, now I'm asking you to leave.

You're acting offended as if his question was the worst thing in the world. He silently nods and walks away. Once your door Is closed you undress yourself and get inside the bathtub, the scents of berries and forest filling your lungs it's relaxing until you hear a noise.

- Dalilah, is it you?

No response. You hear someone sobbing softly. You ask again, «Who's there?» standing up from the bathtub, carefully taking your bathrobe and looking for something that can help you to protect yourself.

- If you don't answer, I'll call the guards.

Suddenly, a young man with silver messy hair, puffy eyes and a red nose is standing close to your bed. He observes you as if you were a ghost.

- Well... Hello stranger.

You speak again. You can't recognize him. But he looks attractive.

- Daemma... Is it really you? You...you Don't recognize me anymore?

He finally answers you, but not even his voice is familiar to you.

- Who... Are you?

- Aegon.

Both are standing there not knowing what to do. In the blink of an eye, Aegon walks to you, his arms are around your body and his face hidden in your neck. Seconds later you react and return the hug, he looks like a man now but he is still that little young boy you left a long time ago. The hug took you by surprise but it is a good sign, maybe after all this time away he still has strong feelings for you, you can play and twist him as you wish.

- Oh my sweet brother, I apologize, I couldn't recognize you, look at you, you're a man now.

- When did you arrive? Why no one told me?

He says without leaving his place between your jaw and neck.

- I arrived today, I didn't announce I would come home.

Your sweet and soft voice on his ear has him In a rollercoaster of emotion, he doesn't want to leave your body, you put your arms down a long ago but the poor man still can't believe you're there, you feel his bulge growing in his pants and pressed against you, that's when you step back, pushing him a little.

- Let me see you well, you have changed a lot these years...

Smiling at him, You place your hands on his face, one is caressing his cheek, the other is busy running your thumb through his lips and jaw, you're acting fool but you really know what you're causing him.

He hides his desire with his hands over his pants, his look is full of sadness and nostalgia. Before your hands can leave his face he catches one of them and leaves it there in his cheek.

- I thought you would never come back...

- Hmm, I thought the same. But here I am.

- Why?

- Hmm?

- Why are you here?

- Perhaps I couldn't handle being far from home anymore... Or perhaps I'm here because of that duty I've been avoiding all this time.

You turn your back at him, walking to the wardrobe, you take one of the dresses there and before you start to dress you ask him to not look, he turns his back, you know there's a small mirror and he will have a small view of your body, just the exact amount to be sure he will be in the palm of your hand again.

- What duty?

- Marriage. Since the queen informed me about your wedding and your two children, I finally accepted I needed a husband (...)

He's lost in thoughts not paying enough attention to what you're saying, observing you through that small mirror, drawing your body shape In his mind, the locks of your hair, the moles on your back.

- Aegon?

- Uh? What?

You laugh when you realize he wasn't paying attention to you.

- I was asking you if you can help me with the buttons of my dress, please.

He clears his throat and walks to you, he has trouble to button the dress.

«It is easier to quit than to put it...»

He murmur. You don't say nothing, you're observing the big mirror of the wardrobe door. He's being careful, as if touching you would make you vanish.

Once he finishes he looks at the big mirror, it is a nice image, you and him, together, in the same space, close to each other.

- We could be good for each other, you know...?

You break the silence and he places his jaw on your exposed shoulder and simply sighs in agreement. You're not saying the truth, you know you wouldn't tolerate him much, you've heard he drinks a lot, he spends most of his days swimming in wine and spreading his seed in every woman he sees.

- But I suppose I will have to be satisfied with one of your brothers or perhaps an old fat lord... We will know soon.

- What?

- It has been so good to see you again my sweet prince, but I have some visits to pay to the queen, the hand and the king if it's possible, you know, to see what we will do with my marriage.

You don't give him a chance to speak and walk out of the room, you were passing by for your father's chambers when you heard the voices of your family and the Queen's voice. You stopped and stood close enough to the door.

You smiled when you heard your uncle talking about the poor welcome they had.

You opened the doors as soon as you heard your sister, questioning the queen about who will decide the inheritance of your nephew. The three of them just looked quickly at you and continued with the conversation.

Before Alicent leaves, you stop her.

- Alicent, I would like to discuss some things... With you and the hand of course, since my father is... Unavailable. I hope I can talk with both of you before dinner.

She nods and quickly leaves the room. Once all of you are alone, the first one to question you is your uncle.

- What do you want to discuss with those snakes, Daemma?

- My marriage.

Both are quiet, no one expected it. You scoff.

- What? is it so hard to believe?

- Who's the man, Daemma?

Rhaenyra is speechless but your uncle demands answers.

- As you know I've spent most of my time in the north. I proposed a marriage alliance. Between me and Lord Cregan Stark. He will support Rhaenyra's claim.

- What are his demands in exchange for his loyalty to me, Sister?

- Not many, At the moment, he only asked to marry me until I decide when the right time is.

Your uncle doesn't look pleased, he never thought you would be married, he always told you no one would be good enough for you. You try to find more arguments that could please him.

- The north is an enormous territory, full of strong houses who would follow the Starks without hesitation. I think it is a great opportunity for us, to have the north on our side.

- But will you be happy living there, sister?

- I will... I am now and I'm sure I will in the future. But I have to act quickly, if Father approves and announces my marriage before dinner, that's why I am here right now, I want to talk to my father. Alicent and Otto will not have a chance to act or go against the king's wishes. That's why I planted the seed of a meeting with them, I will cancel my meeting at the last minute, they would be wondering why or what I wanted to discuss, eventually my father will announce it.

After some more minutes discussing, they leave you alone with Viserys. The announcement of Vaemond Velaryon was in everybody's mouth.

«Father?»

You whispered a couple times before he could make a sound. With difficulty he opens his eye, instantly putting his hands over his head.

- What? Who... is... it?

- I'm... Daemma, Father.

- Daemma? Oh... my girl... You're the living portrait of your mother.

He painfully tries to laugh.

- Yes, dad... it's me. I have some news for you.

- What... happened?

- I... I will get married, I found the right man, Father.

- Did you? Who is him?

- Lord Stark, father.

- An... honorable man. Good for you my girl.

He's starting to close his eyes again and before he falls you speak again.

- Dad, listen to me, I need you to announce it soon...

- Why?

- Because...

You don't know what to say, what would be enough reason for your father to agree to your wishes.

- Because I love him and he loves me, Father. I love him as you loved my mother.

You actually don't know if that will be reason enough, you don't know if you love the man in that day, in fact, you're wondering if it's love in the romantic way or merely the kind of love you have for a good friend

- My dear daughter... Oh...

The pain is coming back to him, you quickly take the cup with poppy milk. He drinks a little and lays again.

- Daemma...

- Father.

- I... I give my approval to your marriage. You... you have... My... Blessing.

- Thank you Father. I would be so happy if you announce it soon, Would you?

Heavily breathing, coughing he agrees, you can't be sure about him announcing your marriage, but you hope at least he can inform it to the queen and her father. You stay at your father's chambers, just observing him, occasionally he talks to you, things with no sense, sometimes he confuses you with your mother, or Rhaenyra, even with Helaena, but you don't care, you feel guilty for leaving him here alone for so long.

Meanwhile, Alicent, the hand and Vaemond are discussing the succession of Drift mark. While Rhaenyra and Rhaenys are talking about alliances.

You're tired of them, allies and arrangements, you sometimes want to fly away, follow Laenor steps, yes, you know about what actually happened to him, your sister told you and some days you really want to do the same but you made a promise, you promised to protect your family.

You were leaving your father's chambers when Rhaenyra came in. She doesn't say anything to you, she simply walks to Viserys.

They talk about Aegon's dream, the song of ice and fire, about to keep the kingdom safe against the enemies. You're not understanding why is she so anxious, talking to him desperately, until she finally says he separated the kingdom when he named her his heir.

- I thought I wanted it. But it is a heavy... Too heavy.

You hold her hand, you never thought about how hard it was for her to be the next In the throne.

- If you wish me to bear it, if you wish Daemma stays at my side in this... then, defend us and my children!

She broke into tears, sobbing, crying in exhaustion. Both left.

The king and the hand are in the daily meeting, usually they're short, the hand informs, the king barely listens. Today the vibe is different.

Your father demands dinner with the whole family. Greens and Blacks together with the living corpse of your father. Will it be the right thing?.

The day it is full of anxiety, you're nervous as much as your sister, overthinking about what could possibly go wrong today.

You have your sword and your dagger with you, maybe it doesn't help to hide how nervous you feel.

Once In the iron throne you feel your body burning in anger, Otto Hightower, sitting on it.

Vaemond Velaryon is the first one to talk, arguments of how it is unfair to leave such a land in the hands of a kid who hasn't been raised there. Same blood as Corlys, an authentic and immaculate true Velaryon.

He's talking about the legitimacy of your nephews and your sister can't contain herself. Defending Lucerys, allegations about how he only cares for himself and his own ambitions, the Queen's intervention gives more confidence to Vaemond.

You're observing the young man at the Queen's side. Aemond observes you too, he looks at you from head to toe, while Aegon looks occasionally to you and your sister.

You were remembering the previous moment with both, you admit they're handsome in their own way, you imagine how it would be to be with any of them, a carnal desire appeared inside you.

Your sister starts to talk when the door of the hall opens.

«KING VISERYS OF HOUSE TARGARYEN, FIRST OF HIS NAME, LORD OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS AND PROTECTOR OF THE REALM!»

Everybody watches your father walking, he walks slowly, observing everybody, he walks to the throne, once there he simply looks at Otto Hightower.

- I'll sit on the throne today.

- Your grace.

Otto leaves the stairs of the iron throne, your father is using all his strength to walk, one of the guards walks to him to help but your father rejects his help.

The crown falls and your uncle runs to help his brother, with the crown in his hand, he slowly and carefully helps Viserys, once his sitting, your uncle puts the crown over your father's head and goes back to his place with your sister.

- must admit my confusion, I don't understand the petition to a succession previously settled. The only person who knows the desires of Lord Corlys is the princess Rhaenys.

- Indeed, your grace.

She answers instantly. Walking in front of the king, talking about Corlys and his desire to inherit his place to Laenor's son, Lucerys Velaryon and her following her husband desires.

Suddenly the unexpected news, about her agreement of your sister's sons and Corlys granddaughters arrangement marriages takes everyone by surprise.

- Well, it's settled... Again. Prince Lucerys of house Velaryon is named heir of drift mark and next lord of tides.

Vaemond can't believe it, he can see his plans drowning in the deep of the sea. He will not let this pass, he starts to talk about how your father broke the laws naming your sister his heir, now doing it again with the future of the Velaryon's house.

- (...) I will not allow it.

- Allow it?

- As I will not allow you to disrespect my father in my presence, Vaemond.

You speak, with your sword in hand, but your uncle takes your forearm and neglects. Your father speaks again

- You're forgetting your place.

- THAT! IS NOT A TRUE VELARYON!

- Leave, you have spoken enough.

Your sister says to Vaemond who's pointing at Jace and Luke. You place yourself in front of them.

- Lucerys is my legitimate grandson, you're no more than a second son of Drift mark.

Vaemond spills his poison around everyone, your uncle is only waiting Vaemond's exact words that will allow him to finish that man.

- Say it.

Daemon murmurs. Vaemond doesn't care anymore about his place or who is he talking to.

- Her sons are... BASTARDS! and she is... A whore.

Everybody whispers, while your father stands up from his place, but in less than a second.

Daemon cuts Vaemond's head.

- He can keep his tongue.

Blood splashes a few people, and a bunch of guard are around your uncle. Your father feels the pain again and Alicent and you run to help him.

- You have to take something for the pain, husband.

- Daemma, your engagement... Your marriage...

- it's okay father, We'll take you to rest, we can discuss that later.

Alicent looks at you in confusion while you decide to act foolish. As if nothing happened, the dinner arrived.

«You don't drink enough» «and you drink more than a Lord of Braavos» «i drink the right amount »

You were talking with Helaena about her children, telling her you bought some presents for them, while she was talking to you about some strange insects she has. You always thought Helaena was a sweet girl, a dreamer as some Targaryen are, too good for a world like this.

Suddenly, your father appears. Tired, but he refused to cancel the dinner with the family, everybody took their seat and you were in the middle in front of your father's chair.

It is an uncomfortable moment, but your father is unaware of it.

- it is an occasion to celebrate... it is a lot to celebrate. My grandsons engagement with their cousins and my Daughter's engagement...

- Congratulations, dear Niece. I hope you have a happy marriage and a happy life ruling the north.

Daemon says loud enough, so everybody can hear it. Alicent looks at her father, both are clearly surprised.

While everybody drinks, more and more toast to everyone's little achievement, you hear Aegon bothering Jace.

- I'm very sure Jace knows how to treat a lady, Brother, there's no need to...

- Or maybe should I explain it to you, sister? After all, you will get married soon, you will need some lessons.

- Keep your tongue when you talk in front of my aunt and my betrothed.

The conversation ends when your father stands up and speaks again, talking about the distance created by all of you. Suddenly everybody wants to talk and make peace, but you feel like it's impossible, everybody has a lot of hate and sorrow inside them, a dinner will not fix what years of secrets and treasons created.

Helaena talks about how Aegon doesn't pay her enough attention or shows affection to her, and while for her there is nothing to worry about, the rest of the family feels sad for her.

- I suppose, in the end, you don't know how to treat a woman either, brother.

You whispered to Aegon. He rolls his eyes and continues drinking. Jace takes Helaena to dance a little while the rest is eating and talking. Your father leaves the dinner before all the mess. Because just as you predicted, when everything looked bright and peaceful, the dinner ended in a mess.

- A final tribute, to my nephews, Jace, Luke and Joffrey, each of them, Handsome, wise and strong...

That was all, the dinner ended in punches and fights, Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged some words in a friendly way after the fight, but the damage was already made.

You were in your dorm, ready to pack your clothes, Dalilah was preparing you a bath once she finished, she helped you to pack some dresses and the left.

You were brushing your hair before getting inside the bathtub when you felt someone behind you, you barely looked at him, was Aegon.

- Don't you knock on the door anymore?

- I used the hidden halls.

- You and Aemond cannot cause trouble, huh?

- It was Aemond, I merely helped him, it was unfair, Two against one.

He walks to you and starts to unbutton your dress, you don't complain about it.

- You said horrible things too.

- If you talk about Jace I was just joking.

- How dare you? talking about how to treat a lady, when you treat Helaena in that way!

You stand up abruptly and walk creating distance between him and you.

- For your information I know how to treat women... When I have affection for them. Helaena doesn't love me, and neither do I, we don't have nothing in common.

- I'm glad Lord Stark is a gentleman who can treat me as I deserve.

You say while you tie your bathrobe and then Aegon makes you face him, holding you by your shoulders.

- What do you mean, Daemma?

- I'll just say he pleases me in more than one way.

That hurts him, your words hurt. You're quiet, observing him, there's something about his face, maybe his chubby chin, or his pink lips, maybe his sad puppy eyes, the dark circles around them, his silver messy hair, something about Aegon makes you strangely weak, you feel that desire coming up to you again, Aegon stares at your lips then to your eyes and once again looks at your lips.

From one moment to another, his lips collide with yours, you hesitate but soon you melt in the kiss, you feel the warmth between your legs while he presses himself on your body, you break the kiss before something else can happen.

- This is not fine, you have to go Aegon.

He kisses you again and you break the kiss again.

- Daemma, please. We both want this. You want me and I want you.

- No, we... I can't! Now leave.

- You know it sister, deep inside you, you know we belong to each other Daemma, you've seen it in dreams just like me, we're destined to burn together.

- Leave, Aegon, just... Leave.

He disappeared in the shadows of the room and For the first time in your entire life you experimented with the desire, the need of touching and being touched, the space between your legs aching and pleading to be filled. You took your bath and dressed up, you wouldn't stay another night. You felt the big wall you built before crumbling with that kiss with those words about dreams, you needed to forget about it, you needed to remember who you were and focus on what you promised years ago.

You left that night on your dragon, flying right back to the north. Without a clue of what would come.

Your poor father, a dreamer, a king who kept the peace while he was sitting on the iron throne, he died the same night you left your home.

That same night, your sister's right to the throne was stolen from her, with that many lords who accepted your sister's claim, died or became prisoners forced to change their loyalty or lose their freedom or... Their heads.

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part v)

a/n: on this episode of Stark Fluff, claere gets a visitor, and cregan has mixed feelings about threesomes. also, cregan learns the harp.

Winterfell wore the slow creep of winter like a familiar cloak. The skies had grown paler, casting the looming walls of the castle in a sallow light, while the cold nipped steadily at its people, urging them to quicken their preparations. From the kitchen to the stables, grain stores were replenishing, the last of the harvest before frost could claim the fields. Blacksmiths hammered iron, the women mended at worn cloaks and men bundled hay for the livestock. Winter was not yet here, but its shadow lingered on the wind, always whispering its warning.

In the heart of the keep, the Glass Gardens had begun to take shape. The towering structure Claere had envisioned stood as a defiant tribute to life in a place where death crept so close. As the days passed, the curved iron frames of the brilliant garden grew taller, and panes of glass steadily fitted into place, though fewer hands worked than before. Claere's journey to the Wall and the ominous silence she had shared upon her return had compelled many away. And yet, those who remained—the builders and labourers still assigned to the task—seemed to grow fond of her, drawn to her quiet kindness, the way she listened with impossible patience to the complications.

But today, the hour she usually spent overseeing the glass gardens came and went. Claere was nowhere to be found.

Cregan noticed her absence first, though no one else seemed to. He strode through the courtyard, determined footsteps echoing through the Great Keep as he searched for her. He had asked the guards, the servants—none had seen her. There was concern in his chest, though his outward manner remained calm, and controlled. His pace eased when he finally came across a group of children playing by the kitchens. They must know something.

He crouched to their height and asked, “Have you seen Lady Stark?”

One of the girls, with red cheeks and tangled braids, blinked up at him. "She must be in the crypts, my lord. She's there on the third day of every sennight."

“The crypts?” Cregan frowned, his confusion evident. “Why?”

The girl only shrugged, her young eyes widening with uncertainty. “My lady says it’s of great benefit.”

A vague answer, but there was little else to go on.

The cold air within the cavernous crypts was still, undisturbed by the world above. As Cregan descended into the darkness, his eyes adjusted to the flickering glow of torches, casting long shadows over the stone effigies of his ancestors. He passed the statues of old kings and queens of the North, of Starks long gone, their direwolves carved faithfully at their feet. Their vigilant, stone eyes seemed to follow him as he walked deeper into the crypts, past his forefathers and mothers, the ancient guardians of Winterfell’s legacy.

It was then that he saw her, like a blossom of blue satin and grey furs in the black earth.

Claere sat on the cold stone floor by the statues of his parents, Lord Rickon Stark and Lady Gillianne Glover, her small form dwarfed by the towering effigies. Candles burned softly around her in quiet vigil, casting a gentle glow over the garlands of winter roses she cradled in her lap. A sea of wilted, woven flowers lay swept to the side—a ritual she had tended to every night, and with a pang in his gut, he realized her abnormal habit had all been for his bygone parents.

His breath caught, a warmth spreading through his chest. She had been honouring them. His own parents. In a way that even he had long forgotten to do. Though why would she, of all people, care?

As he approached her, he heard her familiar song, her voice faint, carrying a resonant yet soothing melody through the crypt. They never rhymed anymore; just lines scrambled and sung to confound.

A rose of blue in the cold earth lay, A fire burned bright, Silver threads in the night. A crown of dreams, A heart of flame, Forgotten now, Yet still the same.

"Claere," he called softly, his voice echoing against the stone walls.

But she didn’t answer. She stayed motionless, her fingers deftly weaving the garlands, her eyes distant, lost in a trance-like reverie. Cregan stepped closer and gently cupped her shoulder.

“Love?” he murmured again, more intent.

This time, she stirred, blinking slowly as if emerging from a dream. Her gaze shifted up to him, soft and dazed. She rubbed at her eyes, her fingers stained with the petals of the roses.

As Cregan crouched beside Claere, the silence was thick, broken only by the distant drip of water echoing somewhere in the depths of Winterfell. He took her bare hands into his, startled by how frigid they were. The touch of her skin was like ice as if she'd been sitting there for hours. He blew gently into her fingers, trying to warm them.

"What are you doing down here alone?" he asked, concern lining his voice.

“They like to speak to me,” she whispered, her voice calm, distant, as though her mind were adrift in another realm. “I heard them the moment I crossed the threshold of the castle. They spoke your name.” She waited, eyes wide. "Did you hear that?"

Cregan's brow furrowed. "There is no voice but ours, love."

She looked away, mumbling, "I heard it."

There was a time when her words, her abnormal ways, would have unsettled him deeply. It was woven into their lives like her rose garlands, a constant. Her peculiar way of seeing the world was no longer alien to him—it had become familiar. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a quiet unease stir in his chest.

“Go on then. What else do they say?” he asked, more to humour her than out of belief, but the curiosity in his tone was real.

“I think they're calm,” she replied, her gaze drifting to statues of his parents. “Content. Now that you're here.”

Cregan exhaled, surprised by how much those words affected him. It was comforting in a way he hadn’t expected, though he didn’t believe in such things—spirits, voices from beyond. He wasn’t a man of superstition, but the idea that his parents might be at peace warmed a part of him he didn’t realize had gone cold.

“What do they say about their son? Do they kick up a big fuss?” he asked, his lips curving into a faint, teasing smile. He carefully balled the long garland she had weaved into a neat pile on her skirt.

“They’re proud,” Claere murmured, her voice gentle, as though the words had floated to her on the breeze. “Your mother—she calls you her little wolf. She wants to hold you once more.”

His heart stilled at that. Little wolf. His mother had called him that, when he was still small enough to crawl into her lap after a long day, his face buried in the scent of her hair. His chest tightened, the ache of loss rising up in his throat. Could Claere really hear them? Was there truth in her words, or was it all part of her unconventional mind?

Cregan lifted his gaze toward the stone faces of his parents, his father's chiselled jaw and his mother's serene expression were immortalized in cold marble, watching over him as they had in life. Claere's soft hum floated through the still air, and something in her melody seemed to stir the memories of those long gone. He couldn’t bear the weight of their unblinking eyes. His throat thickened, and he looked away quickly, the familiar ache of loss sharper than he’d prepared for.

“And my father?” he asked, his voice rough now, bearing apprehension now, the question almost catching in his chest.

“He knows you’ve transcended him,” she replied, her tone soft, as if the words were delicate things. “But he’s glad. He wishes he could be here to see you rule the North as he did once."

That broke something in Cregan. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes, and before he could stop it, one escaped, rolling down his cheek. His father had always been a stern man, proud but distant, and those words, even if he believed they weren't real, cut deeper than he expected. He had been alone since three and ten, sparing no effort in being a man where he should've been a boy. Such was the duty of an early heir, he had grown up between burdening winters and blades.

Cregan blinked rapidly, turning his cheek to her, trying to clear his vision, but Claere saw it. Her expression shifted—confusion flickered across her features. She reached out, her fingers brushing the tear away with the lightest touch.

“Have I hurt you?” she asked, her voice uncertain, innocent in its concern.

Cregan shook his head, sniffing back the rest of his tears. He smiled softly at her, a smile that was half sorrow, half joy. "No, of course not."

"No?" she echoed.

“I’m grateful. I’m very happy.” His voice cracked as he laughed, almost in disbelief at the way she had managed to stir emotions long buried. "Although I'd rather be gelded than have you see me cry again."

Claere tilted her head, watching him with that dream-like gaze, her mind always half elsewhere. “Tears are the sign of a good heart,” she said simply, though there was still a hint of hesitation in her voice.

As Cregan's deep laugh trailed off, Claere’s gaze slipped to the flickering candle before her. She watched the flame, her fingers hovering near its light as though she could shape the glow with her will alone.

“They’ve gone silent,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath. “Since I returned from the Wall… the voices, they’re almost gone now.”

Her words chilled him in a way that had nothing to do with the cold of the crypts. He watched her fingers dance in the flame’s heated tip, and something about the way she spoke—so distant, so lost—made his chest constrict.

“I keep seeing these things. Awful things.” She still wouldn’t look at him, her eyes fixed on the candle’s flame as though it held the answers she sought. “Visions, riddled with frozen fire, no men of women born, blue flames that burned cold, dragons—dead dragons—and spilt blood. Endless dark, unending night.”

Her voice was soft but steady as if recounting some terrible dream. The Wall, the omens, whatever visions or feelings had driven her—they had unsettled her in ways she wasn’t used to conveying.

Cregan swallowed, unable to suppress the shiver that ran through him. Claere rarely expressed her visions with such transparency, yet this time there was something raw in her tone, a dread he had never heard before. If only these people could truly see what she had to bear.

“I believed the lands past the Wall would show me the days of yore,” she continued, her words slipping from her lips like a confession. “I thought it would reflect what I see, but it didn’t. None of it. So now I think—”

She stopped herself, her voice catching in her throat, and for a long moment, she said nothing.

Cregan waited, his heart solemn with tension. Finally, Claere’s gaze lifted from the flame, and when her violet eyes met his, there was a tremor of fear in them, an emotion so unfamiliar in her usually distant, dream-like gaze that it struck him silent.

“I think it is things not yet come to pass,” she whispered, her voice tight, as though it pained her to say it. “I think… they’re coming. I don't know what to do. No one else can see." She shook her head, almost violently, and her hands trembled, her calm veneer fracturing before him. Tears welled at the corner of her eyes. “I cannot stop it, Cregan. It terrifies me.”

The vulnerability in her voice, the aching helplessness, shook him to his core. Claere, who had always been silent and intangible, now stood before him utterly mortal, fragile, and afraid. He had never seen her like this, not in all the time they’d been together. It was as though she carried a brewing storm on her shoulders, and she didn’t know how to face it alone.

Cregan’s instinct was immediate. He gently pulled her toward him with a shush, enfolding his arms around her, and gathering her into his chest.

“No, my love,” he whispered into her hair, his voice soothing. "I'm here. It's alright. They're just dreams."

She melted into him, her body trembling against his, her head resting against his chest. He stroked the side of her head gently, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breath. Her hands clung to the front of his cloak, desperate, as though his warmth was the only thing tethering her to the present. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there, as though willing his strength into her.

“The North has weathered long nights before,” he said quietly, his voice steady, filled with the same resolve that had been passed down through generations of Starks around them. “Stark blood runs deep in these stones. We’ve stood through the darkness, through cold that could break men’s bones. And yet, we stand. Every time, Claere.”

She looked up at him, her wide eyes searching his face, her breath still uneven but slowing.

"What are our house words?" he asked, as if reminding her.

"Winter is coming," she answered breathily.

“Winter is coming,” he echoed, his voice assertive yet tender. He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he looked into her eyes. “We will do what we must to defend the realm, through whatever comes. As we always have. You have nothing to fear.”

His words sank into her like warmth, thawing the icy fear that had gripped her. She exhaled, long and slow, her body finally relaxing into his arms. Cregan kissed her cheek, softer this time, feeling the shift in her, the tension ebbing away.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, holding each other in the flickering candlelights, surrounded by the silence of the crypts. The dead watched over them, but their presence no longer felt foreboding—it felt calm and peaceful, as though the ancient Starks could see and approve.

She nodded, her face resting against his chest once more, her breathing finally even. He could still sense the undercurrent of fear that rippled through her, but the worst of it had passed. His mind worked quickly, searching for a way to guide her thoughts away from the darkness she had spoken of.

Softly, he murmured against her hair, "There’s news from Dragonstone."

Claere shifted in his arms, lifting her head to look at him. The mention of Dragonstone sparked a flicker of curiosity in her gaze, enough to break the hold of the haunting visions.

"A raven arrived last night," he continued, his voice casual, as though easing her into something lighter. "Prince Jacaerys flies north on his dragon. He’ll be here within a fortnight."

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say more, but the thought seemed to drift away before she could grasp it. Something was grounding in the knowledge of Prince Jacaerys’ arrival—something beyond the shadows she had seen, a thread of the present to hold on to.

He gave her a slight squeeze, his thumb brushing a strand of her silver hair behind her ear, a playful glint in his eye. "We'll find out soon enough. But for now, let's get you warm. You'll turn into a sculpture yourself if you're here any longer."

Claere’s lips quirked, a touch of amusement flickering through the lingering shadows in her eyes. “A lady of ice.”

Cregan smirked. “Not on my watch.”

X

The fruits of labour are often hard-won, and in Claere’s case, it was quite literal. A month past, she had flown on Luna, disappearing into the night for three days. Although it had endlessly upset Cregan, upon her return, it was with the spoils of her journey—seeds from distant lands, collected with care and intent. These seeds were her gift to Winterfell’s glass gardens, her quiet revolt against the fatty northern diet.

Among them were golden beets from the Reach, hardy winter squash, and sweet, bright carrots from Highgarden. She’d also returned with seeds of hearty cabbages and turnips, the kinds of food that could survive even in the harsher climate of the North. And now, after weeks of tilling and patience, some of the plants had finally sprouted, tiny green shoots peeking through the soil like fragile promises of life.

But her project had not remained hers alone for long. Claere, with her quiet strangeness, had drawn the children of Winterfell into it, gradually involving them in nurturing the new glasshouse. The saplings became theirs as much as hers, and the little Northerners guarded them as fiercely as they did their direwolves. Though they laughed and played around her, tending to the glass gardens with dirt-smeared cheeks and eager hands, the adults stood back—watching with cautious, measured eyes.

Now, it called for a celebration. Claere had returned from an early morning flight on Luna, bringing with her the largest haul yet—sacks of ripe persimmons, plucked from the orchards of the Vale. The children gathered around her, eyes wide and filled with excitement. Persimmons were rare in the North, almost unheard of past the Twins, and to them, this was a treasure trove.

She stood there, composed and aloof, while the children crowded at her feet, clutching at her skirts.

"My lady," one small boy asked in awe, peering into the sack, "what kind of fruit is this?"

“Persimmons,” Claere told them. “From the Vale. If honeycomb were a fruit, it would be this.”

One of the girls hesitated, looking up with wide, curious eyes. "Persimmons. But why do they look like little jewels?"

Claere glanced down at the fruit in the child’s hand. “They are… in a way,” she mused, her fingers brushing the leathery skin of a persimmon. “Jewels of the trees. Careful not to crack your teeth on them.”

The children giggled, their awe unabashed. But from the edges of the courtyard, some of the adults watched the scene with guarded expressions. One of the mothers—an older woman with a stern face—made her way toward them, half-heartedly pulling her child back.

"My lady," the woman began cautiously, her tone respectful but wary, "your kindness knows no limit… but persimmons, foreign fruits—are they not better suited for lords and ladies’ tables? Perhaps the children ought to…?"

Claere turned her gaze to the woman, her eyes calm, as if considering the unspoken reluctance. She did not speak at first, only handed the sack to one of the boys who held it up for the others to reach.

“They’re fruits of the earth,” she said softly, “not gold meant to be hoarded. What grows must be shared. It's why the Glass Gardens are being built.”

There was a pause, tension still lingering in the air. A few of the men exchanged glances, unsure of this Targaryen's ways—so different from the daughters of the North they knew.

Then one of the fathers, a grizzled man with a thick beard, broke the silence with a short laugh. “As long as my son doesn’t bring more seeds to my house, we’ll thank you, my lady.”

His words loosened the air, drawing chuckles from others. The children cheered as they dug into the fruit, but the adults, though warmer now, still watched her carefully. In small, deliberate ways—through her gifts, her gentle efforts to nurture life in this land—she was inching closer, bridging the invisible divide between herself and the North.

"Come now, pups," a young lady led the children away with their happy squalls, "one for each. Share it with the others."

"Arrys took three! Fatty!"

"Hey, that's mine!"

"Mine's a little green!"

It was subtle, this shift. Like the first, almost imperceptible thaw after a long winter, when the snow begins to soften at the edges, and the hard ground yields just enough to suggest that spring might, one day, arrive.

Claere’s eyes lingered on the adults for a moment longer, as though she understood. She wasn’t sure she could ever be loved like one of their own. And while they still watched her warily, with eyes that carried centuries of cold caution, there was a slow, begrudging acceptance in their gaze. The kind of acceptance that wasn’t born out of understanding, but out of recognition—recognition that, for all her strange ways, she was not giving up.

“My lady!” A breathless guard stumbled toward her, his face flushed with urgency. He dropped into a quick bow, his words fumbling as they spilt out.

“Scouts have spotted a dragon. We believe... it’s your brother, the prince.”

Her brother. Jacaerys.

The news sent a ripple through Claere’s thoughts, pulling her out of the quiet reverie she’d fallen into. She nodded, dismissing the guard and strolling away from the castle entrance, and soon turned her gaze skyward, watching as Vermax circled in the distance, preparing to land. Luna twitched behind her, growling low, sensing another dragon’s presence but remaining calm as Vermax descended.

Jacaerys landed some distance away from Luna, cautious not to provoke the larger dragon. Vermax was a mere hatchling in comparison to Luna, poised by her rider protectively.

As her brother dismounted, Claere observed him from afar, her emotions a tangled web. She hadn’t seen him in many long months. The boy she remembered had been full of vigour and promise, but now, standing before her, Jacaerys had grown in ways she hadn’t fully anticipated.

The man who approached her was taller, his shoulders broader, his gait that of a prince who had known the significance of command. His dark hair, tousled by flight, framed a face more serious than it had once been. There was a formality to him, a distance that felt almost like the expanse between them, even though they were blood.

Their relationship had not always been like this—distant, formal. He was once her buffer against her vengeful uncles, Aegon and Aemond, and her safest confidante in the Red Keep. He only happened to sour to her presence after their mother, Queen Rhaenyra, had blissfully betrothed them when they were children of nine, for the strengthening of their bloodline and her irrefutable claim to the throne. It was declared null when her mother faced the threat of dispersion from Lord Corlys on Driftmark that she joined Laena Velaryon's daughters to her prince sons in holy matrimony.

Where Claere had somewhat bonded with her younger brothers Lucerys and Joffrey, Jacaerys had remained like a stranger thereafter. He had never been unkind to her, never prodded at her oddities, only stayed apathetic, their connection one of duty rather than affection. He had always seemed uncertain of how to approach her, and she had never sought him out. They had lived like shadows, passing by each other but never truly meeting.

“Sister,” Jacaerys greeted her upon reaching her, his voice polite, measured. He dipped his head, ever respectful, the heir to the throne. "How you've grown in mere moons. And so has Luna."

She imparted a brief nod. "Brother," she greeted back quietly. Her eyes darted to Vermax, his green-scaled dragon, beady eyes watchful of his rider. "Vermax has come to be formidable."

"Indeed," Jace said, sounding proud of himself, peeking back at his dragon. "You'll also be pleased to know that Tyraxes has finally taken to wing. Ought to see Joff instead of me next time."

Slightly hesitant, she asked, "And this time?"

"I've come to see how you're faring," and quickly included, "upon mother's request. As her envoy."

His eyes flashed down to her flat abdomen for a split second, possibly gauging the extent of a prosperous marriage. So far, he was not convinced. It had nearly been six moons, yet no cries of a Stark lordling sounded in the halls.

“I am well,” Claere answered, her tone just as restrained as his.

His dark eyes flicked toward the great castle, then back to her. “There have been… rumours. Whispers from the North that have reached the Queen’s ears. She was concerned.”

Rumours. She knew what he implied—the discontent among the Northerners, their ever-growing suspicion of her, the whispers of a Valyrian witch who crossed the Wall and lived to tell the tale. It had been expanding slowly, like frost creeping across the ground before winter.

“They matter little,” Claere replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jacaerys didn’t respond at first, his gaze sharp as he studied her. Then, with the smallest hint of reluctance, he responded, “I am still your brother, Claere. Marriage cannot dissolve that. I rule over Dragonstone with Baela and if you wish it, I will gladly have you back home or with our brothers in the Red Keep."

It wasn’t quite an offer, more like a suggestion left hanging in the cold air between them. A way out, should she want it. Simply renounce a vain, hopeless marriage and move on.

Claere’s eyes met his, and for a moment, she wondered if he meant it. Did her dear brother truly want her back, or was this merely a way to ease his guilty conscience? To not have suspected the consequences beforehand, before she was ever traded off to the unaccepting North? She glanced at Luna, standing watch behind her, and then back to Jacaerys.

A brief silence passed between them before he spoke again, his voice lighter, though still formal. “I'd like to speak to Lord Stark. Perhaps he'd have a response for the crown.”

X

The Great Hall of Winterfell felt colder than usual that evening. The large hearth blazed, but the warmth seemed to be swallowed by the heavy silence hanging between the three nobles seated at the long table. Cregan sat at the head, his posture relaxed yet every muscle tensed beneath the surface, his eyes occasionally drifting toward Claere on habit, who sat beside him, ever the silent enigma. Across from them, Jacaerys Velaryon sat straight-backed, his dark eyes flicking between his hosts, clearly working up to something but holding back—for now.

The tension was palpable, thick enough to slice through with a blade, but neither man addressed the looming unspoken questions yet. Claere seemed unconcerned, as she picked at the modest fare before her, her pale eyes focused on nothing in particular. She was present yet did not seem so, lost in her world.

Cregan noticed her silver crown of braids, how they were styled in the manner of a Southern lady, perhaps to butter up to her brother. He never thought he would infuriated over something as foolish as hair, and ought to chastise those handmaidens of hers who only worked around his cause.

Jace cleared his throat, breaking the silence as he reached for his goblet, swirling the golden ale inside. He offered a polite smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

"This beverage is excellent, my lord," Jace began, a tentative olive branch. "And the pie—'tis the heartiest I've had. Sustains the North, I’m sure. Though I can imagine it’s difficult for... some to thrive on such fare."

His gaze dashed briefly to Claere, lingering on her thinner frame. It wasn’t a pointed stare, but the implication hung in the air. Her weight loss, her difficulty sustaining herself on the limited northern diet—it was not lost on him.

Cregan’s jaw clenched, though his smile remained courteous. "We manage well enough," he said, his voice patient. "The Glass Gardens have begun to yield fresh crops. Our granaries our vast. We make sure every Northerner has everything they require come winter."

There was a subtle challenge in Cregan’s words, a quiet assertion of his control over his household and his care for his wife. The implication was clear: I’ve got it covered.

Jace gave a tight nod, his lips pressed thinly together. The conversation lulled back into awkward silence, the crackling of the fire and the clinking of cutlery the only sounds between them. Claere remained as she had been—detached, her pale eyes drifting from the flames in the hearth to the fruit on her plate.

Jacaerys hesitated before speaking again, as though weighing his next words carefully.

"Has Claere ever told you," he drawled, his tone lighter but carrying an undercurrent of something more, "that she and I are twins?"

Cregan’s gaze shifted to Jace, then to Claere, and back again. It rattled him, if only for a moment. Twins? It seemed impossible. Jacaerys, with his dark ringlets and strong build, bore the hallmarks of House Velaryon though, some whispered, his true father, Ser Harwin Strong. Claere, on the other hand, was the image of Old Valyria—silver hair, pale skin, violet eyes, as if fire and ice had mingled to create her. The stark contrast between them had always been striking, and now it seemed even more so. He simply deemed it unlikely at first glance.

"Yes, we were inseparable," the young prince continued, his tone cautious. "We shared the same womb, weaned from the same breast, and learned together as children. We were even betrothed for a time, like our ancestors before us."

Jace's eyes narrowed slightly as Cregan's fingers fisted, and though his tone remained neutral, there was an edge to his words. "But even after all that, there are things about my sister I still cannot begin to comprehend."

Cregan’s eyes darkened, understanding the implication. Jace wasn’t just talking about family ties; he was probing, testing for weaknesses, for fractures in the foundation of Claere’s place in Winterfell. It was a subtle attempt, cloaked in brotherly concern, but Cregan was no fool.

"Aye, that may be," Cregan replied evenly, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping against his goblet. "But what man can claim to entirely understand a woman, even one he’s known all his life? Claere may be... finding her feet, but that doesn’t make her any less at home here."

Jace raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint, sardonic smile. "You speak as if she’s already oriented herself here, Lord Stark. Though from what I’ve heard, not all in the North share your sentiment."

The jab was delivered mildly, but it hit its mark. Cregan’s expression hardened slightly, his palm tight around his fork, though his tone remained calm. "Winterfell is nearly frozen over. It takes time for new blood to warm itself to these halls. But we’ve had Targaryens here before, and they’ve got by just fine."

"Mm," Jace hummed into his glass, "dragonblood runs hotter than you can imagine."

"Makes it easier then."

Jace leaned forward, setting his goblet down. "That’s just it, isn’t it? Claere is no mere Targaryen. She’s my twin. She has just as much claim to our mother’s throne as I do."

The implicit tension snapped into something sharper, more dangerous. The Iron Throne. The claim. It hung between them like a storm on the horizon, unstated but ever-present. Should sides be drawn in the future, blood could be spilt—not over affection, but over power, the oldest and most treacherous currency. He could imagine it: Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Claere Targaryen, and her king consort, the King in the North, Cregan Stark. It tasted foul on his tongue, withered to ashes as soon as it appeared. Claere was queen, here. She was the winter's queen, a fire that would burn a beacon in the North.

Cregan’s eyes narrowed, though his expression remained stoic. "Are you suggesting something, my prince? Sowing seeds of war in my soil, possibly?" he asked, his voice low, enduring as a mountain before the storm. "Because it sounds as though you’re questioning my lady's fealty to her home."

Jace’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t back down. "I’m simply reminding you of who she is. And that, as much as you may think you understand her, there are parts of Claere that no one can reach." His gaze drifted to Claere then, who sat as still as stone, her eyes on the flickering flame. "Not even me."

Cregan studied Jacaerys for a long moment before turning his gaze to Claere. She had been a quiet, odd presence throughout this verbal sparring match, content to let the two men duel with words over her head. But now, as Jace’s words hung in the air, she finally looked up, meeting Cregan’s eyes with her own.

Cregan leaned back in his chair, a calculated look forming as his hand rested on Claere’s thigh.

His voice lowered, carrying an undercurrent of challenge but framed in civility. "It seems we find ourselves at an impasse. Perhaps a better question, my prince, is not who has known Claere through six moons or sixteen years, but who has tried to understand her the most."

Bitterness flickered in Jace's gaze. He leaned forward, not willing to be outdone. "It’s not the little things that bind people. It’s blood, shared history. We came into this world together."

Cregan’s lips curved into a cold, knowing smile. "Aye, you did. But who stands by you in the darkest hour matters, not who was there when the sun first rose."

Jace’s face flushed with frustration. He glanced at Claere, who sat impassive as ever, and then back to Cregan, clearly at a loss. It seemed like he wanted to argue for a moment, but nothing came. The Stark lord's words had landed.

"Jace is right," she said quietly, her voice soft but collected. "He doesn't know me fully, nor do I know him as I should." Her eyes shifted toward her brother, a faraway sorrow touching her expression. "We've spent years apart—fates pulling us in different directions. He's not wrong about that."

Jace straightened up, a gleam of triumph surfacing in his expression, but before he could speak, Claere turned her gaze back to Cregan, her voice clearer, firmer.

"But that doesn’t imply I am not where I am meant to be."

Jace's smile faded. Her words were simple, undefined as ever, but they carried the gravity intended. It was a quiet reminder that she had chosen Winterfell, that she had chosen Cregan. And though her ways might be unconventional, she was committed to that choice.

Cregan’s expression softened slightly as he looked at her, the tension in his stance easing. Every inch of him swelled with pride at her words.

"I belong here now, Jacaerys," she declared to him.

"These people whisper at you like cravens, sister," Jace told her irately. "They have no regard for the power at your helm. Seven hells, you ride the White Dread. Yet they disparage you and hail you a witch."

"I will not have her leave her home for it," Cregan cut in sharply, his words slicing through the thickening tension.

Jace’s lips pressed into a thin line, his earlier confidence ebbing into frustration. "Home?" he repeated, the word laced with disbelief. “She is of the blood of Old Valyria. She belongs in a throne room, with her dragon soaring over Blackwater Bay—not wasting away in the most forgotten corners of the realm.”

"Wasting away?" Cregan’s voice dropped to a deadly stillness, his eyes narrowing. “She flourishes here, despite whatever Southern comforts you think she’s lost.”

Jace’s gaze sharpened, unwilling to back down. "Look at her, Stark. She's barely a shadow of—"

"Stop."

Claere’s voice cut through the rising tension, abrupt and shrill, though her tone was calm. Both men fell silent.

For a heartbeat, neither Jace nor Cregan moved, their stances locked in defiance, accusations hanging gravely in the air. The room seemed to shrink, the air charged between them as if the two men stood on the brink of war than the moment itself.

Cregan’s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening as he regarded the prince. His voice dropped to a dangerously calm whisper, more powerful in its restraint.

“You speak of power as if it is the only thing that holds this realm together. But it’s not power that keeps this castle standing. It’s hard work, loyalty, honour. Do you think strength alone carried Winterfell through the long winters and centuries?”

Jace’s eyes flicked to Claere, then back to Cregan, the frown on his face deepening. “Loyalty?" he said, his voice tinged with scepticism. "Yes. But loyalty can break as easily as ice, especially when those in the shadows do not see strength."

“They see what I choose to show them,” Cregan shot back, his voice steady, unflinching. “And they see a queen standing beside me. She is spoken for in my name. That’s all they need to know.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy as if the very stones of Winterfell had taken a breath and held it. Jace’s brow furrowed, his jaw tight as he tried to digest what Cregan said. Queen? The word hung in the air between them, a title not formally bestowed, yet it carried a deeper truth.

Jace’s gaze flicked between them—Cregan, with his unyielding confidence, and Claere, with her quiet, ethereal presence. He tried to grasp it, to make sense of how this odd, reserved sister of his had become something more in the eyes of these Northern people. For all their whispered words, all their doubts and suspicions about her, they still regarded her as something more than a mere consort. She had carved out a place here, without needing to raise a sword or a dragon in her defence. She was no longer a pawn at their mother's behest.

Jace exhaled, his hands resting on the table, his earlier edge of confrontation slipping away.

"I have only wanted what's best for her. And to my mother, it was to bring her back to Dragonstone. Live out her days as she wished, rid off calumnies." Finally, he nodded, settling into a reluctant acceptance. “Now I see... she's not alone."

Cregan’s gaze was unflinching as he spoke. “She never was.”

Jace looked between them, Cregan’s words settling over the table like a thick winter’s snow. Claere’s eyes met her brother's in a fleeting but meaningful look.

Jace, for all his formality, nodded, understanding more than words could say. "Then we place our trust in your hands, my lord, and the princess' peace of mind."

And the Stark, ever the wolf in his den, would guard her with teeth bared if need be. Cregan’s hand tightened on Claere’s, his voice low and relentless.

“You’ll leave Lady Stark in the only hands she needs.”

X

Claere stood in the doorway of Jace’s chambers, her presence barely announced by the soft scrape of her shoes on stone. In her arms, a basket, small and modest, yet unmistakably precious—the glint of warm dragon eggs nestled within.

Jace looked up from his desk, startled by the sight of her, and rose slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Sister."

“For the new princess,” she announced, her voice low, measured.

She offered the basket, her fingers lingering on the handle for a moment before retreating into the folds of her gown. Her gaze remained fixed on the gleaming eggs as if their presence alone carried the message.

Jace blinked, surprise flashing across his face before he laughed, though the sound lacked true mirth.

“Of course. You always seem to know more than most,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “No one’s spoken of the babe—not even to the Queen.”

Her lips barely moved as she responded, her tone distant, almost cryptic. “The winds carry luck and warnings alike.”

"We've named her Laena."

She inclined her head ever so slightly. “An auspicious name. May she prosper.”

Her words were curt and formal, as though there was nothing more between them than this exchange. The air between them felt colder, stretched thin by years and decisions not their own. He had always hoped for more—some kind of familiarity, some bridge between their shared past—but that hope had been dashed time and time again. The rift, born of their mother's scheming and expectations, had only deepened over the years.

“I wish you good fortune, brother,” Claere said finally, her voice flat, the words of courtesy hollow.

Jace sighed, the weight of lost years heavy on him. He had wanted to speak with her, to find some common ground, but she had always been like this—elusive, indistinct, a world apart even when she stood in the same room. Time had slipped away, and no ravens sent across the vast expanse of that distance could ever reclaim what was lost.

"Lord Stark seems quite fond of you," he tried to say, softening his tone. "I am glad you've found someone to treasure. I also hear that you crossed the Wall alone—"

"The hour grows late. I should leave you to your rest." So blunt, a blade cutting through any illusion of warmth between them.

"Claere, wait," he muttered as she turned to leave.

His sister paused, though her back remained to him, her silence stifling. She did not look at him, and yet he felt her eyes upon him, offering no solace, only the unyielding distance that had grown between them.

Jace hesitated, searching for the right words. “The throne… it’s a cage, not a crown. You know that as well as I. You don’t need it. You don’t want it.”

Claere turned, her gaze indistinct, as if she were dissecting his meaning without revealing any of her own. He took a breath, willing her to understand.

“We were born the same. But only one of us can sit up there. And you’ve never belonged in its shadow. You’re beyond it.”

The silence that followed was thicker, heavier than before. His words hung in the air, an unspoken plea for her to step aside, to yield something that, by all rights, was hers to claim.

She said nothing, but her silence screamed louder than words, and in that void, Jace felt the weight of all that had passed between them, the years lost, the closeness forsaken.

"I'm sorry, sister," he admitted, his voice a soft plea. "For all of it. I wish it did not come to this."

She raised her brows, her eyes sharp as violet shards. "Come to what?"

Jace faltered, caught off guard by the calmness of her tone, the way her words sliced through his own hesitation. He swallowed hard, searching for something to grasp onto. "This anonymity. Our own mother's ambition has turned us into strangers."

Claere's lips lifted to a bleak smile. "Our mother did not do that, Jacaerys. You did."

She stood there, her face unmoving, the silence thick between them. There was no anger in her eyes, but neither was there forgiveness. Just that same cool, detached calm. And with that, she turned and left, leaving him alone in the echo of his apology.

He stared after her, the basket of eggs still warm in his hands, and the cold truth of her departure settling like frost, realizing that whatever bridge he had hoped to build between them had crumbled long ago.

X

As night closed in, Cregan and Claere's bedroom was bathed in darkness, save for the pale glow of moonlight sloping through the windows, casting long shadows over the stone floor.

Cregan lay awake, his mind restless, replaying the tension of the evening with Jace. He’d handled it as he always did—with authority and force. But had he thought of her? Claere had said little at dinner, her quiet presence always hard to read. Yet Cregan couldn’t shake the feeling he should have asked her, should have drawn her into the conversation instead of battling it out alone.

Beside him, Claere stirred. He watched her wake from the pillows, her bare feet silent against the cold floor as she moved, a familiar routine. Her nightdress clung to her form, delicate and flowing, the pale fabric shifting with each step. She drifted toward her harp—a massive, exquisite instrument that seemed to be attached to her as much as her dragon did. He'd watched her do this countless times, slipping into her world of music as if it were the only place where she could find peace.

Cregan’s eyes followed her as she sat, the harp resting between her legs. She flicked her long, silver hair over her shoulder, tucking the loose strands behind her ear before her fingers found the strings. Each pluck sent a soft note into the air, a lulling melody filling the room, soothing and haunting all at once. Her eyes stared unseeingly at the carpet as she hummed, a low, wordless tune that rose and fell with the notes. Her fingers danced across the strings effortlessly, creating music that seemed to be born of the night itself.

She was the vision of every man’s dream—stunning, elusive. And yet, even as she sat there, calm and poised, Cregan could feel her unease, buried beneath that impassive exterior. He knew her anxieties, could sense them in the way her shoulders tensed, in the small tremor in her breath. He should have asked her, should have given her the space to speak her thoughts, to let her feelings surface.

Quietly, he pushed off the furs and moved toward her, sitting behind her on the long bench. His broad hands slid over her waist, firm yet tender, grounding her as he drew closer. Claere’s fingers continued to dance over the strings, but he felt the stillness in her body, the way her breath caught as his presence nudged against her. He straddled her from behind, thighs sweeping hers, his chin resting on her shoulder, carefully sweeping her hair aside to expose the pale curve of her neck. Soft, lazing kisses followed—his lips grazing her skin, teeth teasing in between. The touch was enough to break her concentration; her fingers faltered, missing the next note. Her humming stilled, but she didn’t pull away.

"It's as if you were made to indulge me," he murmured against her skin, the words low and warm as he kissed her ear, drawing her closer to him with every word.

A soft smile tugged at Claere’s lips. "Not long ago, this used to scare you witless."

Cregan chuckled, a low sound that rumbled against her back, his lips pressing more firmly into her cheek. “Maybe earlier,” he admitted, his breath hot against her skin, “but now. Now I think of immensely bold acts I'd like to see play out.”

His hands slid up her sides, pulling her in closer, as though she was the only thing that could still his thoughts. He pushed another kiss at the seam of her jaw, teeth sinking in to tug at it.

"Do you want it, love?" he rasped.

Her fingers idly plucked at the gold strings. "You?"

"You already have me. I meant the Iron Throne."

Claere’s fingers stilled on the harp strings, the delicate melody faltering, as though his offer had reached even the instrument.

Cregan had always been a man of ancient power, cold winds, and the endless stretches of the North—they were in his blood as much as his duty to his people. He had never wanted the games of the South, the crown’s politicking, the endless pursuit of power. All he had ever wanted was to serve his house and to care for the woman he had sworn his heart to.

But as he held Claere close, her warmth seeping into him in the quiet of the room, his mind was at war with itself. For her, he would march on King’s Landing, he would challenge any lord, any crown, if she asked it. And that thought ate at him, for it wasn’t a war he desired—it was her. Only her.

“I'd give it to you when the time comes,” he whispered again, reluctance carefully concealed. He pressed another kiss into the soft curve of her jaw, his breath heavy against her skin. “If you said it, I’d rally all the houses under my yoke, raise my banners and claim what’s rightfully yours. I'll lay all of Westeros at your feet.”

Her body tensed beneath his touch, but she said nothing at first. The silence stretched, and it unsettled him. He felt her thinking, felt her calculating in that quiet way she had. She always had a way of making him question himself without uttering a word.

“You would march south for me?” she finally asked, her voice low, like a ripple across still water.

Cregan's hands gripped her waist more firmly as he processed her quiet words. She hadn't given him a direct answer, not about the Iron Throne, not about power or the realms beyond the North. But there was something in her silence, the way her fingers had resumed their light plucking at the strings of the harp, her eyes half-lidded in thought. His heart clenched, torn between duty and desire.

His voice was a low rumble, roughened by the cold and tension. "Aye."

"Then what?" she mused.

He was evidently thrown. "You... you could have it all—power, praise. No one would ever question your place. They’d fear you, respect you. The entire realm."

She paused, her hands resting against the harp strings, but her face remained unreadable. After a moment, she tilted her head slightly, her silver hair brushing his chin.

"And what would you do then?" she asked. "Once we have seized the Red Keep, and slain my brother and his heir, would you rule by my side, or would you abandon me in that gold cage with bloodstains?"

His jaw clenched as the simplicity behind her cruel words settled.

"There must always be a Stark at Winterfell," she claimed in a mumble, her tone unyielding, almost teasing. "Would you leave me to be poisoned by the court of vipers while you return home?"

He swallowed, his throat tight. The truth of her question was too clear. The North was in his blood, a responsibility that was older than any crown. And yet, for her, he had entertained the unimaginable. He could see it in her eyes now—the depths of her meaning, the question he hadn’t fully understood.

“You fit in here, with me," she said softly, her fingers brushing over his wrist, still resting on her waist. "This is the only place I’ve ever truly felt at peace. The North may whisper against me, but it has been kinder to me than any throne ever was."

Cregan let out a slow breath, his hand sliding up to her throat. The magnitude of her words pulled at him, grounding him in a way no talk of crowns or power could. He urged her cheek against his forehead, seeking warmth in her closeness.

"Here is good," she murmured, cupping his jaw. "Here, where the cold is real and not the cruelty of men."

And for the first time since he had offered her the world, he understood the answer. It was never about gold, crowns, or kingdoms. It was about the home they had made together, in the harsh, unyielding North.

Cregan pressed a lingering kiss against the pulse of her neck as if drawing strength from the steady rhythm beneath her skin. “You’re my queen, always,” he whispered, the words no longer about crowns or thrones.

At that moment, he knew he needed no banners, no throne to claim. He had already won the greatest battle of all—he had her.

Claere's lips curved, her hand tracing the shadow of his beard.

"A queen without a crown," she murmured, more to herself, the playful glint still present. "And without subjects, save perhaps you."

He laughed deeply, the sound rumbling against her skin before he glanced at the harp resting before them. With a grin tugging at his lips, Cregan reached for it, his large frame seemed out of place with the delicate instrument, but he was undeterred.

“Or I presume,” Claere teased, her back leaning against him, feeling the warmth of his chest. "The King in the North who fancies himself a minstrel?"

Cregan plucked a string awkwardly, the sound that followed more of a discordant twang than music. He winced but smiled, undaunted.

“There’s more to me than swords and axes, you know," he pointed out. "I am quite the bard myself. Listen to this."

He cleared his throat to sing out in a low-pitched voice, fumbling with the strings and producing another off-key note. Claere listened eagerly, holding all the stars in the sky captive momentarily.

Claere, oh, sweet Claere, She plays like a queen, Every note is like a spell, And here I am, A loopy fuckin' fool, Breaking her strings Oh, she hides her laugh well!

Claere burst into laughter, hiding her face behind her hands, a rare sound that filled the hushed space between them, and Cregan looked even more pleased with her reaction than his musical attempt.

“You’ve got that laugh locked away like a prize, don’t you?”

“I don’t laugh at just anything,” she said, her voice warm but with that familiar edge of wit.

Cregan arched a brow. “I’m special then?”

"Very much."

Moving close and her hands over his, she guided his fingers to the proper strings, her touch gentle, her movements graceful. Together, entwined, they coaxed a soft, sweet melody from the harp.

Cregan barely cared for the music. His focus was entirely on her—her warmth, the way her fingers danced across his own, the rare smile that hadn’t left her lips for a long time. How wondrous would it be to be stuck here, this way, with nothing but time to keep them apart?

“I admit defeat,” he murmured, his voice low, amused. “I think the harp is yours, love.”

Claere’s smile softened as she continued to guide his hands. "A queen with a harp," she mused, her voice low and warm. "Perhaps that’s all I require."

Cregan, eyes crinkling with a smile, leaned in closer, his breath against her ear. “That, and me.”

"Perhaps..."

Claere laughed, a soft, clear sound, and kissed him, her warmth banishing any lingering tension. He moved his grinning lips with hers, holding her safe in his palms, now truly untouchable.

"I’ll settle for just you," she whispered.

X

I'm opening my inbox for asks for one-shots on Claere and Cregan! I'm not sure how that works, but I'll learn as I go :)

a question for my kind ones: if Cregan and Claere had a date night, what do you think that would look like? go as wild as you can!

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