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cherryheairt · 1 month ago

Text

If I must

Cregan x reader one-shot

angst

'his wife' never named or described

summary - Cregan is forced to choose between his wife and his child

cw- death, blood, very sensitive topic ahead

Cregan paced outside of the birthing chambers, as he had for hours now. As tradition stated, the Lord was not to be by his Lady's side. Like his father Rickon Stark, Cregan had remained steadfast in his ruling of the North and its ancient traditions. The one time he had broken tradition in his four-year rule had been the night of his wedding, when he refused the bedding ceremony to keep his wife's dignity.

However, his resolve waivered greatly with every scream from his dear wife.

When her water broke on their morning walk through the Godswood, a routine they had developed since their first moon of marriage. His wife had insisted she could do it alone, as every woman in her own family had. They had both thought it to be over fast, just as her own mother had experienced with all of her children. A mere few hours for each, and they were out, healthy as horses.

Neither had expected the difficulty nor time her own birthing experience would be. It was approaching dawn, and no word had been given about the head breaching.

Finally, when it had gotten too much for her, Cregan's wife yelled out for him. Grateful for the excuse to break the tradition, Cregan stormed into the room like a man on fire. Immediately he went to his wife's side, allowing her to clutch onto his hand and arm to steady herself.

Maester Lyson and the midwife, an older lady that had seen many births of Winterfell and its surrounding towns, protesting his entrance immediately.

"My Lord, you must stay outside—" Lyson started before being sent an icy cold glare from Cregan, shutting the old man immediately up.

"Cregan..." His wife hoarsely called out, squeezing his hand as he held it in his. Her head leaned to his shoulder immediately, though the warmth was great and she felt like overheating, she still found a small comfort in his touch.

She was a mess of sweat and tears, skin glossed from the sheen of both. Her thin shift to conceal her modesty was drenched, sticking to her skin in a way that looked most uncomfortable. But, in front of a man, she was unable to remove the annoying fabric to cool off. Even though said man was gazing directly at her most intimate parts for hours as he waited for signs of the babe.

On one side of the bed were two of her handmaidens, who fussed over their Lady with glossy and concerned eyes. At the end of the bed sat the midwife and maester, with sweat dripped from each of their brows and concern lacing their expressions.

"What is the progress?" He asked them, gritting his teeth at their helpless glances.

"The babe has not yet breached, my Lord." The Maester replied, shifting to sit up straighter.

"Still? What is the matter?" Cregan asked, soothing his wife's hair out of her face as she yelled out in pain again.

The maester and midwife shared a glance that Cregan could not appreciate. Maester Lyson stood, beckoning his Lord to the door. "If I may speak with you a moment, privately."

His wife looked up at him, tightening his grip on his forearm and shaking her head, as if she knew something he did not. "Please, don't leave Cregan." She pleaded, though barely could conceal another groan of pain.

He kissed her forehead sweetly, rubbing a thumb over the apple of her cheek. "Just one moment, I promise." He told her, following the maester anxiously outside.

Maester Lyson wrung his hands, "Lord Stark, there has been a complication that we recently found."

Cregan knitted his brows together, sternly nodding for the Maester to continue.

"We thought the opening was simply taking a while to grow, so we waited. By now, it has been at proper size for hours."

"And what does that mean?" The Lord shifted on his feet.

"The babe is stuck in the canal somewhere, sideways instead of facing forward like he should." Lyson told him.

Cregan paled, swallowing harshly. "Can...Can he be moved?"

He recalled his own mother's birth complications with his younger brother, Breton, and how the maester was able to turn him within the womb to properly face head-first instead of sideways. It was painful for his mother, he knew from sitting outside anxiously with his father and hearing the sounds from the birthing room, but it was successful in the end.

The Maester avoided his intense stare, instead finding the floor more suitable to look at. "We could, my Lord. But, it would take a long time. By then, the babe might have suffocated."

"There is no other way?" He demanded.

"There is one, my Lord Stark." Lyson said, though did not look glad at his own revelation.

"Go on." Cregan said, irritated at the hesitance of the old man.

"We could cut the belly open, to retrieve the babe before he suffocates in the womb."

Cregan sucked in a sharp breath at the words spoken delicately to him.

A forced choice.

Between his firstborn child and his beloved wife.

Both were irreplaceable in his eyes. Both were the very beings he lived and breathed for—the ones he swore to protect before his own House and the entirety of the North. He would choose them over his duty to the North as its' warden, something his ancestors would turn their noses up at hearing.

But, it was true as the compass pointed North. Cregan would have to make a choice.

"If I must choose..." Cregan swallowed harshly, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching a fist at his side. "I would choose my wife." He said, though his voice shook for perhaps the first time in many years.

Lyson looked sympathetic as he nodded, but Cregan interrupted before he could speak again.

"She will get a choice, too. I can not force that from her, nor take away her autonomy." He said firmly. Cregan lifted a hand in a 'stay' gesture, entering the hazy room once more.

"Everyone out." He demanded, watching the women in the room hesitate before slipping past Cregan to wait right outside of the door.

"What's wrong, Cregan? No one is telling me anything." His wife grit out, taking his offered hand once more instead of the splintering wood of the bed.

He took a long moment to look over his wife. A glossed over look laid heavy in his stormy eyes, admiring her even in the disgruntled state she was in.

"My love," He started, kissing her paled knuckles gently.

She looked up at him, a sudden distraught look in her eye as if she knew exactly what he would say. "No." She shook her head rapidly before he could. "I can't, Cregan, please!" She pleaded, panting after as another wave of pain hit her hard. Through a whimpering groan of agony, she sobbed into the crook of his neck.

"Can't what, sweet girl?" He asked in a soft mutter, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. She had to make the final choice. He could not force something so cruel upon her. If she wanted the babe to live on in her place, it would be something he had to accept.

Even if it meant living without her.

He desperately, selfishly perhaps, wished that she would choose herself.

"I don't want to die." She sniffled and breathed rapidly, almost panicking herself into hyperventilation.

Cregan 'shushed' her quickly, smoothing down her messed hair in an attempt to calm her from working herself up even further. "You won't. You won't." He said firmly, holding her sideways to his chest.

"Cregan," she whispered again. "I can't do it." She shook her head, hot tears wetting his tunic. "I know what they do. I've heard the tales. Our own Queen—cut open on her bed by her husband. Please, Cregan, don't make them cut me."

Cregan felt his stomach drop at the words from his wife. She thought he would do that to her? Against her wishes, just hold her down and order the babe to be cut from her stomach, though the pain would be excruciating?

"That won't happen, my heart." He kissed her temple, glancing anxiously to the chamber's door. "But, the babe will not be likely survive if we turn it." He told her slowly.

"He will!" She insisted through a muffled sob. "I know he will. It will just take more time. I need more time."

Cregan found himself lost for words. He couldn't decieve her about her own child. She had been the happiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms at the news of her pregnancy many moons ago. That first day, she immediately sent ravens to all of her closest friends and family about the good news. She got to work on making blankets and clothes, embroidering hankerchiefs with potential names, even setting up the Great Keep's nursery early for preparation.

All her hard work, all her tears of joy and discomfort, her fears of not being a good mother, would all be for naught in her eyes. Every morning when she woke and every evening before she slept she would silently whisper a prayer to whatever Gods were listening: hoping for a babe that might grow to be just like their father. The life she had cherished for so long would not live to see the day's light.

Cregan would delusion himself, too, if the situation was not in front of his eyes so clearly.

The Gods must have turned their backs on the Starks this time. Even after hearing Cregan's dutiful prayers every morning at the Weirwood tree in the Godswood, praying for his wife and future child's good health and happiness, both requests were denied.

When he had been praying daily for the health and happiness of his House for every year prior to his marriage, that request was fulfilled kindly. Why were they shunning him now? Now, in the most important event of his life?

He summoned the awaiting crowd of people back into the room. They could wait no longer, lest both lives be put more at risk.

Maester Lyson looked up at Cregan from the end of the bed, brows raised impossibly high and indenting the deep creases on his forehead even more.

"Save her." Was all he could mutter.

They immediately moved to work.

The two maids dropped down to grasp at her arm from the other side of the bed, causing his wife to jerk from his shoulder in a panic. "What are they doing?" She asked, looking between the four people in the room and then Cregan.

"They have to turn the babe." He said, shifting to hold her hand and hold her arm subtly towards the mattress. "It will hurt, but it will be swift. You will be okay, you are so strong." He focused on her directly, gently caressing the apple of her cheek and brushing tears from her skin.

She heaved raggedly, though tried to calm herself and closed her eyes tightly. "Okay, okay. It will be over soon." She whispered to herself in comfort.

Cregan nearly broke down himself, but hardened himself for her sake. "It will."

It had already been a full day of the pain. A full day of her just waiting for it all to be finished with and their babe to be in her arms. She didn't need any more, though she would have to deal with it for a while longer.

The pain would soon fade. It would only last minutes. Then, the recovery would start. No one could tell Lady Stark how long that might take. Weeks, moons, years.

The Maester, though weathered with age and grey, still carried skillful and strong hands from his days of experience. Placing them at the sides of her belly, he whispered a plea to the Gods before beginning to apply great pressure on either side in a subtle twisting motion.

Cregan winced as his wife let out a curdling cry. Her head lept forward, though she was quickly soothed down to Cregan's chest by his own hand. His other, still grasping her arm within his to steady her, shook.

After minutes of more tears, cries, and aching pain, the Maester had successfully pushed the babe to position. Panting, he sat back into his chair heavily and leaned forward again. "Push, my Lady." He urged gently.

Lady Stark took a moment to breathe carefully, grounding herself on the bed. She was beyond tired, mentally and physically. She felt as if a single push might bring her to an early grave, never to wake again. But, it had to be done. The worst was yet to be over.

The pushing part might have been the easiest for Lady Stark if she were not so exhausted and pained already. Unlike most other ladies' excruciatingly painful yet amused tales of their babe's giant heads providing a bump in the path on the birthing bed, Lady Stark's babe came quick. Though the hastiness of it did not lesson the pain of what felt like a giant pumpkin leaving her belly, it helped her to ease her own mind. The quicker the babe was out, the quicker it could breathe.

The room was dead silent after the babe was in the midwife's arms. Lady Stark laid back fully, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving up and down, face shining with exertion. It was over. She could meet her babe, and possibly even never go through that sharp blade of fear again in her lifetime, if it were a son.

"A boy, my Lord..." The Maester whispered out, barely audible though the room.

She opened her eyes, glancing up to Cregan, who held tears from falling from his eyes as he held eye contact with Lyson.

"A son." She gasped out, squeezing Cregan's hand as his head whipped down to look at her again. "You were right." She weakly smiled.

"I was, my love. You did so well. Rest, now." He commanded gently, kissing her knuckles with all the adoration in the realm. Lady Stark fell asleep quickly, allowing herself to rest after all this time. She entrusted the care of her newborn son to Lyson and Esmerelda, and Cregan of course, the three who's been loyally by her side the entire pregnancy.

🗡

Lady Stark was awakened by the soft 'click' of the chamber door. Her blinked herself awake, adjusting herself to sit more against the headboard. As she did, she winced at the feeling in her back and lower region. Taking a deep breath in, the Lady placed a soothing hand on her own stomach, a habit she gained for her time in pregnancy. Feeling the emptiness, she was reminded of the previous day.

Cregan silently planted himself at her side, looking to be in the same clothes he had been in since her labors started. Quite unlike him, she thought with amusement, their son must be keeping him busy.

"It's been nearly two days since you fell asleep. Gave us all quite a scare." He started, smiling weakly at his wife with those tired eyes of his.

Surprised, she raised a brow. "I must've been exhausted from the labors. Where's the babe, have you decided on a name yet?" She asked quickly, peering behind him as if the wet nurse might come in any second with her son in her arms.

He hummed. "Callan."

She smiled, huffing a small laugh. "That's the one I put on most of the babe's stuff." There were many that she planned, boy and girl names, but Callan had been a not-so-secret favorite of hers.

"I know, my dear."

Lady Stark frowned. "Is something wrong, husband?" She asked, wiping at a line under his eye. "You look worse for wear."

He took her hand, leaning into it and rubbing at her soft hand with his calloused one. "Rest up some more. I'll send someone in with your favorite." He said vaguely, standing from his seat and abruptly leaving the room. Lady Stark was left alone, feeling all but abandoned.

A million thoughts ran through her mind. Had her appearance changed after the birth? She'd been the one to comfort her friends whilst they cried about their husbands started favoring maidens after they provided heirs. She'd never feared the same for Cregan, he'd never gave any hinting towards such things. If anything, his hunger for her grew just as she did.

If not that, then what? Cregan was not a liar, and had never been. What he wouldn't lie about, he would simply stay quiet about. As a bowl of potato soup and soft rolls were brought into the chambers, Lady Stark found herself without an appetite even after three days of no sustenance. Weakly sitting herself fully up, she nearly cried at the feeling of pressure. Steadying herself and steeling her nerves, Lady Stark pushed through all the pain to leave the bed (that felt more like a prison by the minute) and stand to her felt. She hunched over like an old lady, clutching at her abdomen at the sharpness. It was a mistake to stand up without aid so soon, but she'd pay the consequences later. For now, she needed to see her son.

Every step felt like ten. She wabbled slightly each time, feeling as if she might tip over. The hearth and walls were her temporary crutches as she leaned against them, slowly but surely exiting the room to the Stark's family hall. Her and Cregan's chambers were just doors down, unused since she had been in the birthing room and he presumably hadn't slept.

Ahead, she found Cregan in the archway leading to the councilroom with Lyson in front of him. Neither spotted her as she leaned her full weight to the cobble wall. Lyson had a guilt-ridden look on his aged face, mostly avoiding his Lord's eyes as they spoke hushedly. She could barely make out the conversation.

"...will be fine, my Lord. As far as complicated births go, she is lucky."

"Lucky?" Cregan hissed, stepping forward. "Tell that to my wife's face. Nothing about this is fortunate, Lyson."

Lyson nodded solemnly, apologizing. "Of course, my Lord. I only meant that the Gods have blessed her with heath. She will be fine, and with some time, she will be healed enough to have another."

She almost groaned at the thought. Yes, it was her duty to provide at least an heir and perhaps a 'spare', though she hated the thought of people calling her second son a spare just because of birthing order. She would need a few years before she'd be ready for that again.

Cregan threw his arms up in frustration, running fingers through his hair. A sign of stress, one that she found he had recently been doing more since her pregnancy.

"We will not talk about her like that. Like her worth is just her womb."

"I do agree, Lord Stark. You know I do." Lyson said weakly. "But it's the people's expectation."

"My son is gone. The people can pretend to give their sympathies, but my wife cannot simply move on that swiftly. I cannot move on like that." Cregan insisted, almost sounding tearful despite present company. It was unlike him to cry, or even show any weakness at all. But Lyson had basically raised the boy since his parents passed.

Lady Stark felt that familiar pit in her stomach fall.

It had to be a lie, a falsehood from the Gods themselves. She had pushed through all the pain she was tasked with. She delivered her babe swiftly, leaving no time for him to suffocate like predicted. Callan was in the nursery.

Lady Stark turned as fast as she could, limping her way backward toward the Stark nursery. Whipping open the door, she was met with a stillness. The room was barren of any noise or life. Not even the trees outside of the window moved, not a leaf stirring. It was utterly lifeless. Moving towards the crib, Lady Stark leaned over the bassinet. The bundle of soft velvety pinks, blues, greens, and yellows lie perfectly still. Moving them, she found nothing but the sheet underneath. All kinds of names were sewn onto corners.

Aevery.

Rickon.

Aelise.

Benjamin.

Callan.

She clutched the grey-blue blanket to her chest, feeling it grow wet with her own tears. Falling to the floor, her knuckles paled at how hard she fisted the blanket.

She should have allowed it. She should have cut herself open to bring Callen out from her womb herself. She killed him. Selfishly, she picked her own menial life over that of her own son. The boy who never got to breathe a single breath outside of the womb. Never got to see the fresh powdery snow of Winterfell fall. Never felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Never got to live a day.

She was unaware of how much time had passed, if any at all, when she heard that soft and deep voice behind her. "Wife?"

She could not find a will to reply. Could not find anger at her husband for him keeping this from her, nor sorrow for her own failure. A stilling numbness surrounded her like a cocoon of protection.

"My heart." It came again, surrounding her. Arms wrapping around her from the front, encasing her further. Though she was silent, he continued to murmur. "I am so, so sorry. I wished to wait—until you recovered a bit."

Lady Stark did not yell. She did not scream or cry, nor pound her fists on his chest til he left her alone in her solitude. She sat there, lifelessly.

"Say something, please. Anything." He pleaded desperately, seperating them only to hold her face in his hands. She lifted her gaze, finding his sturdy grey eyes to be filled with wet tears. They, too, dampened the blanket.

"I miss him." She whispered. "But how can I, when I haven't even met him? When I killed him before he got his chance."

His gaze hardened, "do not ever speak such things. You did not kill our son. This is not your fault."

She stayed silent, nodding simply to please him. He sighed deeply, settling himself lamely next to her and leaning her head upon his shoulder.

"I miss him, too."

🗡

Wanted to do more with his in terms of length and fleshing out the characters but its been sitting in my drafts for so long I just needed to finish 😭

obviously this is written from the povs of the parents, post partem anything is super tough and emotional. it is in no way selfish to pick yourself or your wife over the baby. In fact, it is what I would do. the lady blaming herself for 'killing the babe' and being selfish for not killing herself to do it is purely in grief and not my real perspective on this type of thing.

Needed angst rn im sick of happy endings 😝

#cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #hotd fanfic #cregan stark #hotd #hotd angst #cregan stark angst #house of the dragon #hotd season 2

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