#of course cregan stark fell for that smile

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

Ok the Jace struggling to learn Valyrian scene will never not be dumb, it makes zero sense for Jace to not be fluent and they could have had him learning literally anything else more relevant to ruling. And the haircut is unforgiveable-

That being said, Harry Collett is adorably hilarious. Look how happy Jace is. Look at his excited 'Mum I'm learning Valyrian!' face. Look at his disappointed little shlump. He really thought he jaced it.

[seafarersdream]

The Art of Braiding (Cregan Stark x Y/N)

In the harsh, unfamiliar North, Y/N Tully struggles to understand the strange customs that surround her. One of them, however, her new husband Cregan Stark knows all too well—and he’s not above using it to his advantage. The Wolf of the North, as it turns out, has a cheeky side.

*Inspired by the braiding traditions of the Vikings

TW // Strong language and profanities, possessiveness, non-consensual restraint.

“Bloody wind,” Y/N muttered under her breath, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders as another frigid gust swept through Winterfell’s courtyard. The North had its own bite, and it wasn’t just the cold. It was in everything—the stone walls, the silence, and even the people.

Especially the people.

Especially Cregan Stark.

Her husband.

That cold bastard. Honorable, sure, but colder than the winds battering against her face.

Y/N blew a strand of hair from her eyes, resisting the urge to curse her luck again. The riverlands were nothing like this. In Riverrun, there was warmth. Rivers that didn’t freeze over in the middle of freaking summer. Men who smiled, told bawdy jokes, laughed loud enough for the gods to hear. Here, everything was different. Even the laughter, when it happened at all, felt muted by the heavy weight of the Northern sky.

But this was her life now. A wife of the North. Lady Stark. By the gods, it was still strange to hear it. She knew the match had been made for peace and alliances—marriage between a Tully and a Stark was good for the realm, or so her father had said. But no one had prepared her for the rest of it. The weather. The silences.

And Cregan himself.

He was unlike any man she had known. Rivermen were warm, boisterous. Cregan was the opposite. He was distant, cold at times, the weight of Winterfell and the North resting on his broad shoulders. But he was fair, she’d give him that. And gods be damned if he wasn’t handsome. He had that Stark look, all strong jaw and piercing eyes. If only he’d smile a little more, maybe she’d feel less like she was wed to a block of ice.

Not that he wasn’t good to her. No, Cregan was kind in his way. Gentle in the nights they shared, even if he was quieter than she liked. He was a man of few words, unlike the men of her home, who’d fill the halls with stories and laughter. Still, he made sure she had everything she needed. He listened, even when he didn’t have much to say.

But gods, she missed warmth.

The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow caught her attention, and she glanced up to see him approaching. Cregan. He walked like he owned the place—because he did, of course—but it was more than that. There was a confidence in him, a certainty in his steps. He didn’t need to announce himself. The wind, the snow, the very stones of Winterfell seemed to bend to his will.

He came up beside her, his breath clouding the cold air. “Still not used to it?” His voice was a low rumble, almost lost to the wind.

Y/N snorted, rubbing her hands together. “Used to it? It’s like a gods-damned frozen hell up here.”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “You’ll learn. In time.”

She shot him a look. “And when exactly will that be? Because I’ve been waiting for weeks, Cregan, and I’m about ready to march back to the riverlands and throw myself into the water. Ice be damned.”

His brows arched just slightly, amusement flickering in his gray eyes. “The riverlands? You wouldn’t last a day without the North, now.”

Y/N scoffed, turning to him fully. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Stark. I was born by water, not ice. I think I’d manage just fine.”

He said nothing, but the smirk returned. Silence fell between them again, but this time it was… different. More comfortable, somehow. She studied him, wondering what was going on in that head of his. He always seemed to have something weighing on him, some unspoken burden of being a leader at such a young age.

Before she could press further, he stepped closer, reaching out. Her breath caught, not because of the cold this time, but because of the unexpected closeness. His hand brushed against her hair, fingers moving with surprising gentleness.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hold still,” he murmured, focused on her hair. His fingers deftly gathered strands, working them with a skill that surprised her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, confused, but she stayed quiet, feeling the tug and pull as he braided her hair. Her pulse quickened as his fingers brushed against her skin, the sensation at odds with the chill around them. There was an intimacy in the act, in the silence that hung between them. And yet, it was just a braid.

Wasn’t it?

“There,” he said after a moment, stepping back. She reached up instinctively, fingers touching the braid he’d woven. It felt tight, but not uncomfortably so. She had no idea what to make of it. “What… is this?”

Cregan shrugged, that infuriating smirk still lingering on his lips. “Just a braid.”

“Just a braid,” she echoed, unconvinced.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable in their depths. “You’ll see.”

Y/N narrowed her gaze. “What exactly does that mean, Lord Stark?”

But Cregan was already turning, heading toward the main hall without another word. Y/N stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion. Just a braid? She huffed, shaking her head as she followed him inside. Northerners and their damn cryptic ways.

It wasn’t until they entered the hall that Y/N realized something was… off.

Eyes turned toward her. And not the usual fleeting glances. No, these were lingering, assessing stares. Several of the women whispered to each other, and a few of the men gave her respectful nods. She caught the eye of a servant who quickly dipped her head in what almost seemed like… deference?

Gods be good.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” she muttered under her breath, shooting a glare at one particularly nosy maid.

Cregan didn’t answer, his lips twitching as though he was trying very hard not to laugh. The bastard was enjoying this.

“What did you do?” she demanded, her voice sharper now.

Finally, he met her gaze, and there was that smirk again. “The braid.”

“What about the bloody braid?”

“It’s… a tradition,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the stone wall. “In the North, braids have meanings. Especially for women.”

Her stomach sank. “What kind of meaning?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “A braid like that? It tells everyone that you’re… claimed.”

Y/N blinked, feeling her face heat despite the cold. “Claimed?” she echoed, her voice rising a pitch. “By whom exactly?”

Cregan’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “By me.”

Her mouth fell open. “You—what?! You did that on purpose? You—sly, stubborn—”

His laughter was a rare, low rumble that warmed the cold space between them. “You’ll get used to it, my lady.”

“Used to it?” Y/N fumed, her cheeks burning as the reality of what he’d done sunk in. “You can’t just—ugh!” She shoved at his chest, but it was like pushing a damn wall. “This is the North, Y/N. My North,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And you are mine.”

A strange warmth bloomed in her chest, mixing with her frustration. The audacity. The nerve.

And yet…

Y/N's face burned hotter than the hearth fires in the Great Hall as Cregan’s words echoed in her ears: You are mine. Claimed. Oh, she was mortified.

She reached up, fingers fumbling to undo the braid that now seemed to burn against her scalp. “Absolutely not,” she muttered, her nails scraping against the tight weave as she tried to pull it apart. “I am not walking around Winterfell with everyone thinking—"

Before she could finish, Cregan’s hand shot out, closing around her wrist, firm but not rough. “What are you doing?”

She glared at him, teeth clenched. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m undoing this bloody braid before everyone in this hall assumes I’m some conquered—”

“You’re not,” he cut in, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. “And you won’t undo it.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the sudden command in his tone. “Excuse me?”

His eyes were intense, a storm brewing behind the calm gray. “The braid stays.”

She tried to yank her wrist out of his grip, but his hold was iron. Not painful, but resolute. “I didn’t agree to this—this.. this claiming nonsense,” she snapped, feeling a wave of embarrassment creep up her neck as she noticed more eyes turning their way.

Cregan leaned in slightly, his gaze unyielding. “In the North, it’s more than just words. It means something. You’re my wife. And you’ll wear that braid like it.”

Her heart pounded, heat flooding her chest. “I’ll wear what I damn well please—”

“Oi, Lady Stark!”

The loud shout from across the hall made Y/N freeze, her head whipping toward the source. One of the Northern men, a burly soldier with a wild grin on his face, pointed at her braid. “That’s a fine weave, my lady!” he hollered, winking.

The hall erupted into whistles, cheers, and hollers. Several of the men banged their fists on the tables, laughing and calling out words Y/N could barely make out. Some of the women were whispering behind their hands, giggling and exchanging knowing looks.

Y/N felt her face go crimson, her fingers still trapped in her hair, halfway through her attempt to undo the braid.

“Looks like the Warden’s laid his claim!” another man shouted, and more hoots followed.

Her stomach dropped. This was a nightmare. Mother save her, this is worse than a nightmare.

She tried again to pull at the braid, but Cregan’s hand didn’t budge from her wrist. “Cregan, I swear to the gods—”

His voice was maddeningly calm, but there was a cocky edge to it that made her blood boil. “You’ll leave it. And if you somehow forget, remember—we’ve got different gods, love. And mine? They’re backing me up.”

Y/N’s mouth opened to protest, but when she met his eyes, something in her faltered. He wasn’t just being possessive. There was something more there—something ancient, deep-rooted. A tradition that ran through his blood, through the very stones of Winterfell. She wasn’t just in his home. She was part of his world now.

But hell if she’d admit that to him.

“Cregan,” she hissed through clenched teeth, trying once more to yank her wrist free. “Everyone is staring!”

“And?” he asked, with that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. “Let them.”

Her eyes widened. “You—this isn’t funny! They’re hooting at me like I’m some prize at the fair!”

His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her pause. “You are no prize, Y/N,” he murmured, leaning close enough for his words to be for her ears only. “But you are mine. And in the North, we show it.”

Her breath caught at the warmth in his voice, even as her frustration grew. She had no idea what to say to that. What was she supposed to say? That she didn’t want to be claimed? That she didn’t want him? But the problem was… she did. And that was the most frustrating part.

The hall’s noise only grew louder. Some of the men had started clapping, whistling at them like they were some grand spectacle. Y/N wanted to sink into the stone floors.

“Let go of my wrist, Cregan,” she said, her voice quieter now, though it still carried her annoyance.

“Only if you stop trying to undo it,” he replied, his tone softening.

Y/N glared at him, her lips pressed into a tight line. But the heat of the stares, the teasing from the Northerners, was overwhelming. With a frustrated sigh, she dropped her hands from her hair.

“There,” she grumbled. “Now let go.”

He released her wrist, and immediately she wanted to punch him just a little bit. That cocky bastard.

“Was that so difficult?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “you’re lucky you’re my husband, or I’d throw you from the Wall.”

He leaned in, that smirk still present but softer now. “I’d like to see you try, wife.”

The word ‘wife’ sent another ripple of warmth through her, and she cursed silently under her breath. Why did it have this effect on her? And why did he have to look at her like that, with those damned Stark eyes, all cold and piercing but somehow still full of heat?

She crossed her arms, trying to hide her embarrassment under a glare. “Don’t expect me to be all smiles and sweet words because you’ve won this little battle, Stark.”

Cregan chuckled softly, his breath warm in the cold hall. “Who said I needed sweet words? You’re a Tully. I’d be disappointed if you weren’t fighting me.”

Despite herself, Y/N felt the smallest hint of a smile tug at her lips. Damn him. He knew exactly how to pull her in, even when she wanted to stay mad.

The cheers and whistles finally started to die down, though the teasing looks from the men and women of Winterfell didn’t. She sighed, looking up at Cregan. “You’re going to owe me for this.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Owe you?”

“Yes,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes. “For the embarrassment. You’ll owe me.”

Cregan grinned, his cold facade cracking just enough to show the warmth beneath. “Fair enough, wife. I’ll owe you.” He paused, a glint of mischief in his eye. “But that braid stays.”

She rolled her eyes. But a small smile tugged at her lips.

As they finally made their way to the high table, Y/N couldn’t help but glance at the braid once more. The claiming. It was still ridiculous. Still infuriating.

But gods help her… it felt good—brutishly, maddeningly good—to be claimed like this. She was going insane, because part of her didn’t mind it half as much as she pretended to.

A treacherous part of her silently hoped that Cregan would braid her hair again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the next. For as long as they both lived.

[misswynters]

Father of the realm

Cregan Stark x Wife!reader

[synopsis: You are pregnant with a babygirl, or that’s what your husband keeps saying. He truly wishes it’s a girl.

[a/n: yet another cregan fic since i can’t get enough of him.

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

Winterfell's ancient halls echoed with the sound of crackling fires and the gentle hum of activity. Outside, the snow fell softly, blanketing the courtyard in a serene layer of white. Inside, however, a different warmth filled the air. It was a warmth born of love, care, and anticipation.

You sat in your chambers, a soft, knitted blanket draped over your legs, the flickering fire casting a golden glow across the room. Your hands rested on your swollen belly, feeling the gentle movements of the life growing within you. Each flutter and kick was a reminder of the miracle you carried, and with each one, your heart swelled with love.

Cregan entered the room quietly, his footsteps almost silent on the stone floor. His eyes softened as he saw you, a tender smile playing on his lips. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice a soothing balm.

You smiled back at him, the sight of his concern warming your heart. "I'm well, Cregan. Just a bit tired."

He knelt beside you, his large hands gently cupping your belly. "Is she moving much today?" he asked, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

You laughed softly, placing your hand over his. "Yes, she's been quite active. She seems to love it when I'm near the fire."

Cregan's smile widened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your belly. "She's already got a mind of her own," he said, his voice filled with affection. "Just like her mother."

You reached out, running your fingers through his dark hair. "You really think it's a girl, don't you?"

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with certainty. "I know it is. I can feel it in my bones. Our little girl."

The joy in his voice was infectious, and you couldn't help but feel your heart flutter with happiness. "I hope you're right," you said softly. "But boy or girl, as long as they're healthy, that's all that matters."

Cregan nodded, his expression growing serious for a moment. "You're right, of course. But I can't help but dream of holding our daughter, of teaching her about the North, of watching her grow into a strong, brave woman like her mother."

Tears welled up in your eyes at his words, the depth of his love and dreams for your child touching you deeply. "She'll be so lucky to have you as her father," you whispered.

"And she'll be even luckier to have you as her mother," he replied, his voice filled with conviction. He stood up, gently helping you to your feet. "Come, let's sit by the fire. It's warmer there."

As you settled into the comfortable chair by the hearth, Cregan wrapped a thick, warm blanket around your shoulders. He sat beside you, his hand never leaving yours. "You must tell me if you're uncomfortable, or if you need anything," he said, his brow furrowed with concern.

You squeezed his hand, reassuring him. "I will, Cregan. You've been so wonderful, so attentive. I don't know what I would do without you."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "You'll never have to find out. I'm here, always."

The weeks passed, each day bringing you closer to the moment you would meet your child. Cregan's excitement grew with each passing day, his dreams of a daughter filling your conversations. He was constantly by your side, ensuring your comfort, worrying over every little thing.

One evening, as you lay in bed, the baby kicked particularly hard, making you wince. Cregan was immediately at your side, his face filled with worry. "Are you alright? Is the baby okay?"

You smiled, placing his hand where you felt the movement. "She's just making her presence known," you said with a laugh. "She must take after her father."

Cregan's eyes softened as he felt the strong kick. "She's a fighter," he said proudly. He gently rubbed your belly, his touch soothing. "Rest, my love. I'll stay here with you."

As you drifted off to sleep, you felt the warmth of his hand on your belly, his protective presence a constant comfort.

The day finally came when the midwife announced that it was time. Cregan was a bundle of nerves, his concern and excitement palpable. He stayed by your side through every contraction, his hand holding yours, his words of encouragement soothing your fears.

When the cries of your newborn filled the room, Cregan's eyes filled with tears. The midwife placed the baby in his arms, and he looked down at the tiny face, his expression one of pure love and awe. "It's a girl," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "Our little girl."

You reached out, touching the soft cheek of your daughter, tears streaming down your face. "She's perfect," you said, your heart overflowing with love.

Cregan placed the baby in your arms, his eyes never leaving yours. "You did it," he said, his voice filled with pride. "You brought her into this world. Our beautiful daughter."

As you held your baby girl, feeling the warmth and weight of her in your arms, you knew that your life had changed forever. The love you and Cregan shared had brought her into the world, and together, you would give her all the love and care she deserved.

Cregan sat beside you, his arm around your shoulders, his eyes shining with tears of joy. "Welcome to the world, little one," he whispered. "We're going to take care of you, and love you, forever."

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the love of your husband, you felt a peace and happiness unlike any other. Your family was complete, and you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, united by the unbreakable bond of love.

As winter melted into spring, the walls of Winterfell became a lively home filled with the sounds of new life. Your daughter, Lyanna, now a few months old, had quickly become the heart of the castle. Her bright blue eyes and soft giggles enchanted everyone who met her, but no one was more captivated than her father.

Cregan, the once gruff and imposing Lord of Winterfell, had transformed into a doting and protective father. He took Lyanna with him everywhere, carrying her in a specially crafted sling so she could stay close to his heart. The sight of the formidable Stark lord cradling his tiny daughter became a common one, and the people of Winterfell couldn't help but smile at the tender displays of affection.

One morning, as the sun cast its first light over the ancient walls, Cregan gently lifted Lyanna from her crib. She yawned and stretched, her tiny fists rubbing her eyes. "Good morning, my little princess," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Ready to greet the day?"

Lyanna cooed in response, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Cregan chuckled and secured her in the sling, making sure she was comfortable before heading out to start his day. You watched them from the bed, your heart swelling with love at the sight of your husband and daughter.

Cregan was true to his promise of taking her everywhere. Whether it was inspecting the walls, overseeing the training in the courtyard, or attending to matters in the great hall, Lyanna was always by his side. The castle's inhabitants quickly learned that the quickest way to their lord's favor was through a kind word or gentle gesture towards his beloved daughter.

The following day, as Cregan walked through the bustling courtyard with Lyanna nestled against his chest, he overheard a servant muttering something unkind about your family. His eyes darkened, and he turned to face the man, his voice a low growl. "If I hear another word of disrespect, I will see to it that you regret it. Do I make myself clear?"

The servant paled and stammered an apology, quickly scurrying away. Cregan's protective nature was legendary, and no one dared to cross him, especially where his wife and daughter were concerned.

As his beloved daughter grew, Cregan's bond with Lyanna followed suit. He spoiled her with gifts—beautifully crafted toys, soft blankets, and tiny dresses that made her look like a princess. But more than the material things, it was his unwavering presence and love that made Lyanna's world so full of joy.

The following afternoon, as you sat in the gardens with Lyanna on your lap, Cregan joined you, carrying a small, intricately carved wooden wolf. "Look what I have for you, little one," he said, his voice filled with excitement. He handed the toy to Lyanna, who grasped it with chubby fingers and examined it with wide-eyed wonder.

You smiled at the sight, your heart full. "You spoil her, Cregan. She'll grow up thinking the world revolves around her."

He knelt beside you, his eyes softening. "She deserves to know how much she is loved. Both of you do."

As the seasons changed, Cregan's protectiveness extended to ensuring your well-being as well. He insisted on walking with you whenever you went outside, his arm always ready to support you. He worried if you spent too much time on your feet and made sure you had everything you needed to stay comfortable and happy.

As you sat together in your chambers, Lyanna asleep in her crib, Cregan pulled you into his arms. "You and Lyanna are my everything," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I would do anything to keep you both safe and happy."

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "We are so lucky to have you, Cregan. I couldn't imagine a better father and husband."

He pressed a kiss to your hair, holding you close. "And I couldn't imagine a life without you both. You are my heart, my reason for everything."

As the months turned into years, the bond between you, Cregan, and Lyanna only grew stronger. Winterfell thrived under Cregan's leadership, and the people respected and admired the love and dedication he showed to his family. Lyanna grew up surrounded by the warmth and strength of her parents' love, knowing she was cherished beyond measure.

On a hot summer day when the sun was blazing hot, all you saw was joy as you watched Cregan and your daughter playing in the courtyard, your heart swelling with happiness. The sight of your husband chasing your giggling daughter, his laughter echoing through the air, was a testament to the life you had built together.

The sight of your husband chasing your giggling daughter, his laughter echoing through the air, was a testament to the life you had built together.

Cregan caught Lyanna and lifted her into the air, her delighted squeals filling the courtyard. "Got you, my little wolf," he said, spinning her around. He brought her close, kissing her cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

You joined them, the three of you basking in the warmth of the summer sun and the love that bound you together. "Our family," you said softly, looking at Cregan and Lyanna with pride. "Our beautiful family."

Cregan smiled, his eyes filled with the same love and devotion that had carried you through the challenges and joys of life. In the heart of Winterfell, amidst the ancient walls and the timeless snow, your love story continued to unfold. It was a story of strength, honor, and unbreakable bonds—a story that would be told for generations to come.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @travelingmypassion @shoxji @thornsandtulips @spn-obession

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hi! I hope you are well. I would like to request a Cregan Stark x reader where they’re in the early stages of marriage and are literally having sex everywhere. Like they can be in the stables checking on the horses and start getting freaky or durning dinner causing everyone to clear out of the room or during a hunting trip where they wander off but everyone knows what they’re going to do.

Request: Cregan and his horny wife getting caught. These two will bring a lot of little pups to Winterfell

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, semi-public sex, getting caught,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Whispers at court were traveling the scandalous tell-tales of Lord Stark and his new wife who, since their wedding, seemed to be unable to keep their hands off each other. In the stables, the woods near the glass gardens, Cregan's study, the east corridor and, obviously, their bedchambers. For the prosperity of Winterfell, this was great news. It meant a babe should come soon — an heir. 

For the people of the court, the employees, or anyone else who were around the Lord and his lady, it meant hearing and seeing a lot of things they did not wish.

It was mid-afternoon and you were in the stables, brushing your own horse. There were employees who were paid to care for the horses, as your husband often reminded you, but you loved doing it yourself. It helped bond with your horse. Yours was white with a gray spot on her front leg. 

Cregan had found you after watching the new men who will accompany him to the Wall this winter train in one of the courtyards. They were training hard, but they were not nearly ready enough for the long winter.

‘’There you are,’’ Cregan said, his light summer cloak over his shoulders. 

A small, light smile curved upon your lips as he approached, and you didn't look up from the brush as it continued to move over your horse's coat, running through the fine, white hairs and straightening them. ‘’You should not be surprised, I spend all my afternoons with Moonlight. She is greeted company that the ladies at court.’’ 

Cregan chuckled, aware of your dislike for the ladies at court. They weren’t terrible company, they simply bored you. Their conversations always revolved around the lords they had their eyes on and the latest gossip.

He snuck up behind you before wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder, his breath hot on your neck. Cregan lowered his head, his lips moving towards your ear. ‘’Lucky girl, taking my wife’s time and attention. Maybe I should be jealous,’’ he whispered, a playful tone in his voice.

You paused your brushing, laying your hands on Cregan’s forearms and closing your eyes, enjoying his touch. You chuckled softly. ‘’No need to be jealous. She is great company, but she cannot replace the touch of my husband.’’ You leaned back into him, feeling the heat of his body, your breath hitching as a shiver of desire coursed through you.

Cregan grinned against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. He turned you around, pressing you against the nearest wall, his hands firmly on your hips before kissing you deeply and passionately. His tongue lapped the inside of your mouth, the growing erection beneath his breeches pressing against you. A moan left your throat and the brush fell from your grip, forgotten.

You never thought you would be this obsessed with a man — and his cock. 

As the kiss carried on, you began working on the laces of his breeches. The faster you’ll get him out, the faster he’ll be inside you. 

But before you could slip your hand inside, Cregan grabbed your wrists and pinned them against the wall, his voice low. ‘’You are in such a haste today,’’ he teased, moving his hips to leave a trail of kisses along your neck, sending shivers down your spine. 

‘’Can you blame me? You were already gone when I woke this morn,’’ you replied, sounding slightly upset. 

‘’Forgive me, my love. Duties stirred me early today.’’ Cregan traveled his free hand down your body until he was able to ruck your skirts up. You shivered slightly as the cool summer air inside the stable brushed your bare cunt. ‘’I hope I can make myself forgiven.’’ He swiped his thick finger between your folds, pulling a moan out of your throat.

As the two of you were lost in each other's touch, you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps entering the stable. And the stable boy did not hear the heavy breaths coming from inside. 

He gasped and quickly covered his eyes upon discovering his lord and lady in an intimate position. The pail he was carrying slipped from his hands and fell to the ground — its contents spilling and its metallic clang echoing loudly in the stable. 

The sound snapped Cregan his bubble and he quickly retracted his hand from under your skirts, moving to shield you from the stable boy’s view, protecting his lady’s dignity. 

‘’F-forgive me, my Lord, my Lady. I did not know you were— I’ll check on the horses later.’’

—

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[entitled-fangirl]

Peculiar (P2)

Cregan Stark x seer!reader

Summary: Prince Jacaerys visits Winterfell in hopes of gaining the loyalty of the Starks for the war.

Warnings: SPOILERS KINDA

A/n: Based on an ask!!!

Peculiar P1, P 0.5

Masterlist

................................................

A persistent knock at the door of their chambers brought them out of their peaceful time together.

Cregan laid a hand on her knee next to him and looked over his shoulder to the door, "Yes?"

"The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon has arrived by dragon back, my lord," the voice spoke through the wood.

Cregan's shoulders tensed. "Has he been welcomed in?"

"We await your response, Lord Stark."

"Oh, gods," he mutters under his breath. He stood and looked to his wife as he pulled his cloak over him. "Will you be joining me?"

He noticed her hesitation, "I will not force you. It was merely a question."

She shook her head and picked at her fingers. "He most likely would not wish to see me. I'll remain here."

Cregan almost let it go, but something stopped him. "If he does not wish to see the Lady of House Stark, then he may leave. But we will not know until we find out, yes?"

She balled up her hands and began to stand, "only if you keep me near."

He grinned and pulled her to him, "There's no other place I'd want you. Now," he turned to the door. "WELCOME THE PRINCE TO WINTERFELL!"

…

Cregan soon sat at his large chair that was occasionally used for petitions. Next to him sat his wife. She stared at the ground as her nerves got the best of her. "I… I had a vision last night…"

He frowned in concern. "You did? Why did you not tell me? You should have woken me."

She shook her head and looked away.

"Tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me what it was."

"Um… well, it doesn't make much sense."

He shrugged. "I do not care. Tell me."

"Revenge will rule and sons will be lost. The heir…" her hands began to shake. "The..."

Cregan reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Take your time."

"…The dark heir will fall," she finished as she looked up at him in horror.

His brows came together. He wouldn't deny that her words sent a shiver down her spine. Usually, her visions didn't worry him too much, but this one seemed different. "What do you believe it means?"

"I fear for Jace," was all she said.

As if on cue, the doors opened, and in the doorway stood Prince Jacaerys. A stern expression was strung across his face, softening slightly at the sight of Y/n.

The last time he had seen her was when she had the Hightower name. 

He wondered if she still held loyalty to it.

Already at a disadvantage, Jace's worries spiked. The Starks were known for their honor, but that wouldn't stop the great Lord Cregan Stark from ending the war before it even began.

Jace was a great fighter, but Cregan was one of the best. "Lord Stark."

Cregan made a motion with his hand, "Come, my prince. What an honor to have you within our castle walls, even if a surprise."

Jace forced a weary smile and walked in. "I do hope you'll pardon me. A dragon is much swifter than a raven and this is urgent."

Cregan pretended to not notice the way the prince's eyes darted between the two.

"Long ago, your father swore an oath to my mother, the heir to the Iron Throne."

Cregan frowned, "I know that, my prince. Why have you come to remind me?"

Jace's voice almost cracked. "The throne has been usurped."

A silence fell over the large hall as the two Starks registered his words.

"My uncle, Aegon Targaryen has been crowned king. It was not long after the death of my grandsire."

The dark heir will fall.

Revenge will rule.

"My love, perhaps these are not matters I wish to plague your mind with." Cregan stood and offered his hand to her. "Why don't you return to our chambers and finish your reading?"

She hesitated, "But the vi-"

"-You're very near to end of the book, aren't you?"

She nodded and gave in. "Quite close." She took his hand and stood. "And you'll fetch me later?"

"Of course." He kissed the top of her head and watched her move towards the large doors. 

She paused for just a moment as she passed Jace. Their eyes met and his worry began to turn to fear. 

There was something there. She was thinking about something, he knew.

But she said nothing and walked out.

Jace wrung his hands together worriedly, "I understand that the sister of Queen Alicent has mostly likely asked you to back her nephew's claim-"

A hearty laugh erupted from Cregan. His shoulders moved with each laugh. He held a hand over his mouth and forced himself to calm down. "Forgive me. Let us walk, my prince. There's much to discuss." 

As the two moved down the corridor, Cregan leaned to him, "My wife has always favored Princess Rhaenyra… excuse me, Queen Rhaenyra. As have I."

A broad smile came over Jace's face.

…

He frowned as he looked down at their intertwined hands.

The skin around her fingers was picked to pieces. Dried blood laid around the cuticles. "I wish we could find a way to ease your worries enough to stop you from doing this to yourself."

She pulled her hand away. "I…" a soft sigh, "I'll try."

He wanted to argue, for she'd tried that before and here she was with bloody nails and a guilty conscience.

"My love, I still plan to leave in two days' time for the Wall. I am taking the prince with me. But, I hesitate. Will you be alright? I understand how the last vision was harsh."

"I've done it for a few winters now. I should be fine."

He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist. His thumb rubbed at her hip. "Truly?" He asked with a raised brow.

She nodded, "You fret too much."

He couldn't help the breathy laugh. "I can't help it. I can't sleep at night without knowing you're cared for." He reached out and grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Jace hates me."

Cregan's shoulders press back, "He does not. I swear to you."

She gave him an unconvinced look.

"I swear," he urged again. "Now, hurry or we'll be late to sup."

…

"So, Lord Stark tells me that you and your brother are close," Jace brought up as he stared down at his bowl of broth.

She hummed as she picked at her nails. "I am."

Cregan sighed and leaned forward. "She writes to her eldest brother Gwayne quite often." He opened his mouth to suggest she stay with Gwayne while he was gone, but it dawned on him that she wouldn't be safe due to the rising war.

He wouldn't leave her with a green, no matter how close they were.

"Ah, well, I can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting Ser Gwayne, but I've heard of his skill. Quite the swordsman," Jace smiled.

"Shame for the impending war. It was right time for a tourney." Cregan's frown began to grow into a smile. "You're a warrior on dragon back, my prince, but how do you fair by horse?"

Jace's brows raised. "Oh, I fair just fine. It's a cold northerner that should be frightened of dragon blood."

Cregan leaned further into the table with a smirk, "Pride will be your downfall at this rate, my prince."

Pride.

The word ran in her head like a gong, and she dropped her silverware with a loud clatter.

It was happening again.

Cregan snapped out of his stupor to look at her. He could recognize immediately what was occurring. "Fuck," he whispered to no one in particular.

Her shaky hands grabbed the opposite sleeves of her dress like iron. 

He stood and rounded the table to kneel next to her. "Stop this." When he heard the sound of the fabric tearing, his voice rose slightly, but stayed just as calm. "You're alright." He managed to pry her hands from her sleeves, but the shaking continued.

"Is she alright?" Jace asked in worry.

"A vision." That was all Cregan gave him.

Cregan wanted to curse at himself for not noticing the signs sooner. The sudden anxiety before, the paranoia, it was all making sense.

It always happened before a vision.

He grimaced in pain when her nails were pressed into his palm. "Just breathe. It'll pass."

He tried to remain strong, but the moment tears began to fall from her eyes and a whimper came from her mouth, he threw that all out.

He forcefully pulled her into his chest, the two practically slumping onto the ground as he rocked her on his lap. His strong arms caged her in. He truly didn't care what the prince thought at this point.

Eventually, it subsided, and she finally leaned away from him. He cradled her face, tilting her head up. 

His breath hitched at the tear stains and reddening of her cheeks and nose. But what really tore him apart was the horrified look in her eyes.

And when those eyes turned to Jace.

Cregan could see Jace visibly gulp as his own eyes widened. He grimaced, "Escort the prince back to his chambers."

Jace stood with his hands up, "Lord Stark-"

"-Cregan, please don't," she murmured through a shaky exhale. She gripped his cloak. "Don't let him leave."

He looked her over and moved his hands to her hair. 

"The dark heir will fall… pride w…" her voice shook. "Pride will kill them all." She sniffled at looked to Jace, "You're going to die."

"Lovely, you're scaring him. Please. You and I will speak first. The prince will go to his chambers." He looked up at a servant, who took that as invitation enough to escort Jace out.

Cregan looked at her, and his worry grew by the minute.

…

"I've decided- you're going to accompany us to the Wall."

"Must I?" She asked.

"I can't leave you here to worry. If you're with me, at least I can care for you."

…

Jace and Cregan strapped the last of their belongings to their horses before their journey as they waited for Y/n.

"And these… dreams… do they come true?" Jace asked.

Cregan shrugged. "It's difficult to say. And they're often hard to understand."

"So, it runs in the blood?" He asked curiously. "I mean, through Hightower blood. It must- with your wife and then Helaena. Do you fear it becoming evident in your future children?"

Cregan paused completely to look at the prince. "This is not a defect. It is a part of who my wife is. If having my children resemble my wife is shameful to me, then I would not have wed her. Do I look like a man that has shame, my prince?"

"No," Jace immediately covered. "No, not at all. And I know the love you have for you wife. I only meant-"

"-I understand what you meant. But know that nothing about her is shameful to me."

Cregan had a look in his eye that said his words were not to be questioned.

Y/n emerged, wrapped in a heavy cloak. She immediately went to Cregan's side. He welcomed her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Ready, lovely?"

She smiled, "I do hope so. And you, Prince Jacaerys?"

Jace grinned, "Of course, Lady Stark. And might I say that blue suits you."

She couldn't help but laugh a bit. 

Cregan gathered a broad smile, "Is she the very picture of a Stark?"

She wanted to joke with them. She really did. 

But everytime she looked Jace in the eyes, she saw his death.

And it was nearer than she had hoped.

.......................................................

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@abecerra611

[thewolvesofthenorth]

Chapter Four

Chapter Four of Man of Honor

Series Masterlist ❖ Main Masterlist ❖ House Of The Dragon Masterlist

Rating: 18+ Word Count: ~3k Summary: Cregan has a much needed conversation with Arra and Sara shares some news. Meanwhile, you contemplate what the future could hold. Warnings: Angst angst angst, language, fluff, slow burn, pining

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Cregan put his head in his hands and let out a heavy sigh.

Why must the gods torment me?

Since waking from his dream, he had sat in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Why?

He was perplexed by the images he had seen.

The words he had heard.

The feelings that had been evoked in him.

He had dreamed of you.

Of having you.

Of loving you.

But it would not be so.

Why must they taunt me in this way?

He had made a mistake, and the dream had given him a glimpse of what he could never have.

Cregan sighed again, then stood up and got dressed. As he looked out his window at the dimly lit sky, a feeling of unease filled his heart. Making his way to the stables, he noticed a dark figure crossing the courtyard toward the kitchens.

He watched as the figure stopped and slowly turned, his grey eyes meeting yours. He sucked in a breath as you turned and shook your head, hastily making your way to the kitchens where you would surely find his sister breaking fast.

Cregan watched you disappear through the doorway before turning and continuing his walk to the stables. It had been some time since he had ridden through the Wolfswood, and he felt it would do him some good. As he arrived at the stables, he spotted an unexpected figure.

Arra.

“Good morrow,” he greeted politely, approaching his horse and stroking its back.

Arra turned at the sound of his voice and smiled, patting her own horse.

“Good morrow, Lord Stark,” she replied. “I thought I was alone in being awake at such an unearthly hour.”

“I thought the same,” Cregan responded, watching her place a saddle on her horse. He walked over to his own saddle, picked it up, and ran a hand down the leather.

“May I inquire as to why?” Arra asked. Cregan turned, setting the saddle atop his horse and fastening it a bit more roughly than intended, causing the stallion to let out a huff.

“I could not sleep, and it has been too long since I’ve ridden through the Wolfswood.”

“It is unfortunate that sleep eludes you, my lord,” Arra said sincerely. “Would you be opposed to me accompanying you? It has been quite a while since we last rode together.”

Cregan inwardly cringed at her words, knowing that he had been avoiding her due to his inner conflict about you, and he had hoped that she had not noticed.

“Nothing would please me more, my lady,” he spoke with a smile. Arra returned his smile and swung her leg up to mount her horse, and Cregan did the same.

“Shall we, my lord?”

“Lead the way.”

The two rode out of Winterfell. As they crossed through the South Gate and turned toward the Wolfswood, Cregan took in a deep breath. The cold wind stinging his cheeks provided a strange sense of comfort, and he closed his eyes, savoring the near silence around them, the steady beat of hooves the only sound he heard. As they crossed the tree line into the forest, Cregan slowed his pace to a trot, and Arra fell into place beside him.

“May I speak freely?” Arra asked, her voice breaking the silence and drawing Cregan from his thoughts. He had nearly forgotten she was there and chastised himself for it.

“Of course,” he answered, turning to meet her gaze.

“What ails you?” she asked, her concern evident. “It has been some time since we last rode together. One might think you are avoiding me.” Cregan bit his lip, trying to think of an excuse that might satisfy her.

“You need not answer if you do not wish to discuss it,” she continued, sensing his discomfort. “I am merely curious. Have I done something to offend you, my lord?”

“No,” Cregan finally replied. “You have not offended me, my lady. There are just… some matters that have arisen and drawn my attention more than I anticipated.”

“I apologize for my behavior,” he added. “It was not my intent to cause you distress with my actions.” Arra shook her head at his words.

“There is no need,” she stated. “I understand that you have more pressing concerns to tend to as the Warden of the North, and you have much on your shoulders.” Cregan offered her a smile, not knowing how to respond.

She is too kind.

“However, as your betrothed, I feel I am owed an explanation regarding your behavior.”

Cregan’s throat grew dry as she spoke. She was right; they were betrothed, and he knew he should do what was right and tell her the truth, even if he wasn’t sure what that truth was. The weight of his unspoken feelings pressed heavily on him.

“I apologize, my lady,” he finally said, anxiety twisting in his stomach. “I have not been forthcoming, and as my betrothed, you should know the truth.” Cregan looked down at his hands, reins clenched tightly in his fists.

“Please know it is nothing you have done, or are lacking,” he began, uncertain how she would react. “But I have realized that another may hold my affection.”

“I see,” she replied. Cregan looked over at her as she pulled her horse to a stop. “However, we are betrothed, and it is my duty to uphold that oath.”

“Does this person know of your fondness for them? And do they return such fondness?” Cregan shook his head.

I doubt she feels anything but hate for me at the moment

More likely, she would wish to see my head on a pike.

“I do not completely understand my feelings,” he admitted, “but regardless, I do not intend to forsake my duty.”

“I do not think it fair that you set aside your feelings, my lord,” Arra responded. “If this person were to return them, would it not be more prudent to pledge yourself to them?”

“My lady, Starks do not forget their oaths. I have made mine to you, your family, and the North.” As Cregan spoke, bile rose in his throat, knowing he had already broken an oath to you. “In time, I’m sure feelings may grow between us instead.”

You are an idiot.

“Perhaps, but perhaps not,” she countered. “In any case, I would like for us to be completely honest with each other from now on. Should things change between you and whoever holds your affection, I hope you will tell me so as not to make a fool of us both.”

“Of course, my lady,” Cregan agreed, nodding.

She truly is too kind.

“I am glad to have gotten some clarity from you, my lord,” Arra said, looking up at the now fully lit sky. “Shall we return?” Cregan nodded and they nudged their horses forward to return to Winterfell.

Upon their return to Winterfell, the two parted ways—Arra heading to the Guest House and Cregan setting off to find Sara. He needed to speak with her and perhaps gain more advice, especially after the conversation he had just had with Arra.

Cregan’s first stop was the kitchens, knowing his sister loved experimenting with new recipes, but she was nowhere to be found. His next destination was the library, yet that too proved fruitless. Finally, he made his way to the Glass Gardens, where he found her tending to various fruits, carefully picking the ripe ones and placing them into her basket.

“Cregan!” Sara greeted him with a warm smile when she caught sight of her brother. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to speak with you,” he replied.

“Yes, I gathered,” she retorted, rolling her eyes at his lack of subtlety. “What is it?”

“I spoke with Arra,” he began, and Sara raised an eyebrow.

“And?”

“She asked why I have been avoiding her.”

“It seems that has become your latest talent, brother,” she quipped. Cregan shot her a glare and shook his head, refusing to let her get under his skin. “But go on.”

“I spoke of my feelings,” he admitted, “and apologized for my behavior.”

“Oh? And what feelings might those be?” Sara asked, curious of what he had told the noblewoman.

“I told her that I may hold affection for another,” he confessed.

His words took Sara by surprise.

“And what were her thoughts on the matter?”

“She was unexpectedly understanding,” he replied. “And –“

“And?”

“I did not say who it was I held feelings for, but it seems she supports them regardless,” he said.

Sara hummed thoughtfully at his admission.

“In support of your feelings?”

“Yes.”

“In what manner?”

“She said she did not think it fair for me to set aside my feelings for the sake of duty.”

“Well, she is not mistaken.”

“Do you think I don’t know this?”

“No, but you have been quite stupid as of late,” Sara responded. “And you have also made it abundantly clear that you will chose duty above all else.”

“I know,” Cregan said softly. “And now I am unsure of what to do.”

“What is it you mean?”

“I have a duty to uphold, but I also cannot deny what my heart feels.”

“Best you come to a decision on that, and soon,” Sara warned.

“For what reason?”

“For the reason that she may be thinking of her future,” his sister spoke, “one with someone else. One without you.”

Cregan’s heart clenched at what his sister’s warning.

Could it be?

Were you truly considering marriage to another?

You absently stared at the ceiling as hot water swirled around you, licking your skin with its heat. After your conversation with Sara, you had gone to the library to reflect on she had said and began to write a list of suitors who had made their intentions known to you over the years. The more you wrote, the more daunting the idea of finding a husband and leaving Winterfell became. You compiled over a dozen names, many of them belonging to men you had never met, much less heard of, though a few familiar ones stood out.

Manderly.

Bracken.

Lannister.

Glover.

Blackwood.

Dustin.

Royce.

Baratheon.

Mooton.

Bolton.

Hightower.

Tully.

Arryn.

Tyrell.

Frey.

Reed.

Hornwood.

Cerwyn.

The last one piqued your interest. Over the years, you hadn’t paid much attention to who your suitors were, often brushing them off without even looking at their names. So, seeing the name of Cregan’s best friend on your list struck you as strange, though not entirely out of the realm of possibility. After all, the three of you had grown up together, with Castle Cerwyn only half a day’s ride from Winterfell, and you were all around the same age.

You were certain that Lord Cerwyn faced just as much pressure as Cregan when it came to marriage and producing an heir, so it shouldn’t have surprised you that he might consider you as a match. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel confused, given that he was well aware of your predicament regarding Cregan.

You bit your lip, recalling the last time you’d seen Lord Cerwyn and the conversation that followed. It had been several moons ago, when he came to join Cregan on a hunt. By then, Arra had been in Winterfell for some time, and Cregan spent all his time with her, prompting you to keep your distance. Still, you had run into Lord Cerwyn in the kennels on the morning of the hunt, and the two of you had spoken about why he hadn’t seen you around as often.

- FLASHBACK -

The crunching of footsteps pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see Lord Cerwyn entering the kennels, a surprised expression crossing his face as he took in the sight of you sitting on the ground, the head of a large hound resting in your lap.

“My lady,” he greeted, bowing his head politely. “I did not expect to find you here. And at this hour.”

“I often come here to think. Either here or the godswood,” you replied with a small smile. “It has been some time since we last saw each other, Lord Cerwyn.”

“Indeed, it has,” he agreed. “How do you fare?”

Unsure how to answer, you drew in a breath and looked down at your hands, running your fingers over the hound’s ears to maintain your composure.

“I have seen better days,” you admitted with a sigh. “And you?”

“I’ve been well,” he replied, noticing the shift in your demeanor. “What troubles you?”

“Nothing of importance,” you deflected. You knew each other well enough to recognize when the other was lying, so you tried to dodge his questioning—especially since he was Cregan’s best friend.

“My lady, we’ve been friends since we were children. Please, don’t lie to me,” he insisted, sitting beside you on the ground. “Does it have anything to do with your absence around Winterfell?”

Damn.

You groaned, turning to look at him. “Nothing eludes you, does it?”

“Few things do. Now, tell me, are you avoiding a certain nobleman?”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” you snapped a little too quickly.

“Ah, so you are,” he retorted with a chuckle. “And does this nobleman happen to be tall, with dark hair and strikingly good looks?”

“I’m not avoiding you if that is what you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t talking about me, my lady. Though it does warm the heart to know you find me so handsome.”

“Shut up,” you bit back, rolling your eyes at your friend’s teasing. You knew exactly who he meant, and he knew that too.

“I only jest,” he said with a grin. “But it seems you’re avoiding our dear Lord of Winterfell. Now, why would that be?”

“I already told you—I’m not avoiding anyone.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie.”

“It’s not.”

“Then why haven’t I seen you and Cregan together? Not once have I seen you around him. In fact, you always seem to vanish whenever he appears.” You silently scratched the dog’s ear in response.

“Does a Lady Norrey have something to do with it?”

“No,” you mumbled, and he nudged your shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

“It does not matter.”

“It does.”

“I – I don’t – I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered, gently pushing the hound’s head off your lap. Lord Cerwyn placed a hand over yours and gave it a light squeeze.

“I know.”

“What?”

“I know,” he repeated. “About your feelings.”

“I don’t know what you mea – “

“I know how you feel about Cregan,” he said. “I know you love him.”

“I don’t,” you huffed.

“You do,” he insisted. “Everyone sees it.”

“No, they don’t,” you argued. “Because it’s not true.”

“Yes, it is, and yes, they do.”

“I don’t lo –“

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted. “And please don’t lie to yourself.” You glared at him.

“I’m not lying to myself,” you growled.

“Yes, you are,” he said, chastising you. “We both know it.”

You crossed your arms and let out a frustrated huff.

“Fine,” you conceded. “But it means nothing.”

Lord Cerwyn shook his head.

“It does to you.”

“Yes, well,” you said, standing and brushing dirt from your clothes, “it doesn’t mean anything to him. And nothing can be done about it.”

“You don’t know that,” your friend countered, rising to his feet.

“Yes, I do,” you replied with a hint of annoyance. “If it mattered to him, he wouldn’t have pledged himself to her.” Before he could respond, a stableboy appeared at the entrance of the kennels, pausing when he saw you and the young lord.

“Apologies, my lord, my lady,” he said. “Lord Stark asked me to fetch the hounds for the hunt. My lord, your horse is also saddled and waiting at the gate.”

Lord Cerwyn nodded, and the two of you left the kennels as the stableboy went to gather the hounds. Once outside, you stopped and turned to your companion.

“Lord Cerwyn, it was a good to see you,” you said, “I pray that your hunt is successful.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he replied, leaning in to place a light kiss on your cheek. “Until next time.”

You gave him a smile before turning toward the library, his gaze lingering on you as he headed in the opposite direction toward Hunter’s Gate, where his horse awaited.

- END FLASHBACK -

If you had glanced behind you that day, you would have seen Cregan sitting astride his horse by the gate, waiting for his friend.

If you had taken a moment to turn and look, you would have caught Cerwyn smirking as he watched his best friend watching you, a glint of jealousy in the Warden’s eyes.

You sighed, absentmindedly dipping your fingers into the water as you reflected on the memory—and on Cerwyn’s name appearing among the suitors on your list.

There could be worse choices.

Like a Lannister.

Or a Bolton.

Besides, Cerwyn and I already know each other.

And he knows how I feel about Cregan.

So why would he want to court me?

Then again, it might not be so bad.

Maybe I could even grow to love him one day.

But how would Cregan feel?

You groaned; even when thinking of your future with another man, you still thought of Cregan and his feelings.

Fuck his feelings.

Like Sara said, I need to start thinking about myself.

You shook your head and stood up, grabbing your robe as you stepped out of the water. Retrieving a hairbrush, you padded over to a chair by the fire, took a seat, and began to brush your hair.

At least I have some time before I have to make a decision.

Little did you know, the next few months would hold more changes than you anticipated.

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

[darkficlord69]

Fire & Ice

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Jacaerys Velaryon

Warning: tastefully depicted smut (18+)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: When fire meets ice, the very walls of Winterfell seem to tremble. But is the wolf a worthy match for the dragon?

Jacaerys Velaryon sat beneath the sprawling canopy of the godswood, a single white flower caught between his slender fingers. He plucked its petals one by one, watching them drift down to the withered grass like fallen snow. A sigh escaped his lips, soft as the summer breeze, and his fingers, adorned with silver rings fashioned in the shape of dragons' scaly tails, stilled when a bee landed upon his pink nipple. He dared not move, resembling a statue of marble, all sharp curves and delicate lines, carved by a true master’s hand. He held his breath until the bee took flight, then allowed a small smile to break across his face as he prepared to rise.

But then, a shadow fell over him, long and imposing, blotting out the sun. Jacaerys looked up, squinting against the sudden darkness.

"Good day, my prince," came a husky voice, roughened by the chill of the North.

"You too, Cregan," Jacaerys replied mildly, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he feared to break the stillness of the godswood.

"The lords of the war council request your presence in the solar," Cregan Stark said. "I had hoped you would care to join us."

Jacaerys let his gaze wander over Stark’s solid frame, taking in the man’s sturdy build. Those legs, long and strong beneath plain woolen breeches; that broad heavy chest hidden beneath layers of soft furs and leather; his hair, brown as autumn leaves, and his hard eyes, grey as winter’s ice—eyes that could thaw even the heart of a dragonlord.

He was lost in girlish thoughts, caught up in the rugged beauty of the Stark, when a soft throaty cough brought him back to himself. Cregan extended a gloved hand.

"Of course, my lord," Jacaerys said, taking the offered hand and letting Cregan pull him to his feet. "Anything you need."

***

The great hall of Winterfell rang with voices of discontent. Lord Umber’s booming shout rose above the rest, his face as red as his hair. “Straining our armies will only increase the risk of wildling attacks!” The room responded with a chorus of grunts and murmurs of approval. “Southron skirmishes are no concern of ours, I say!”

Lord Manderly, heavyset and lounging in his chair, responded in a bored drawl. “The South is as much a part of the Seven Kingdoms as the North. Sooner or later, one king or queen will force us to choose a side.”

“The Iron Throne will not look kindly upon our allegiance to Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Lord Hornwood intoned. Cregan Stark, seated at the head of the long oak table, had listened to enough prattle to make his head throb in annoyance. With a resounding thud, he slammed his large hands on the oak table, sending goblets rattling and silencing his bannermen. A sombre heaviness fell over the room, thick as the northern snows. The Warden of the North took a breath, his grey eyes hard and unyielding.

“We pledged our support to King Viserys’s heir long ago,” he said, his voice stern. “Never has a Stark broken his word, and I do not intend to be the first. Remember where your loyalties lie, my lords.”

With those words, dark and final as the grave, Cregan rose from the table, his wolfskin cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. Jacaerys Velaryon followed, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Once they were alone in the dim corridor of the Great Keep, Jacaerys’s mask of composure slipped, revealing the warmth beneath. “Cregan,” he said softly, his voice filled with genuine gratitude, “thank you.” The support of the North meant that his mother would be one step closer to claiming her birthright.

Cregan gave a curt nod, intent on heading to his chambers. But before he could take another step, he felt a firm yet gentle push, his back pressing against the cold stone of a column.

“Now let me show you how a dragon expresses his gratitude,” the prince murmured, a teasing grin curling his full, pouty lips. The words hung in the cold, still air, filled with a heat that made Cregan's blood pulse faster. Jacaerys moved with a lithe grace, every step a promise, every movement a dance of seduction.

Slowly, Jacaerys knelt before the Stark lord, his hands gliding up Cregan’s strong thighs. His touch was featherlight, just a whisper of fingers trailing over thick wool and leather, but it was enough to make Cregan’s breath catch in his throat. The prince’s eyes were dark, glimmering with mischief and desire, his expression one of pure intent as he let his fingers dance along the inside of Cregan's legs, feeling the muscles tense under his touch.

Cregan’s heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, insistent rhythm that matched the stirring in his loins. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling into fists as he fought the urge to pull Jacaerys up, to crush their mouths together in a desperate kiss. But he held back, held still, mesmerized by the sight of the prince at his knees, those nimble hands tracing patterns on his skin.

Jacaerys’s fingers found the edge of Cregan’s tunic, slipping beneath it, brushing against warm hair-covered flesh. The touch sent a shiver up Cregan’s spine, his breath hissing out between his teeth. Jacaerys looked up at him, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted slightly, his breath warm against Cregan’s thigh.

The prince leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Cregan’s leg, just above the knee. Cregan’s muscles tensed beneath the tender touch, his fingers twitching with the need to reach out, to bury them in the dark waves of Jacaerys’s hair. He watched, entranced, as Jacaerys continued his slow, torturous journey, his lips brushing lightly up the inside of Cregan’s thigh, each kiss a spark, each touch a flame.

The wolf stirred within Cregan, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he felt the heat of Jacaerys’s mouth moving higher. His desire, coiled tight like a spring, grew with every brush of those lips, every teasing touch. He felt himself harden, the ache of want becoming almost unbearable.

Jacaerys’s smirk widened as he felt the evidence of Cregan’s arousal beneath his hands. He looked up again, his eyes meeting Cregan’s, holding his gaze as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just below Cregan’s hip. Cregan’s breath came out in a harsh exhale, his control slipping, his need overtaking him.

With a growl, Cregan reached down, his hands tangling in Jacaerys’s hair, pulling the prince up with a rough urgency. Their lips crashed together, the kiss fierce and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a frantic dance. It was a kiss that spoke of hunger, of a desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long, finally unleashed.

Jacaerys responded with equal fervor, his hands gripping Cregan’s shoulders, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle. The prince’s lips were soft but insistent, demanding and giving all at once. Cregan could taste the heat of him, could feel the fire that burned beneath his skin, and he met it with his own cold fury, his own wild, untamed desire.

Their mouths moved together, each kiss deeper, more intense than the last, as if they were trying to consume each other, to fuse together through sheer will. Cregan’s hands moved down, grasping Jacaerys’s waist, pulling him closer still, until there was no space between them, until they were one, bound together by the force of their need.

His lips left Cregan’s mouth, trailing down his jaw, his neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat. Cregan tipped his head back, a groan rumbling in his chest as Jacaerys found a sensitive spot, sucking gently, teeth grazing over skin.

The prince’s hands moved lower, finding hard planes of muscle, scars that marked his furry skin. He traced them with his fingertips, memorizing the shape of them, the feel of them, each one a testament to the man before him, to the strength and the honor that he embodied.

Cregan’s hands moved to Jacaerys’s waist, fingers digging into the prince’s hips as he pulled him impossibly closer, grinding against him, feeling the heat of his arousal through the layers of fabric. Jacaerys gasped, his head falling back, his eyes fluttering closed as pleasure coursed through him, his body arching into Cregan’s touch.

They moved together, lips meeting again in a fierce kiss, hands exploring, claiming, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The wolf and the dragon, fire and ice, together in the dark, bound by a passion that neither could deny. And in that moment, they were lost to the world, to the weight of their titles and the burdens of their duties, lost to everything but each other.Jacaerys gasped, his fingers tangling in Cregan’s thick, dark hair as he pressed ever closer, his body melting against the northerner’s like ice before a flame. Cregan’s lips moved to Jacaerys’s neck, finding the pulse there and biting down just hard enough to make the prince hiss in pleasure.

“More,” Jacaerys demanded, his voice breathless, his eyes half-lidded with desire. “Show me how fierce the wolf can be.”

Cregan needed no further invitation. He lifted Jacaerys effortlessly, the prince’s legs wrapping around his waist as it was Cregan’s turn to press him against the wall. The cold stone was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, but neither of them noticed. Their world had narrowed to this moment, to the taste of each other’s mouths and the feel of their skin.

They were fire and ice, light and shadow, opposites drawn together by a force neither of them could fully understand but neither wanted to fight. Here, in the shadows of the keep, they were free of the burdens of their titles and the weight of their responsibilities. Here, they were just two dandy men, lost in the madness of each other.

Cregan’s hands found the laces of Jacaerys’s lacy smallclothes and pulled, the fabric sliding down the prince’s hips and pooling at his feet. Jacaerys shivered at the sensation, his hands gripping Cregan’s shoulders as the northern lord knelt before him.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Cregan looked up, his eyes meeting Jacaerys’s, asking a question without words. Jacaerys nodded, a silent answer, a trust given and accepted.

“Stay still now, woman,” Stark commanded and Jace whimpered at the order.

Then, Cregan’s lips were on him, hot and wet and hungry, and Jacaerys gasped, his head falling back against the stone. The world narrowed to that single point of contact, to the heat of Cregan’s mouth and the rough scrape of his beard against sensitive skin.

Jacaerys’s breath came in ragged gasps, his hands fisting in Cregan’s hair as pleasure coursed through him, building and building until he thought he might shatter from it. And then, with a cry that echoed off the walls of Winterfell, he did, his body tensing, his back arching, and then collapsing against the stone, boneless and sated.

Cregan rose, his lips curved in a small, satisfied smile as he pulled Jace into his arms, holding him close as the prince caught his breath. They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the only sound their breathing, the only warmth the heat of their bodies.

Finally, Jacaerys pulled back, his eyes bright, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “Well, Lord Stark,” he murmured, “I must say, your loyalty has its rewards.”

Cregan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a thrill through Jacaerys’s already sated body. “And you, Prince Jacaerys, are a demanding wench.”

Jacaerys leaned in, his lips brushing against Cregan’s ear as he whispered, “Only because I know you can handle me, oh Wolf of Winterfell.”

Cregan’s grin widened, his eyes darkening with promise. “Then you’ll have to show me again, you feisty dragonling,” he said, his voice a low growl.

Jacaerys laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the corridor. “Oh, I intend to, Cregan Stark. Many times over.”

And with that, they slipped away into the shadows, leaving only the faint echo of their laughter and the lingering warmth of their passion behind them.

End.

Hi! Hope you liked it 🥰 Any form of feedback is greatly appreciated! 🫶

[damn-stark]

Chapter 23 Mother I’m tired

Chapter 23 of Moonlight

A/N- Daemon you big softy

Warning- swearing, some violence, talks of pregnancy and blood, angst!!, fluff!!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

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

Episode/Pages- 463-465

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“Dear Princess,

I hope this finds you well.

Well, actually, I hope this finds you at all—

You scoff in amusement and muster a faint smile.

—We're separated by two different sides of this war so I find writing to you quite difficult, but if you ever find yourself back with your mother you’ll read this and know that you’re on my mind with every step I take throughout this relentless war.

The truth is I want rid of you. You are a married woman and no matter how much I desire the death of your perfect husband, life is cruel and may spit in the face of my desires. It already stomped on it when you had to leave to marry him, so it may pierce its hateful blade in my heart and hurt me even more so.

Alas even if I know I’m in world pain clinging onto a fragment of hope that fate will unite us for the rest of our lives, I still hope. I still wait for any word from you, or about you like a hopeless fool. Which is why when I got the message you sent with the brother from the Night’s Watch, my breath got caught. I’m gladdened by the fact that you’re doing okay, I hope it is true, words from the mouths of others can only assure me so much, and I know you too, I know the mask you put on in front of the masses.

Then again I suppose it’s necessary for people like us, now more than ever, but that is why I hope that you continue to be okay. Or really as okay as one can be after losing so much.

I am sorry, darling. My heart and my thoughts are with you. I know how much you loved your brother. He was a great and honorable man—

No matter how much you wanted to hold back, tears break out of your eyes and pour down your face, staining the silks that cover your pillows. Tears that come from a deep and great sorrow that you have refused to feel since Jacaerys death, but bombard you now over old words from a man you adore. Because of course he out of everyone you know can break the shell that shielded you from feeling deep and heavy grief that you didn’t want to feel.

And why would you want to feel it? You had already endured so much pain, why would you want to deal with a much greater one? One you could possibly never recover from?

But he made you feel it. Him, and being back with your family made you feel all the hurt.

Ever since you’ve stepped foot in King’s Landing all you have felt is a great and paralyzing depression. Ever since you fell into bed it seems like you can’t will yourself to get out of it, or will yourself to get even a short nap. You’re just awake staring at the ceiling thinking about who you lost and who you love. It’s as if being with Aemond, being away from all that reminds you of who you can’t see anymore helped you avoid the pain, but now that you’re away from Aemond and away from any excuse to distract yourself, the pain has increased tenfold.

It makes you want to stop reading the letter to at least avoid feeling a sliver of pain even though you have already been hit with stormy wave after stormy wave with no clearing in sight.

Then again how can you stop mid-way when he took time to write to you and took a risk for him and yourself?

—He did not deserve the fate he got. He deserved a good and long life, I believe that and I am sorry he didn’t get it. I’m sorry you had to watch him take his last breath, but then again I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else by his side. He loved you, I saw that. He cared deeply for you, I saw that too. Jacaerys loved you, I hope you know that darling.

Just like I hope you know that I wish I could relate to your pain, it would make your suffering a little less, but I can’t even fathom your pain. Even still I want to try, please let me try. Don't isolate yourself, please. If not me, confide in someone else, I just don’t wish you to be alone, okay?

With that said I do hope you keep making a name for yourself, My Princess.

I hope that fate puts us on the same side so we can fight side by side, that would be the greatest honor of my life.

Until then, or until we win this war.

Cregan.”

More tears stream down the curve of your cheeks, tears that bring out sob after sob and choke you up until you have to bring yourself to a stop to catch your breath.

After that, when you can find a way to stop, you stay in bed and Vanessa lets you, giving you space to wallow in your sorrow even though she worries. She tries to get you to eat, but a bite is all you take, choosing instead to lay back in bed with the balcony door and every window open, welcoming in the brisk autumn air that blows the curtains inwards and only makes you snuggle deeper in your blankets as the flowing curtains blow in all around you.

Vanessa thought the letter from Cregan would lift your spirits, but it only worked to sink you deeper, to the point she feels helpless on how to help you at least get up and get dressed or to at least go visit Helaena since she oftentimes finds a way to make you smile without as much as trying.

She almost finds herself thinking that Aemond is the solution. Yet even if he is, he could never join your side to console you, so she has to make your mother your solution. She needs you to make up because it’s something she knows you both desperately need. After all, she’s seen how much your mother has missed you, and she oftentimes finds her carrying one of your rings, or an object that reminds her of you since she doesn’t have you. So she knows you both need each other more than you both can say with words or simple aching looks.

Nevertheless, just as she tries to leave the room to go find the Queen, a knock raps on the door, piquing your interest.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and push yourself to sit up as the visitor opens the door and reveals that it’s Rhaena and Baela.

“Cousin…” Baela’s greeting trails off as she sees you still in your nightgown. “You missed breakfast,” she says so slowly as she shares a worried glance with Rhaena that you miss since your attention drifts to Ser Jason.

“Ser please come in,” you order, making him stiffen and look at Vanessa with confusion before he very slowly and awkwardly makes his way inside whilst you finally get out of bed.

“It's cold in here,” Rhaena points out as she studies you and is quicker to make out why you’re caught under such a gloomy spell. “Let me close the windows and the balcony door.”

You pass her a mindless hum and meet Ser Jason halfway to study his neck right away, finding the bruises Aemond left him less prominent, but still marked on his skin.

“How’s your head?” You ask as you let your fingers hover over the bruise, causing him to swallow back nervously.

“Uh, I-it’s fine,” he stammers as his eyes are glued to you. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Spending my time in the cell at Harrenhal let me heal without strain.”

You meet his gaze with concern and let your hand fall on his shoulder, which he follows and keeps watching.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him softly. “He…” you trail off and can’t find it in yourself to say that Aemond didn’t mean to because deep inside you know he did. You can’t defend what he did. “He hurt you, and I know that you’re going to say it means nothing, but you are my sworn protector, not his. He shouldn’t have treated you like that, I’m sorry.”

Ser Jason quickly parts his lips but just as he draws in a breath to retort, he doesn’t, instead he drops his gaze and says, “thank you.”

He then proceeds to lift his gaze to your belly and frowns. “Are you alright? Alys said you had a scrape on your side.”

You breathe out deeply and nod. “I’m fine. It was just a stumble.”

“You fell?” Baela blurts, bringing a tense silence to the room that you don’t fill and don’t want Ser Jason to fill, but alas, he does.

“Prince Aemond pushed her.”

You shoot him a threatening glare, but he doesn’t falter. He’s proud.

“He did what?” Rhaena snaps and steps forward. “When? Why?”

“Is that why you left?” Baela bounces off her sister.

“You said you caught yourself on something,” Vanessa also adds her two cents, making you clench your jaw before you rebuttal.

“It was an accident,” you defend yourself but Baela cuts in.

“That’s what they all say. Where is he?”

You shake your head and quickly interject. “No, it was. Harrenhal…has a way of playing tricks on one’s mind. He wasn’t himself. He would never hurt me. Never.”

Baela scoffs and rolls her eyes and just before she can argue Rhaena clutches onto her arm and gives her a warning squeeze that makes her keep her mouth shut.

“I’m fine,” you assure all three women. “And the twins are fine, so please leave it be.”

Baela draws in a breath to argue, but alas Rhaena forces her to stay quiet, letting you return your attention to Ser Jason.

“If you need it, rest, alright?” You cut the conversation short since he found a way to annoy you. “Thank you, Ser.”

He bows his head and turns around on his heels to walk off, making Vanessa do the same to leave you be with your cousins. Yet once you are alone you ruminate in a tense silence that no one can find a way to break.

You all get closer to each other but the silence lingers and mingles for a while until Rhaena is the first one to break the silence. “Are you okay?” She directs at you.

You spare her a glance and nod. “Yes, I am. It was just a scrape.”

“No,” she quickly counters. “I mean are you okay?”

There’s no need for clarification, you realize she’s referring to the puffy eyes, the nightgown you still sport, the unmade bed, and the untouched breakfast Vanessa left in hopes you would finish.

“I,” your voice trembles. “I will be. I think. I just…I miss Jacaerys,” you let yourself say out loud for the first time, causing tears to well up in your eyes and start to sting in both Baela and Rhaena’s eyes since they too feel the same way—“I really miss my brother,” you add with a quiver in your voice, making Baela nod softly before she interjects with a crack in her voice.

“Me too.”

You meet her gaze and hold it, finding the same grief in her eyes and in the eyes of Rhaena.

You all share the same grief and now that you all know and see that you all feel the same way, you mindlessly come together and embrace, finding a sense of relief in your shared grief, in the shared tears you all shed, in the warmth of your embrace, and in your beating hearts thumping in sync against each other.

For so long the grief you held was shoved back. You were more mad than sad for so long, and even if you had wanted to be sad one day, you would have cried by yourself when you wanted to be comforted because Aemond would never get it. He hated your brothers, he hated what and who they were. He would have hugged you if you asked, he would kiss your head and rub your back, but you wouldn’t share the grief you share with the girls now. You would have grieved alone in the arms of the man you loved while he probably thought Jacaerys death was good riddance.

Not Baela or Rhaena though. You all understand each other and genuinely comfort each other in the silence that stays until you break it with a question you can’t hold back. “You’re not mad at me, are you? For leaving?”

You would ask if they’re mad at what you’ve done to House Strong and to support Aemond, but you wouldn’t care if they were because it’s not something that you give any doubting thought to. It happened and it’s in the past. All you care about is if they’re still mad that you left.

“No,” Rhaena reassures you, and then Baela adds her own thoughts.

“Not anymore.”

You chuckle softly and pull away to share a very faint but relieved smile. “I’m happy to be with you two again.”

Rhaena grabs your shoulder and offers you a much sweeter smile. “I’m happy you’re back where you belong too.”

Baela hums in agreement before her smile widens. “Why don’t we help you get ready for the day, hm? Get you out of your nightgown so you may feel better.”

You scoff but can’t help but let them do what they please, finding yourself enjoying the moment. It’s like a clearing in the dark storm, especially when Aerion is brought to you and joins you and the girls.

Yet a small clearing is all it is, a beam of light that breaks through the dark clouds but doesn’t rid the storm. The storm still swirls and keeps your mind and spirit dim. You still want to sulk in your bed and not do a single thing, but alas you’re distracted and thankful for it.

A part of you forgets the war happening past the city. You’re making a sweet memory with your cousins and live in the obliviousness for a short moment until the door opens and your mother walks in, bringing in the reminder of the travesty of war.

“Ma!” Aerion exclaims and grins as he points at your mother making her way into the room. “Ma!”

Your lips twitch to a smile at the reaction your son gives your mother, and you can’t help but press a gentle kiss on the back of his head before you look at your mother with a fading smile and growing concern.

“Your Grace,” Rhaena, Baela, and you greet your mother, bringing a short smile to her face before she directs her attention at just you.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she interjects as she comes to a stop a few feet before you.

“No, we’re done,” Baela responds. “We wanted to braid her hair but we left it for later so we didn’t take up her entire day.”

Your mother hums in comprehension and lets out a deep breath before she continues. “Then I hope you don’t mind that I steal the princess from your company.”

“Of course not,” Rhaena doesn’t hesitate, bringing an awkward smile to your lips—“I can take Aerion,” she adds and doesn’t linger back before she walks over and takes your son from you. Which he doesn’t mind, he goes willingly and passes your mother a happy smile.

“We’ll see you later,” Baela directs at you and then turns to your mother to curtsy before she follows Rhaena out, leaving you and your mother alone in your chambers that is riddled with a very deafening silence that neither of you know how to break. Should you linger in the silence until the tension leaves? Or just break it altogether?

What should you say first?

There’s so much you need to say—

“You look well in silver and black,” your mother breaks the silence, drifting your gaze to her and then back to your gown to stroke over the wrinkles.

“Thank you,” you respond softly and blink to slowly look back up at her, finding one of your rings attached to a gold necklace around her neck but not daring to comment on it.

“Could you accompany me to where we keep Balerion’s skull?” She finally starts to clue you in as to why she’s here, making you nod softly in agreement before following her out of your chambers and toward your destination, ending up in another deafening silence that lasts longer than before.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let Alicent see Aerion every day at dinner time,” your mother brings up, answering that certain question that you had in mind. “She requested spending time with him and she’s behaved so I let her. I hope that’s alright with you.”

You quickly respond with a nod and then follow up with a reassuring response. “Of course, that’s fine, after all, she’s also his grandmother and regardless of how she’s behaved with me she does treat him well and loves him. Besides, he loves her to bits, so I know he loves spending his time with her.”

Your mother scoffs. “That’s perhaps one of the only redeemable things about her,” she adds. “She loves her grandchildren and seems to treat them far better than she does her children.”

You hum and add an agreeing statement. “Yes, I agree.”

Silence follows after that and accompanies you the entire way to where Balerion’s skull is kept. Even when you come to a stop before the skull of the great dragon, the silence lingers with neither of you knowing what to say first. You just watch the flames dancing on the candles that surround the skull until a candle sitting in front of you dies, letting the smoke rise in an attempt to touch the high ceiling.

“Is it true that you are immune to fire?” Your mother finally asks something she’s been anticipating asking since the first whisper was heard.

“Uh, yes,” you give her a clear answer and avert your gaze. “I…didn’t mean to keep it a secret, I just…wanted to know what I was exactly before I told anyone.”

“The books,” your mother whispers as she shares the dots she connected some time ago. “That’s why you wanted to know about our histories.”

You nod gently. “Yes, but they contained nothing useful,” you say and slowly meet her gaze, finding her eyes full of wonder before they’re stricken with a flicker of sadness.

“I’m sorry I did not know before,” she interjects and glances at one of the dancing flames. “I should have. I’m your mother.”

You shift closer to her and tilt your head to the side to find her gaze and quickly console her. “No, I only recently found out myself. I would have told you. You would be the first person I would have told, but I was scared of what I was. I thought I was some curse, some demon,” you pause and can’t help but smile at the irony of that word because now you embrace such a name. But alas your smile then fades and your face returns to your previous expression. “I have learned to embrace it now though. Watch…” you trail off and lift your hand to tug the sleeve down and then put your fingers in the small candlelight.

Your mother gasps out of instinct, but when you don’t flinch and your flesh doesn’t burn, an awestruck breath gets caught in her throat whilst her eyes glimmer with the same awe.

“The Smallfolk only got to spread what I am because…I burnt a house down,” you admit with some embarrassment. “And Aemond, well he caught me, but it was actually such a relief for him to know…” you trail off and pull your hand back, letting your sleeve fall back in place.

“He made me feel seen and understood, he continued to love me for it and made me feel strong and untouchable…until…all it came to that day at the Gullet,” you didn’t mean to take the conversation to such a dark place, but you couldn’t help it. You can’t help the feelings you’re hit with, and you can’t stop them either. You don’t even try now, not now, not here because you’re with her, your own weakness that lets you let go of this invincible person that you want everyone to know you by as the moment slowly embraces you with a comfort you ached to feel.

“I left the moment I found out what was transcending,” you continue and look at the candlelight before you, unknowingly bringing light to your guilt and grief that rolls in like an angry wave—“I only stopped once to fix my armor but I continued after that and I was still…I was,” you stammer as a thick ball of emotions start to form in your throat. “I was still late. I tried to be there on time.” You nod and snap your watery gaze at her, seeing that her own eyes are starting to water.

“I did. I tried to help him. I got him out of the water, but I-I couldn’t save him, but I tried. You have to believe that I did. You have to believe I wanted to find Viserys. I would never hurt them, mama,” you cry and clutch onto your own hands to plead with all that you are. “I tried so hard. I did. I did. Mama, you have to believe me.”

Tears break out of your mother's eyes and her heart, what little is left, breaks for you, for the way you break down and beg her to believe you even though she never ever blamed you for a thing, or even thought that you had something to do with what happened at the Gullet. It’s why it’s easy for her to finally close that space between you and grab ahold of your face.

“I-I,” you can’t even continue because your tears are choking you and making it hard to breathe.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says words you barely believe but don’t take for granted. It’s like music to your wounded soul. “And I never thought it was. You tried, I know that. I heard it, and I appreciate it with every inch of my heart.”

“You do?” You question her, making her nod gently with a wobbly smile before she slides her hands down to grab your shoulders first and then slide them back to pull you in for an embrace that makes you stiffen and question if it’s real.

For so long you thought you would never feel her embrace, for so long you thought she turned her back on you, and for so long have you been mad at her. So now that you feel her arms wrapped around you, keeping you protected against her, you’re caught in disbelief.

“Mama,” you mewl, and after you realize that she really is hugging you and that it really is given with so much love, you return her embrace with a tight hold. “I…really miss them.”

Your mother nods in agreement and her shoulders shake as she does, letting you know with that alone that you’re sharing the same grief. You’re estranged souls finally connect and comfort each other in your sorrow. You only break the moment so you can pull back and continue sharing what you need to tell her.

“I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I have been such a bad daughter. I’m sorry.”

Your mother draws in shaky breath before she shakes her head and breathes out so she can share what has been weighing her down too. “The fault is not on you alone. I have some blame too. I should have told you about your father, I trust you, he trusted you and I should have not kept that from you out of all people. I’m sorry I did, and you have every right to be mad at me for it.”

“No,” you cut in and bring your hands down to hold hers. “No. I'm not mad anymore. I forgive you, I do.”

A smile twitches on her lips but she’s far from feeling content so she continues. “And I’m sorry it made you feel the way it did. You, My Love, are loved beyond measure. Your father and I,” she says and strokes your cheek. “Have loved you since we found out we were expecting you. You are my first love and my strength. I love you in more ways than I could ever put into words.”

Tears accompany her words, making you lift your hands to wipe them off her cheeks as you cry too.

“I love you my Sweet girl. I love you so much. I could never forsake you, never. You need to know that, you need to remember that,” she presses, causing you to let out a sob as you nod in comprehension.

“I love you too mama,” you muster between sobs. “I know I don’t say it as much as I should, but I do. I Iove you.”

She grins before she presses her forehead against yours and leaves you both finding comfort in your silence and in your presence until your tears dry and your breaths don’t shutter anymore.

“Besides apologizing, I also came to tell you something else,” your mother fills the silence, piquing your curiosity even though you have a clue as to where she’s heading.

“It's a choice that I should have always chosen since the beginning but I let myself get controlled by the men around me,” she continues and grabs your hands firmly. “But I am Queen now. Things are as I say and no one will change my mind or manipulate my choice. I want you to be my heir.”

There it is, right in your reach, all you ever wanted. At long last.

No more wishing, no more questioning what and who you are. You will be heir now. You will be Queen. It’s all you ever wanted and as every word echoes in your head, and you realize that your desires are finally becoming true, you are fascinated by the proposal, by the idea that will no longer just live in your head. It will be real and how can you not be fascinated? How can you be anything but happy and proud?

You’re taken by the moment, by the joy of it all that you’re blinded by your bliss and can’t think of anything else. Not there, not yet.

“Okay,” you whisper with a sweet smile. “I will be your heir.”

Your mother grins and cups your cheek to caress it.

“But what of Aegon and Joffrey? Won’t daemon be upset that you’re picking me over Aegon?” You can’t help but ask, making her scoff as she brings her hands down to grab yours.

“No, we talked about it. He doesn’t mind. He…cares about you, you know? In his own way,” she says, making you scrunch your nose—“just…try and be friendly. He’s really turned over a new leaf. He wants to try.”

You hold her gaze with disgust, but he also didn’t do what you thought he did so you perhaps have judged him too harshly, so it wouldn't hurt to try. For her though! Only because she wants you to.

“Alright,” you reassure her and make her eyes glimmer with joy. “And before we go,” she continues. “There’s something else. Something that I need to pass down to you now that you’re my heir.”

Your eyebrows pinch together and you wait in silence for her to answer your curiosity.

“It’s about a prophecy passed down from ruler to heir since the reign of Aegon the Conqueror. It's a prophecy about the Prince that was Promised—”

“They will help defeat the dead that comes with a long winter,” you cut in after you recognize that famous name, causing your mother's eyes to widen with shock—“Yes, I have heard of them. We must help her, we must light the way for her.”

Your mother’s eyebrows furrow in confusion before she expresses it. “How do you know?”

You glance down for a brief second and scoff softly. “Friends. A red priestess, and Alys, a witch friend who resides at Harrenhal.”

Your mother huffs. “So you know her too? Daemon knows her too.”

You meet her gaze and flash her an amused smile. “She’s great, she helped me. And she let me see the Prince that was Promised. It’s why we need to win this war.”

Your mother nods. “Yes, we can only defeat the dead if the realm is united. It’s why our victory is dire. We need to do what we must to guarantee our blood continues so there’s hope in the future.”

You swallow nervously as you know what she’s referring to when she says, ‘we need to do what we must’. You know she’s referring to Aemond when says those words, and knowing it makes your chest heavy.

No matter what happened, regardless of why you left, you…still love him.

“I know,” you whisper and avert your gaze for a second before you meet hers again and offer her a faint assuring smile. “I know what we need to do.”

Your mother draws in a deep breath and holds your gaze with pity for a second before she nods and leans in to press a kiss on your head.

“Get ready for dinner later, okay? I want you to meet the dragon riders and I want to present you as my heir,” she lets you know in which you can’t help but nod in comprehension before you bring up one last thing.

“May I invite Helaena to dinner? I know she’s your prisoner but she's also your sister, and besides my aunt, she is very dear to me, so may I invite her to dinner?” You ask and bat your lashes, causing your mother to sigh even though she wasn’t going to choose anything else but to agree with you.

“Thank you.”

Now with the apologies and the unspoken words that were hidden in the depths of your souls, and shared out loud and over with, you then make your way to Helaena before you can return to your quarters.

“Helaena, sweetling it’s me, may I come in?” You speak against the door, and not so long later a voice echoes.

“Come.”

The guards open the doors for you, letting you be greeted with the sight of not only Helaena but Alicent in golden chains that are clasped around her ankles and wrists.

“Helaena,” you greet her as you rip your eyes from Alicent to look at your aunt with a warm smile whilst she quickly gets up from her cushioned seat in front of some insect cages and meets you halfway to grab your arms.

“I knew you would return,” she whispers, making you grab her elbows.

“It's good to see you again,” you say back before you step back, letting her study your belly.

“Look at you,” she points out and pats your belly. “So big.”

You grin and nod before your face falls as you bring up her situation. “Are you okay? Have they been treating you well?”

Helaena nods before stepping back and then returning to where she was. “Yes. I’m not allowed to see Dreamfyre, but I can roam the Red Keep, and stay in the gardens as much as I like. And Daemon has been kind as well.”

Daemon?

You look at her with confusion before you share your emotions with Alicent with a shared glance, and then address her only because you have to. “Alicent,” you bow your head and then look at the little girl reading by the fire. “Jaehaera.”

Said girl lifts her eyes off her book and flashes you a grin. “Hello! You returned!”

You nod and head over to her. “I have and you have gotten bigger it seems.”

She nods eagerly. “Yes! I grew an inch, mother says!”

You grin. “I see that. I hope Aerion has been well-behaved. You have watched out for him have you?”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I try, but he always wants to be with grandmother. But she does let me help her feed him. The only bad thing is that he always gets messy.” She pouts and stands up to put her little hand on your belly. “I suppose if you have girls they won’t be so messy.”

You giggle. “All babies are messy at one point. You were too.”

“Was I?!” She exclaims giddly. “I do not remember, but then if my cousins are girls will they play dolls with me when they’re older? Grandmother says Aerion will have to train with swords and sailing instead of playing with dolls.”

Considering she'll probably phase out of playing with dolls when the twins are old enough to play with her you don’t think so, but you don’t want to break her little heart so you let her hear what she wants. “If they’re girls I’m sure they will, but I’m sure you and Aerion can bond over dragons when he’s old enough, hm? Or books like me and your uncle Aemond.”

She shakes her head with a disgusted face. “That would be boring.” She retorts, making you snort and get reminded of her father as she makes that facial expression.

“Well, dragons it is then.”

“They’ll be the same age!” She points out and you nod in agreement.

Jaehaera then slides her hand off your belly and falls back in her cushion, letting you make your way back to Helaena, but addressing Alicent. “I hope you are well.”

She looks at her chains and then meets your gaze and mutters. “At least I can be with my family.”

You have so much that comes to the tip of your tongue but you manage to bite your tongue to avoid arguing.

“You and the twins?” Alicent asks.

You caress your belly and nod softly. “We’re fine. Healthy.”

Alicent’s gaze drifts to one of Helaena’s insect cages and hesitantly brings up a question. “And Aemond? If you’re here then that means something is wrong.”

You sigh and hesitate before you give her a curt answer. “He’s not hurt, he just seems to be descending into something that’s gotten out of control.”

Alicent nods stiffly as she blinks repeatedly and doesn’t answer, letting you then give your attention to Helaena. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to come to dinner later. My mother wants to present me as her heir to her court at dinner so if you would like to come you’re more than welcome.”

Helaena drifts her gaze from the insect she’s inspecting and sighs deeply. “Thank you, but no. There will be people I don’t know and who will all look at me. I would not be comfortable, besides, I enjoy dinner with my mother, Jaehaera, and Aerion. You can tell me what happened on the following day,” she doesn’t try to put it nicely, she’s abrupt and unforgiving. Which doesn’t bother you, it’s just the way she is.

“Alright,” you breathe out and take a seat beside her to ask her what she’s collected, but Alicent then sits across from you and reaches over to take your arm.

“Will you not stop him?” She blurts with a widened look spewing fear and concern. “Help him? This descent into madness will only make Daemon or one of the others go after him, and we both know that Vhagar is not invincible. Not when it comes to Daemon.” She throws out desperately as she sinks her nails in your arm.

“He wants Daemon to go after him, don’t you think I have tried to warn him? To try and lead him to a different path?” You counter as you yank her hand off your arm. “I have tried,” you press with annoyance that was quick to form. “But he doesn’t listen. He wants this path because of you. The path Aegon, Daeron, and Aemond are walking down is because of you. Not me, you,” you hiss, making Alicent pull her head back as she seems to get offended and surprised at your blunt accusation.

“If you hadn’t been so hell-bent on undermining my mother my brothers would be alive and your son’s lives would not be put at risk,” you spat with your gaze narrowing as your annoyance turns to frustration that’s been building up. You don’t know why exactly, perhaps it’s just your own gloom, but you have been feeling it forming within you, wanting out but now knowing how.

“But you set them down this path, and now that it’s gotten out of control you fall to your knees and beg for mercy?” You grimace with the corner of your lip curled. “Face the reality, Alicent. Face your mistakes or—”

“So you wish to see Aemond dead?” She cuts you off abruptly and leans toward you. “Do you wish to accept that reality?”

You have given that reality much thought. It consumes you a lot of the time and you know that it’s a possibility. You would be ignorant if you didn’t, but when it comes to accepting it you do act ignorant.

“If your love for him is real, that is.”

“Of course it is!” You snap back with tears in your eyes. ���I love him, how dare you throw that at my face? You out of all people?”

Alicent gasps and blinks repeatedly in disbelief as if she had been smacked across the face, ending up speechless, much like you. Albeit you’re not quiet out of shock, your anger makes you quiet and makes you pierce a glare into her before you stand up and turn to Helaena.

“I will come see you tomorrow, Helaena. Maybe we can go for a walk in the gardens, hm?” You ask and she slowly looks at you without meeting your gaze to give you her response with a nod, letting you then turn and storm out of her chambers with a tormenting ache that you thought you got rid of. At least for the rest of today, but no, Alicent helped it come back and this time it hits you with so much more force that if it wasn’t for the dinner you need to attend, it would have knocked you down, but alas even if you waver, you don’t stumble, you don’t fall, and you don’t break.

——

*LATER*

“…I intended to save this gown for after the war. When the Queen won and was crowned before the masses, but alas, you are heir and will be named heir. There’s no other time to wear this gown like now,” Vanessa rambles excitedly as she doesn’t even help you with the gown anymore, she had already helped you put it on, she is currently applying your makeup, but she can't stop talking about the gown. She’s perhaps more excited than you are that you’re wearing it. And you’re trying. You’re trying to be excited and shake off what plagues you, but you’re tormented by your own agony, your grief, your guilt, and your sorrow that you can’t forget.

But the question is why? Why do you have to feel so unhappy now that you have what you wanted? You’re no longer reaching for it, you have it in your grasp, and now that you do, now that you feel its beating heart in your grasp you can’t muster a genuine smile. You can’t feel the warmth of bliss and excitement.

You want to, you try, but no amount of strain can make you recover that initial joy you felt.

“Perfect. Beautiful,” Vanessa praises you and then pinches your cheeks before she steps back to continue admiring her work. “I just need the necklaces. I left them in the other chambers. I will be back!” She throws out and then turns to run off.

Once Vanessa is out of your chambers you slowly turn your seat and face yourself on the vanity mirror to admire the way the golden dragon scales hug your torso and stretch over your belly. You admire the multiple white pearl chains that are hooked around your hips and cascade over the lavish black silk skirt, while also connecting to more chains that strap around your black hanging sleeves that are attached to the back of the gown so it looks like your sleeves are wings when you put your arms out.

You then slowly scale your eyes up to your face and look at the light makeup that decorates your face. You admire Vanessa’s work, causing the corner of your lips to twitch to a smile, however, your eyes then catch the lipstick smudged on your bottom lip just a smidge and you carefully fix it with your fingers.

Albeit when you try to wipe the mistake more lipstick smudges, making you scoff in annoyance before you press the tip of your fingers harder against your skin and wipe harsher.

However, the smudge only worsens and the mistake doesn’t get fixed so you wipe harder and harder, feeling your throat slowly starting to burn and your eyes filling with tears until you can’t take it anymore. You can’t hold back anymore. You can’t stay strong anymore. You fall, you stumble, and you break, dragging your hands off your lips and smacking your face again and again in attempts to wipe the light layer of makeup off your face because it’s all a mistake; you being heir, holding that title after years of yearning is a mistake because there’s no point.

What’s the point? You ask yourself before you scale your hands up and tear the golden pearl circlet off your head and mindlessly smash it against the vanity mirror out of agony, out of grief, and out of guilt, thinking over and over again what is being heir worth?

What is it all worth? What is it all worth?!

What is it all worth without them? Without Jacaerys? Without Luke? What is it all worth with no one to love you? And you don’t mean in the way your family loves you, but in the intimate way that Aemond loves you? And or the way Cregan loves you?

Being heir and then being Queen, is all you wanted. You dreamt of it, wished for it, but now that you have it you can admit that it’s worth nothing. All those years of longing to be acknowledged no longer exist within you because most of you is already dead. All that’s left is what?

You look at the mirror between your fingers after hitting it and breaking it, and after pressing your bleeding hands against your face, and slowly drag your fingers down before you pull your hands off your face and look at yourself. What you see beyond the blood-stained face is someone grief-stricken, someone angry, in agony, and some hollow husk of who you used to be.

That’s who and what you are. That’s all that’s left.

You miss who you used to be, just like you miss your life before the war tore it apart. You miss your brothers and the way Aemond was before his mind spiraled. You miss Cregan, and most of all you miss…being happy. You want life to go back to the way it was.

Alas…you have to move onward…it’s a harsh truth to face but there’s no other alternative you can take.

Thus you reach over to grab a damp towel off the bowl and wipe the blood off your face, realizing that you’re only damaging the towel even more with the bleeding cuts that the shards of glass made on your palms—Damn.

Before you can get something to tend to your wounds, however, Vanessa walks in and when she sees the state of things she comes to a quick stop and looks horrified. You mirror her look out of guilt for ruining her work and speak on it because you need to. “I’m sorry,” you mutter and look at her with a look of hurt. “I’m sorry.”

Vanessa swallows back thickly and then snaps out of her stupor to approach you hastily. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she assures you and cups your hands. “Let’s tend to your hands and do it again. We have time. It’s okay.”

You look at her in disbelief and she notices so she lifts her hand to stroke your cheek, reassuring you that she’s not really upset that you ruined her makeup but just playing it off for your sake. She’s genuine, and she’s more careful compared to before because before her eyes seemed to have been shielded since she failed to see your sadness so clearly clinging onto your face and painting such a vivid picture in your eyes.

“You look beautiful,” she speaks softly this time around once she finishes your makeup for a second time. “Eat okay? Mingle, I have found that Addam Velaryon is quite the charmer. Enjoy yourself. It’s what Jacaerys would’ve wanted.”

Your breath hitches but you don’t break, you simply nod faintly before you linger on your cushioned seat and then get up and leave, attempting as you go to get rid of the hold your sorrow has on your features and replace it with serenity and bliss so you can look grateful because you are, but usually there’s a glint of grace and arrogance in your eyes that you don’t feel ashamed for feeling, or feel ashamed to admit that you carry such feelings.

Alas, when you’re in the throne room, as your name and title are announced to the guests that turned out to be more than you thought, to your family that has turned into a small group, and to the musicians you didn’t think would play tonight, all you can muster is feigned nonchalance backed with a sadness that makes your eyes gleam against all the twinkling firelight that keeps the darkness away from the great hall.

They see you as you make your way to the main table, and you see them not even trying to feign their shock, their utter disapproval of you being able to waltz in without consequence after you sided with Aemond.

They have every right to disapprove of you, but they are not the Queen, they don’t make decisions, and they’re simply inferior. They're plebes compared to you and your family. They can shoot you as many dirty and disapproving looks as they want. They can whisper behind your back, but they have to bite their tongue and watch you sit beside the Queen as if you have been here supporting her the entire time.

“Your Grace,” you greet your mother one more time now that you’re seated. “You look very beautiful tonight.”

Your mother smiles softly and pats your hand. “As do you,” she doesn’t fail to redirect before she moves her hand down to stroke your belly before she reaches for her goblet and gets up, silencing the whispers that had already filtered the hall in such a short time.

“I would like to firstly, thank everyone for joining us tonight, it means a lot to me,” your mother addresses the guests, turning their heads and grabbing their attention. “And now I would like to present my daughter, my firstborn, and your Princess, as my heir,” she announces and looks down at you, catching your glimmering eyes expressing your appreciation and your affection. “There’s no one more graceful, more tactical, more smart, and strong as you. I’m proud of you, my girl. You will be great.”

Your eyes water, a genuine smile appears on your face, and there in your chest, you feel something jolt. “Thank you,” you whisper in such a soft way that only she and your grandfather next to you hear. She then raises her goblet and other people raise their cups, but your attention falls on a plump man overly decorated in shiny gold chains and rings and dressed in over-the-top expensive clothes.

You remember him from Dragonstone, he wanted you thrown in a dungeon. He’s the rider of Silverwing. It’s Ulf wearing all the money he’s received since he became a dragonrider. If only all that money could buy him class, he eats like a commoner.

Nevertheless, he catches your gaze, and when you know he’s looking as if springing back to life you slowly raise your nose in the air and look at him with a piercing glare under your lashes, like a predator looks at their prey before capturing them.

He swallows thickly and as if possessed by your husband's spirit, you shoot him a menacing glare and a wicked smile seconds before Daemon raises his up and grabs your attention.

“To the heir, I look forward to sharing the battlefield with you so I can see for myself what the Blood Dragon is really capable of,” he says with a growing grin, making you glance at your mother before you look back at him and offer him a smile that he mirrors, which is…weird, you’ll admit, but he’s making an attempt to make amends, so you don’t look away or let your disgust make an appearance, you take his smile. Once he’s back in his seat your grandfather doesn’t hesitate to rise from his seat and raise his goblet in the air, catching you by surprise.

“To the heir, and my Siren of Driftmark,” he says to the crowd before his eyes fall on you and a small smile tugs the corner of his lips. “I still tend to make Aerion my ward, but it seems now that he will be your heir, one of your twins will have to be my heir…”

He still plans to keep your children as heirs to Driftmark? But what of Addam and Alyn? Vanessa called Addam a Velaryon, so you were right, he is the bastard son of your grandfather and is now legitimized, so your grandfather could make any of the two the heir. Yet he kept his word, after all this time, after all you’ve done.

Perhaps you were quick to feel betrayed, and quicker to judge.

“To your health, and the health of my great-grandchildren,” your grandfather finishes, making you grin softly, and when he sits back down you pat his arm before you caress it, receiving a small smile from him in return.

This time rather than hearing mocking toasts filled with spite, breaking into a fight just before you can take your first bite of food like the last big dinner you were a part of, the music starts back up again, and the transition from toast to dinner is smooth. You’re thankful for it but also crave some mayhem in between your state of sorrow and the constant torment that you give Ulf every time you glance at him.

There does come a moment where your gaze finds a different pair of eyes that are darker than Ulf’s, kinder too, but you don’t attempt to make him squirm, nor do you threaten him with a piercing look alone. You actually avert your gaze out of shame for being so harsh on a man who was miles away when you spited him for being someone he had no control over. You let Aemond and your own insecurities get to your head. You admit that.

How shameful and stupid.

“You know, my sweet,” your mother interjects as she puts her goblet of wine down and you set your fork down. “I am Queen, which means I hold the power to…” she trails off and swallows back nervously before she continues hesitantly. “Annul your marriage to Aemond.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and look down at your plate of food to manage the shock that hits you as if you heard the most absurd thing in your life.

“We could marry you to someone kinder,” your mother continues to say through your obvious shock as if she wants to move forward with something that’s just meant as a suggestion. Is it not? “Someone worthy of you. Someone like…Lord Cregan Stark.”

You blink and look at her with your eyebrows softly pinched together, noticing a small playful smirk tugging on the corner of her lips as if this is some joke. And you understand where her joy comes from after all, you basically confessed your love for Cregan that time she snuck into King’s Landing, but doesn’t she know how hard it really is loving two people?

Does she know how hard it is to even fathom the thought of letting go of one to go to the other?

You’re torn between your love for Aemond and Cregan, doesn’t she know that? Doesn’t she know your conflict?

“Or she could marry a Martell prince,” Daemon suggests as he leans forward to be a part of the conversation. “They’d be idiots to turn down the proposal of an heir. And a marriage to Dorne would at last unite the kingdom, and give us all our strength for,” he pauses and passes you and your mother a glance. “…the future.”

You drop your gaze to your food and grab your fork with a tight grip. You don’t pick up any food, you just scrape it along the plate with your jaw clenched and your gaze pierced because even if they’re suggestions, it’s still your own life that they are so easily talking about. No matter how smart it would be to at last unite Dorne to the kingdoms, and or how much you once wanted to marry Cregan, is leaving Aemond really worth it?

You think of him, picture his face in your mind as clear as day and all you can imagine is how betrayed he’d be. You’d break his heart and him, is it really worth all of that? There’s still a fighting chance…minuscule maybe, but you have to believe there is no matter what the future has in store for you.

It’s a hopeless desire, but you are hopelessly in love with Aemond no matter what.

“I…” you interject with the attempt to reject your mother or just answer with something that would get her to abandon the conversation, but when she looks at you she does see your struggle and interrupts you.

“Think about it. I just wanted you to know that you’re not stuck, you have options, okay?”

You drift your gaze and let your jaw unclench and your eyes soften. “Okay.”

She offers you a reassuring look before she goes back to talking to Daemon, letting you stare back at your food and remind yourself to take deep breaths.

Being surrounded by so many people and such lively music is perhaps overwhelming after being cornered in Harrenhal for four months. Seeing your brother's seats be occupied by two men from the pits of the city is also perhaps too much for your mind to grasp. You look up from your plate on occasion and catch yourself expecting to see Lucerys and Jacaerys both laughing and talking with each other, or their respected partner, so when you see strangers on their seats it’s like…getting your breath ripped from your chest over and over again.

Perhaps this is why it was easier to stay with Aemond as long as you did, you remembered that they were gone when you were away from home but now that you’re home their ghosts haunt you at every corner.

But oh, you try to look content. You mingle with whoever wants to talk to you, your mother introduces you to Ser Hugh and officially introduces you to Ser Ulf, and you do note that Ser Hugh is much more etiquette than Ser Ulf, but they are both still low-born, they are not to be trusted. You can’t get yourself to trust them. As to Addam? Well, it’s complicated, but should you really trust him completely?

You can’t be sure yet.

“Is this not all you wanted?” Daemon startles you as he joins you in some lonely side of the hall.

“Once,” you sigh. “Once upon a time I wanted to be Queen, I wanted to be my mother's heir. Once upon a time, when life was…much more simple,” you find yourself sharing with him without straining or trying to find a way out.

“Good,” he surprises you by saying. “Not wanting to be a ruler doesn’t guarantee you will be good at it, but the crown is a heavy burden and when you don’t want it it’s easier to treat it that way.”

You scoff and the corner of your lips twitch to a teasing smile that he catches.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mutter and look away to hide your smile.

Daemon huffs before he steps forward to stand in front of you now rather than at your side where you can’t meet eye to eye. “Your mother says we have a friend in common at Harrenhal.”

You flash him a smile but don’t respond with what he seeks. “Helaena mentioned…in a way that you talk. Why?”

A faint smirk twitches on the corner of his lips before he responds bluntly. “Much like our friend, she can see glimpses of the future. She appeared to me in a vision once, and now we're both here. I would be foolish to take her gift for granted.”

You nod softly and without a shift on your face you lean forward and at this particular moment disregard any attempt at reconciliation. “If I hear that you have hurt her in any way you will see for yourself why it is that they call me what they call me.”

Daemon doesn’t falter, nor does he get upset, he looks at you with a smirk that now spreads wider on his lips. “Noted.”

You huff and move away to stand beside him instead.

“Did she show you the future on that Weirwood tree?” Daemon asks, not letting you go just yet. “The witch?”

“Alys,” you clarify and turn to face the crowd. Daemon turns with you and you both catch your mother glancing over here and smiling when she sees you both interacting without looking upset—“yes. If only the glimpses of the future were clear.”

He hums in agreement as you both watch your mother from where you stand. “What did you see?” He probes.

“Myself, fighting for my mother. A son…born to me sometime in the future…he talked to me,” you muse with a growing smile of admiration. “Just like I'm talking to you now. I don’t know why…maybe he’s a dreamer or something else. Alys wouldn’t tell me, she said knowing too much is dangerous so that's what I am left with. That, along with the Prince that was Promised, and the dead that come with a long winter.”

“I saw her too,” Daemon interjects, making you shift your eyes to him. “She survived fire like you, but she didn’t look like you. Maybe—”

“No,” you cut him off. “It’s not me. What I have is unknown, Alys doesn’t even know. Blood magic perhaps, I don’t know.”

“But it’s something that will pass through our line,” Darmon says and meets your gaze with a serious gaze. “If you are not who was promised then it comes from our line. Yours, mine. We don’t know.”

You shake your head in agreement and then draw out a deep breath as you look ahead again. “We don’t know but we know she’s coming. My son said I would be the spark that would light a greater fire. Alys said it too, but…how can I? I’m with child and I can barely muster the energy to climb out of bed now that I’m here.”

Daemon stays quiet for a moment and in his silence you think perhaps you overshared. You didn’t mean to in the first place, but now that you know what you said perhaps you did and he doesn’t care.

“You’re already there,” he then fills the silence, stopping the worry of pouring your heart out on someone who couldn’t care, and stopping you before you can find an excuse to leave. “You just need to keep burning brighter, and the only way you can do that is thinking of who you’re fighting for.”

You look for them again. Jacaerys and Lucerys. You look at your mother, Baela, Rhaena, and your grandfather. You think of Aerion, your unborn children, Joffrey, and Aegon. And even Cregan comes to mind as you think about who it is you fight for.

“They will keep that fire alive. You must fight for their future. That’s why you need to keep getting out of bed. You can worry about the rest after we win,” he finishes, bringing tears to the corner of your eyes.

You don’t follow up with anything, but he knows you understand. He sees the tears crawling down your cheeks and he knows.

“You must know,” he speaks softly. “I am grateful that you saved Aegon and you tried to look for Viserys.”

More tears keep coming out as you hear what he mentions.

“You tried. You fought, and they sing about you like a great legendary dragon warrior…your father would be proud…just like I know your mother is.”

You inhale sharply and keep quiet, but he knows his words worked the way he wanted them to. He can walk away content after that even if he leaves you weeping.

Thus you walk away before someone can see you and think the wrong thing or worse, come and pester you with unnecessary questions.

When you find yourself outside of the hall you stand in front of the tall windows and try to calm yourself down before you return inside.

You can’t let yourself think of much or you’ll go down a spiral so you try and keep your mind off anything that will upset you at the moment, and hope not to take too long, but alas moments later someone carefully joins you in front of the window. At first, you think it’s your mother, but when you peek at your side you’re surprised to see Addam.

“Are you alright, your Grace, I saw you crying,” he says and proves you were not quick enough when you walked out.

“Uh, yes.” You nod and drop your hands from your face. “Yes I am Addam, thank you.”

Addam’s gaze lingers on you, you can feel it burning on your side before he slowly looks ahead, letting you steal a glance, and sigh out of guilt. “So…you are my grandfather's son?” You ask to get the rumors confirmed.

“Well,” he pauses and debates answering. “Yes. Bastard son.”

You shake your head and correct him. “You’re a Velaryon. You’re no longer a bastard under the law.”

“Perhaps,” he answers right away. “But I am. No law or name will change it.”

You hum and clasp your hands together, debating whether to apologize for a behavior he probably didn’t even notice, or leaving it be.

You feel like apologizing. He was so sweet the first time you met.

“I didn’t mean to steal your father's dragon,” he blurts and turns your gaze to him. “He came to me. I don’t want you to think that I did it on purpose.”

There it is again, that jolt in your chest.

“Addam,” you whisper. “My father is dead. My father died before you bonded with Seasmoke, he wouldn’t have bonded with you otherwise, so Seasmoke belonged to no one. We can’t own a dragon, we form a connection and they are loyal to us, we are one until either of us dies, but they’re not cattle or pets. He wasn’t ours to claim, so don’t apologize or even feel guilty. Feel special, he went out of his way to find you, I never heard of a dragon doing that.”

Addam scoffs as he drops his head, and a smile sneaks on his features.

“You should forgive me,” you chose to say. “I was upset at you and Alyn because I thought you would replace my son's inheritance. I was jealous and I spited you because of it.”

Addam’s gaze finds you and you find his. After a few seconds, he breaks out into a chuckle. “I didn’t even know,“ he admits. “So I suppose there’s nothing to forgive, besides you’re a princess you have every right to be—”

“No,” you cut him off before he can finish that statement. “Untrue. Being a princess doesn't mean that I’m above criticism. I mean sometimes I do feel entitled and have every right to be, but not when it comes to being cruel…to you. Good people.”

“You don’t know me,” he quickly rebuttals. “I could be cruel. The cruelest of cruel.”

You snort and chuckle. For the first time in so long you laugh from the depths of your stomach.

“I don’t believe that,” you say between laughs.

“How come?” He questions, making you take a deep breath to calm down and then answer genuinely.

“It’s in your eyes.”

As you say that his eyes soften and that grin falls to an awe-struck smile.

“And eyes never lie if you know how to read them,” you add. “I know. I see you now and through them, I see your good heart,” you say and gently tap his chest with your fist. “You’re good.”

“Thank you,” he whispers timidly.

You offer him a kind-hearted smile and then pull your hand away to drop your arm back at your side. When you’re both looking out the window and see how the night covers every aspect of the outside world, you stand in a…comfortable silence. It didn't last but no matter how short it was you still felt at ease.

“Can I ask why you left?” Addam asks. “Your mother was Queen, you had every chance to return to her side.”

You draw out a deep breath and mutter. “I was being selfish,” you avoid the truth to avoid problems. “I got upset at my mother and I was a selfish and bratty daughter, that's why I left…I'm a bad person.”

“If that made a person bad then the world would be full of bad people,” he gives his opinion as he doesn’t fear looking at you as he speaks up. “Regardless of the situation, it’s normal to get upset at parents. You’re young, and they make mistakes. Being upset doesn’t make you bad. Besides, you made up now right?”

You nod.

“See? That’s what matters.”

Your breath shutters but you don’t cry this time, you keep looking out at the window with a sense of bliss. Yes, that’s what it is, bliss.

“Can I ask you something now,” you don’t shy away from bringing up, maybe you should, but it feels right because he reminds you of your beloved brothers. “Why are you not dancing? There’s many fair ladies there. And there’s also beautiful Lady Rhaena. We won’t get many moments like these so it’s best to take advantage of them. Who knows maybe you’ll end up being wed by the time the week ends.”

He scoffs and then laughs before he tilts his head towards you. “Well, I don’t know how. I didn’t take dancing lessons like you.”

You scoff. “Okay, yes I took dancing lessons. I had to, and I liked them,” you share with a smile. “My uncle Aegon would annoy me, but luckily…my Aemond would always save me and always be my dance partner. So I can tell you that the most important thing is to not step on your dance partner.”

“That would be terrible,” he says and you hum before you skip over to stand before him and offer him your hand because you have that need to…enjoy yourself like you used to because of him. Because he’s such a sweet reminder of everything nice. “I’ll show you. Just follow my lead.”

Addam hesitates but he doesn’t overthink your offer, he places his hand over yours, letting you secure your warm hold over his before pulling yourself closer to him to firstly, grab his other hand and place it on your waist and then place your other hand on his shoulder.

“Now there’s many other dances, but this is the most common and basic one. This one will work fine for now,” you say before you step toward him first, noticing how he keeps his eyes focused on your feet.

“Alright,” he whispers under his breath.

“The second most important thing is to follow the beat of the music,” you follow by saying and listen to what’s playing in the hall, hearing a song with a fast beat so you grow mischievous and can’t help yourself. You move quickly to follow the rhythm and surprisingly enough Addam is quick to catch up and not stumble or step on you.

“Great!” You praise him.

“You tried to mess me up,” he points out with a half grin.

You shake your head and deny such claims. “No, I’m merely following the beat of the music.”

He hums as he nods before a teasing smirk tugs on his own lips and he doesn’t fail to match your enthusiasm by spinning you around, making you laugh. When you face each other as you only grab onto one hand now, it’s like you speechlessly come to an agreement before you dance wildly as if in tune with each other's dancing hearts. And since the corridor is alone you make the corridor your dance floor and dance up and down it.

You let yourself get carried away. You smile and laugh without guilt, without sorrow, and without agony clinging onto you. You let go for the night because of Addam.

——

*A COUPLE WEEKS LATER*

There’s…no sight of Astraea resting near the castle—she must be hunting.

Aemond descends from his dragon in some isolated space where his dragon can fit and strides toward the castle without worry at first. Yet as he gets closer and closer and doesn’t hear commotion echoing from within the walls he picks up his pace, finding his heart skipping a beat before that too picks up its pace.

But why should he worry? You’ll be here, he just didn’t leave enough men for the commotion to travel out, and Astraea is hunting…

With that repeating in his mind to reassure the growing pit in his stomach, he takes a deep breath and keeps his quickened pace. When he makes it within the castle walls he only has one objective in mind, seeing you, so he doesn’t go out of his way to search for any guards, he doesn’t check for the witch or Ser Jason, he makes a beeline where you’re supposed to be and already imagines how you would react when you see him.

You won't be happy, after all, he left you locked in your quarters. He did one of the worst things possible but all he needs is just to see you. He’s been on his own for far too long, all he needs is to look you in your captivating eyes, he just needs to feel your warmth, and hear your breath so he knows you’re alive. That’s all he wants, you don’t have to talk to him, he just needs to see you. That’s all his heart has ever yearned for.

Yet when he turns the corner to reach your quarters, he comes to an immediate halt when he sees the decaying bodies of your guards. The blood seems to be a stain on the ground now so the men weren’t just killed…they’re old…

He calls out your name and waits for a response. When he doesn’t hear your voice call out to him he races to the room and throws the doors open, finding two more bodies inside. One seems to have been wounded on his neck and the other was impaled. Was it you?

No, no, no…

He wants it to be you who killed these strange men that are not a part of the guards that he left behind, but his fears take control and his mind begins to make him think that someone else hurt you, so he quickly spins around on his heels and runs out. He calls out your name at every turn hoping you’ll be in another room, that someone else will hear and come out, but deafening silence is all that responds to his desperate calls and his thumping heart is all that fills his ears. It almost plays tricks on him. He swears he hears your voice travel through the corridors, but when he follows what he believes is your voice he finds nothing.

There’s no one. Nothing, but emptiness and a reminder of what was of this castle. That is until he runs into the Godswood and finds what he was looking for in the burnt bodies discarded on the ground, and the swinging bodies hanging from the white branches.

He doesn’t want to believe you left this lovely mess. He hopes something else did it so he can save you and find you, but what else could leave bodies black and nothing but bones? Who else would hang burnt bodies on the Weirwood tree, but you?

You followed the ways of the Old Gods after your stay in the North. You pray to the weeping tree and enjoy basking in your peace in the Godswood, so no one else would leave these bodies hanging from the tree but you.

You killed those strangers in your chambers, you had Astraea burn these bodies in the Godswood, you fought the trouble he meant to protect you from, and you lived.

There’s no other way around it. His mind places some doubt, but he knows you’re capable so he believes wholeheartedly that you lived through the ordeal. However, a part of him wishes you would have been in trouble so he could have came and saved you because at least if he came and saved you, that would guarantee you staying by his side. It would mean that you didn’t leave, but you did…you left.

YOU LEFT!

He tears his sword out of his sheath and swings at the weeping face again and again with more anger backing each swing every time, and with tears slowly clouding his eyes every time his blade would hit the Weirwood tree.

Once he’s panting and his tears stream down his face he lets his sword fall to the ground and he stands there mindlessly looking at the wounded tree with tears in his eyes and his eyebrows knitted together in anger whilst heavy pants leave past his lips.

A part of him expected you to find a way to leave. You’re restless, you don’t belong locked away in some tower, but he just wanted to protect you. He saw you die every night in his dreams while he was here, and he hurt you when he was lost in some trance, so all he wanted was to guarantee your safety. He didn’t want you to leave and leave him alone in this world. He…just wanted what was best. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he didn’t intend for you to leave him alone like his mother, his sister, and his brothers have.

“Damn it,” he hisses and falls to his knees in front of the Weirwood tree, feeling abandoned and betrayed, but still feeling a longing to see you. Even if you left him he still aches to feel your arms embracing him against you, he wants to hear your whispers against his ear and desires most of all to see you so you can meet his gaze as if nothing else existed in the world but him and you.

He searches for the memory of your enticing gaze in the Heart Tree, unbeknownst to the fact that you are looking at the Weirwood tree in the Red Keep’s Godswood, and also yearning to see him. You also search for the memory of his gaze in the Heart tree, as if the weeping face held the memory of each other's gaze.

“Exhausted from terrorizing my homelands already, Prince?” A voice breaks the silence, ripping him away from his thoughts and making him stand up rapidly and turn swiftly to find none other than the witch Alys.

“You!” He bellows and stomps over to her to grab her by the neck in order to be threatening, but she doesn’t flinch. She meets his gaze and snickers before she answers a question he doesn’t have time to ask.

“She left home. She’s where she belongs.”

Aemond swallows back thickly and looks at her with slight disbelief before he reaffirms his grip around her throat and sneers. “Bring her back. Tell her to come back.”

Alys wraps her hand around his wrist and yanks his hand off her throat before she deadpans. “No.”

Aemond scoffs but she interjects before he can snap back.

“She will be back. You will see her again.”

The corner of Aemond’s lips twitch to a smirk but she smirks back and that makes his fall as he grows uncomfortable.

“You will both return to this very place soon. She has to so she can continue down her destined path.”

Aemond is curious to ask more and ask what she truly means because she wouldn’t look so taunting if there wasn’t some deeper meaning, but alas he doesn’t ask because he doesn’t like her or trust her like you do.

“Girls,” Alys blurts and makes him blink out of shock. “You will have twin girls. I thought you should know.”

His lips part as a soft gasp escapes past his lips.

Does this revelation mean that Helaena was wrong? Will he live after all?

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- When you so badly want your sister to be wrong you become delusional 🤩

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

[wackapedia]

The Wolf Prince

Cregan Stark x Targaryen!reader Plot: Snow Fairy sequel where you sort our your allegiance, navigating through the politics of your family Wordcount 2,880 Warning: None! :) More cute Rickon and Cregan, tiny angst but fluff

The messenger bird's wings flutter against the cold air of Winterfell, carrying a letter addressed to your mother, the queen. You've begged them to not search for you, and that you've sworn yourself away from the politics of your torn family after the death of your father, King Viserys. You've also accepted your gracious host, Lord Cregan Stark's offer that you stay a little longer since you're still recuperating and that you're not in a hurry to be elsewhere. 

Everything in Winterfell felt right for you. You may have been waited on hand and foot back in the Red Keep but it never felt like home. Not like how you feel in the cold and peaceful Winterfell, where everyone was friends with everyone, submissive to their lord, and united in running the estate. 

One important factor was Cregan himself. He is most hospitable, kind, dutiful, not to mention handsome, and just great company altogether. He spends a lot of time with you, and it's making your feelings run wild. 

Another factor was his boy, Rickon. He had asked you one day whether you'd like to kiss his father, a reference to his favourite fairy tale where a fairy was found in the woods and only true love's kiss could bring her back. You asked the excited little boy to show you the book.

To which you find yourself in your current predicament. An hour past his bedtime, the boy had escaped his nursemaids and sprinted to your guestroom, carrying the book. He immediately sat himself comfortably next to you on the bed and showed you the Tale of the Snow Fairy. You volunteered to read it to him and he enthusiastically said yes. 

"... And then the wolf prince fell in love with the snow fairy and he realized he has nothing else to wish for if she remained by his side. She agreed and the power of love bound them together and lived happily ever after. The end." You close the book softly and watch little Rickon sleep soundly in your bed. You couldn't blame him, the illustrations in the book did look quite similar to your appearance, if you consider a child's imagination. You sigh quietly, adjusting the boy in a more comfortable position under the furs, letting him sleep next to you tonight. 

From the threshold of the room, Cregan listens in to you reading. He contemplates on the boy's imagination, calling the Princess Y/n a snow fairy when she was found unconscious in the woods over a few days ago. He worries about the boy being more interested in books rather than swords like other boys his age, but then his Rickon isn't like other boys. He didn't have a mother. Cregan sighs to himself as the story you were reading had ended. 

The Lord of Winterfell knocks gently on the door, waiting and wondering if the both of you had fallen asleep. 

You slowly open the door, careful not to make it creak so as to not awaken the boy sleeping in your guest bed. Cregan gently smiles, illuminated by the dim candlelight in the room.

"Yes...?" You ask, mesmerized. 

Cregan musters his internal strength to move his eyes from yours to the bed.

"Did he fall asleep? I'll just carry him back..." He smiles at the sight of his son.

"Oh, I won't mind if he sleeps here, he looks quite tired..." You say, a little heartbroken. You've started to enjoy Rickon's company. 

"Are you sure? I don't want him to be a bother..." Cregan lingers by the door, worried about his poor heart if he stands a bit more close to you or be surrounded by your sweet scent. He also notes you're in your sleepwear, and that his thoughts are ready to get inappropriate. 

"Oh, he's a delight. I can look after him tonight if it's okay with you?" Your eyes plead. Cregan was a goner.

"Alright then..." Of course, he yields. "Goodnight, y/n." 

"Goodnight, Cregan. I hope you get some rest." You smile sweetly. You know he stays up late at night answering letters and learning more about his trade. You've watched him one night surrounded by books and scrolls in the great hall with nothing but a few candles for company. 

Cregan nods and walks away from your room. 'Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her!' A voice tells him, and this time it wasn't Rickon's. 

It was his own. 

Cregan rarely finds sleep nowadays. His mind is plagued by the princess who ran away. The princess who now lives upstairs, in his mind, in dreams, and in his every waking moment. She is so kind and gentle, not only to his son but to his subjects. He observed her today in the markets, tucking her silver hair under a tight hat. She fits in like a puzzle piece here in Winterfell. He was so happy she accepted to stay a little longer, despite his lame reasoning of 'you don't happen to be urgently needed elsewhere, are you?'

So here Cregan attempts to distract himself from you as he studies piles of maps and scrolls, and building plans. The distraction was beginning to work until loud and heavy fluttering noises followed by a brief shaking of the ground alarmed the lord of Winterfell. 

And then, an angry screech. 

A dragon. 

-------

It was well past midnight when the dragon and its rider arrive in Winterfell. His boots crunch against the ankle-deep snow, one after the other. There was still some distance to be covered on foot, having to park his huge beast at a safe distance from the castle. His dragon lets out an angry huff, annoyed at the cold temperature.

The dragonrider arrives at the gate and introduces himself as royalty. Of course, he is let in. He is the prince.

------

You jolt up in your bed upon hearing the familiar screech of dragon. You hop out of bed, dressed up as best as you can put together in mere seconds, and picked up a coat of fur before heading out silently into the great hall. 

Rickon continues to sleep in the otherwise empty bed, blissfully unaware. 

--------

Cregan had suited up when you arrived. Strapped to his hip was a broadsword, large and threatening. Somehow he is even more attractive when he's gruff and serious. You stood there by the stairs, admiring him for a brief moment. 

The doors to the great hall swing open and in walked a Targaryen prince, paying his respects to the lord of Winterfell. 

"I apologize for arriving at a rather odd hour,..." He adds after making his introduction, fluffing the snow from his brunette locks. What in the Seven was Prince Jacaerys doing here?

Cregan was making hospitable small talk, promising him accommodations for the night when the prince's eyes drift to your figure, unmistakable platinum hair despite only torches to illuminate the room. Jacaerys interrupts Cregan in surprise of seeing you. 

"Princess Y/n!" His tone of voice sounded both threatened and surprised. 'Have you come to acquire the allegiance of the North?' was what he wanted to ask.

Cregan immediately picks up on the tension between you and your nephew. Looks like this matter couldn't wait until morning.

-----

You sat across your Jace, a large table meant for banquets in between you. Cregan sat at the head of the table, ready to settle things between your complicated family. 

You begin by telling your side of the story. How you ran away from home after the death of your father and heard the rumours of your brother Aegon set to be installed as king. How you asked your dragon to fly south after dropping you off at White Harbour, falling from a horse and hurting yourself- to which Jace laughed, earning a scowl from Cregan, and then the details of your rescue by the lord of Winterfell. 

Your nephew paid attention to your story and found an opportunity in it. Thus he had a proposition for you.

"Swear your allegiance to my mother, the Queen. You shall have your protection. You won't have anything to fear." He firmly states. You think he will make a fine king someday. 

It was a tantalizing offer for you. To support your good sister in leading the kingdom. It was what father would've wanted. 

So you accepted.

"Yes, Jace. I would like to come with you to Dragonstone, to formally speak with my sister, and inform her of my support."

Jace smiles brightly. He did not disappoint his mother today. 

At this exchange, Cregan hesitates to interrupt. You were both making plans to leave immediately on Vermax, the prince's dragon. Cregan had expressed his full support to the rightful queen. Now he's watching you leave. 

Maybe you weren't meant to stay long in Winterfell. Maybe a dragon's place is up in the skies with its pack. 

Maybe he was a lone wolf with nothing but the cold for company.

He watches you and the prince take off on the dark green beast, just as the first light of day begins to colour the edges of the sky. Cregan begins to feel his exhaustion as he walks back to the castle.

His feet carry him to the room you once occupied. Rickon continues to sleep peacefully, hugging one of your pillows. Your sweet scent gently caresses his senses as he enters the room, very quietly he dresses down and sits himself on the bed, next to his sleeping son. 

Rickon snuggles closer to his warmth. Cregan smiles at the memory of when Rickon was just a newborn, fitting comfortably in his arms. The grief of losing the boy's mother weighed him down while having to raise a child all on his own. For five years he's held on well, but he couldn't help but fantasize. Cregan rests his head next to his son's, lulled to sleep by your scent and the comfort of his son in his arms.

"Mama?" The boy mumbles, between sleep and wakefulness.

"Papa's here, Rickon." He whispers, tucking the covers around them.

--------

It was noontime when you landed in Dragonstone.  Your uncle Daemon greets Jace upon landing, bright smiles on their faces. Until Daemon recognizes your presence. His smile fades, not in disgust but in slight surprise and confusion.

Just then, your sister, the rightful queen, Rhaenyra comes into view. She gracefully descends from the steps, followed by her second son, Lucerys, who looked like he's seeing a ghost. 

"My dear y/n..." Rhaenyra approaches you after she greets Jace. Bending the knee while seeing her with the crown upon her head never felt so easy.

"I express my allegiance to Rhaenyra, the rightful queen." You announce, kneeling in front of her, and in front of her men. 

You hear her let out a sigh. She then pulls you up in an embrace. You found your family.

-------

Your good sister invites you to feel at home here in Dragonstone. Her maids helped you dress down from your northern furs to more appropriate clothing and invited you to stay as long as you want. 

"I would like to raise a toast, to my two boys who bravely carried out their duties as princes of the realm." Rhaenyra raises a glass over luncheon, giving a proud look to both her sons.

"How was Storm's end, Luke?" Jace asked his brother sitting across him on the table. 

Luke gives you a look, the same one when you arrived. He doesn't answer his brother. Instead, he asks you a question. "What were you doing in Winterfell?"

Rhaenyra moves to reprimand her younger son's tone. Lucerys resists. "No, Mother. I have to know why her dragon was in Storm's end!" His voice begins to tremble and tears threaten to fall from his eyes. What in the Seven happened?

"My dragon?" You ask, confused.

"Yes!" Lucerys rises from his seat. "Your good brother Aemond and his dragon were in Storm's End when I arrived. He tried to take my eye!"

"Gods!" Rhaenyra, Daemon, and the rest of the table were distressed.

"After I brought Mother's letter to Lord Borros, Aemond chased me down on his dragon. And then your dragon fought..." Lucerys paused, watching your mournful expression.

The entire table was silent.

"I saw your dragon fall from the sky..." He said with firm finality. 

"Please excuse me..." You rose from your seat, rushing to leave the room.

"No! Why did your dragon sacrifice himself for me?!" Luke moves to follow you but Rhaenyra stops him. Everyone notices how visibly upset you were, hearing how your brother had attacked Luke, causing the death of your beloved dragon. Has Aemond's heart turned black? All for a pointless struggle for the throne? 

It was later in the day when your sister knocks on your guest's quarters. She lets herself in and watches you mourn.

"I'm sorry I ruined your meal..." You glanced back from the bed. Rhaenyra shushes you and moves to sit next to you. You enjoy a silent moment, watching the view from your window.

"Do you think Aemond would still attack if I was on board my dragon?" You asked, the mere thought makes you sob.

"Do not plague your mind with these thoughts, sister." Her calming voice soothes your crying. "Your brother loves you, this I know."

"Then why would he? Why would anyone in my family do this to you? To father?!" The possibility of war strikes you.

"It is love that drives all of us to do things both kind and wicked," Rhaenyra answers. Her lilac eyes are full of wisdom as they watch yours. "It is your love that brought you to Dragonstone, to pledge your loyalty to me."

You let her words linger in your head. Love.

You almost laugh to yourself as a memory of Cregan and little Rickon crosses your mind. Like in Rickon's fairytale, it was the power of love that brought the snow fairy back to life.

Rhaenyra gives you a look as if she's read your mind.

"Jace told me of your time in Winterfell..."

Ah, well... They were very hospitable." You nod, trying to hold in a smile.

"Mhmm, Are you fully healed now?" She asks about your injury.

"Yes, Lord Stark was looking after me." You answered, rather mindlessly.

"I hope he wasn't too hospitable with you..." She gives you a teasing look.

"Rhaenyra!!" You sit up in bed, playfully berating her insinuation. She laughs along. For that brief moment, it felt like you were normal siblings, teasing and annoying each other. The room begins to grow dark as the sun begins to hide under the horizon. Rhaenyra gives you an adoring look, her gentle fingers comb through your silver hair, almost identical to her own. She contemplates letting you stay with her as family or letting you go to where you belong. Her love for you reigns, and makes you an offer.

------------

Rickon is upset all day. When he awoke, he expected to see his favorite Targaryen, but only finds his own father.

"Princess y/n!" He calls out into the room, jolting Cregan awake. The lord of Winterfell pulls his son closer and explains to him what happened overnight. Rickon cries and refuses to do anything all day except demanding to send you a raven, asking you to come back. Cregan's heart breaks. "She wouldn't have left if you kissed her!" Rickon cries.

Eventually, the boy tires himself out and falls asleep just after dinner. Cregan sighs, tucking the boy in his own chambers. He glances at the storybook on his bedside and decides to hide it for now, to help Rickon forget. Just as Cregan stows the book away, the ground shakes again, waking Rickon up.

"Father, is that a dragon?!" The boy sits up. Before he could answer, Rickon bolts out of the room and heads downstairs to the courtyard. Cregan chases his boy down the hall. They arrive just in time for the doors to open.

-------

You walked into the great hall of Winterfell with only seconds to realize that Rickon was bolting toward you at full speed. You catch him hugging you so tight, his little arms around your neck. You look up to see Cregan following, relief and joy in his eyes. You were home.

The very moment Rickon lets you go, Cregan wastes no time and closes the gap between you and him. His lips were warm against yours, a strong contrast to the northern weather. The kiss went on for a good while, Rickon clapping his hands as he watches the wolf prince finally kiss the snow fairy.

You wanted the kiss to go on forever, but your good sister, who accompanied you on her dragon, had to clear her throat from behind you.

Cregan's spirit nearly departs his body seeing your sister, the queen, standing there.

"No, it's fine." She jokes, almost sarcastically. "I just came here to deliver her. Be sure to invite me to the wedding though..." She gives you a wink before walking back to her dragon.

You give Cregan one more loving kiss, a lot shorter than the last, before picking up Rickon.

"Well, now that your father's kissed me, I will grant you your wish!" You said, watching the boy, and side-eyeing his father.

Both Stark boys lose it. 

----------------------------------------------

The end.

[francesminos-tt]

cregan is married and fucks his son's nanny, jace 👀👀

I am not sure if this is what you ask for, but I tried😅

It was somewhat laughable for a graduate student to work as a babysitter, but Jacaerys found this job best accommodating to he needs. Jace was on his year of pursuing a doctor’s degree in Winterfell Institution of Technology, a renowned academic hub for science enthusiastic like him. Jacaerys came from an affluent family, but he decided to finish his education and carve a place in the world on his own, which meant no easy money from mother, no top-notch sports car from Papa Laenor, no private security from Daemon, and absolutely no private jet from grandpa Corlys. Jacaerys had a scholarship, and he worked as a part-time babysitter to help pay the rent.

“Okay, time for bed, little man.” Jacaerys helped the little boy into his dire wolf printed pajamas before tucking him in, making sure the boy was warm and comfortable.

“Can you tell me a bedtime story, Jace?” Rickon asked, his dark eyes tentative and pleading.

“Of course.” Jacaerys replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed carefully, “Which one do you prefer tonight?”

There were at least a dozen children’s book in Rickon’s room, ranging from fairy tales to folklores, all with beautiful illustrations.

“The werewolf and the dragon prince.” Rickon replied with anticipation, “That’s my favorite one!”

That was Jacaerys’s favorite, too.

“All right.” Jacaerys smiled, reaching over to pick up the illustrated book and opened it on his lap, “Ready?”

Rickon nodded expectantly. Jacaerys brushed some stray curls from the boy’s face and began to read the story of a dragon prince venturing into the dark woods and befriended a long lost clan of werewolves. Rickon was fast asleep before the dragon prince could made it to the wolf’s den.

Jacaerys gently closed the book and dimmed the light, leaving only a small light source in case the boy woke up at night. Jace would kiss the boy on the forehead if Rickon were one of his younger brothers, but he had to remind himself that Rickon was not his family. It would be inappropriate and felt like trespassing if he got too intimate with the boy.

Jacaerys closed Rickon’s bedroom door behind him with a soft click and headed for the kitchen. The house was dark, indicating that Rickon’s father had not come home yet. Cregan Stark was a busy man, and it was normal for him to work late into the night. You had to sacrifice something in order to run the biggest technology company in the realm, after all. For Cregan, he had to give up his family time, even his wife, who had filed for divorce and moved out, and that was why Cregan was in need of a nanny to look after his son when he was gone.

Jacaerys was the perfect candidate for the job. He was the eldest of five siblings, well-experienced with children, especially little boys. He lived near the Stark house, a short 15-minutes’ walk, so it was easier for him to come to the house on a short notice. Also, he was a post-graduate student, highly intelligent and extremely patient, so Cregan did not have to hire another home teacher for the boy. For Jace, the job fit him just fine. He got along with Rickon, and he could have a quiet night to study after the boy fell asleep, not having to listen to his neighbor’s ugly moan when they jerked off or the nasty curse when they lost a game.

Jace poured himself a cup of tea and opened his laptop. He really needed to finish reading the materials for the lecture next week. Jace was on his third cup of tea and second energy bar when the door was pushed open, entering a tall and muscular figure wrapped in a puff jacket, scarf and beanie. Cregan was a strong guy, so this outfit only made him more towering and muscular, more like a bear than a wolf. Jacaerys could never understand why Cregan insisted on parking his car three blocks away and ran the way home in such cold weather. Cregan said it was a good exercise for his lungs, but Jacaerys never fully believed him.

“Hello,” Cregan greeted Jace cheerfully, “I assume my son has fallen asleep already?”

“Yes.” Jacaerys replied, “It’s past midnight, Cregan. Every boy Rickon’s age should be fast asleep by now.”

“He always behaves so well around you.” Cregan shrugged the jacket off and threw it to the couch casually before entering the kitchen to wash his hands and get some tea, “He’s a total menace when you are not here. He wouldn't go to bed last Saturday and I had to promise him a vacation to Dorne in the summer and ten private museum tours.”

“Maybe he just likes me better.” Jacaerys joked. Contrary to most people’s belief, Jacaerys was not as serious as he looked. Granted his sense of humor could be considered dry in common standards, but Cregan found it charming. In fact, he found everything about Jace charming, from the young man’s intelligence, diligence, strong sense of responsibility, to his handsome features, relatively small but toned body (do not ask how Cregan knew it) and those pink lips that looked so soft and kissable.

“Perhaps.” Cregan said, pouring milk and sugar into his tea as if his life depended on it, “I like you very much, so maybe Rickon takes after me.”

Jacaerys’s smile disappeared, replaced by something unreadable.

“We talked about this, Cregan.” Jacaerys lowered his voice, as if he feared there were ears in the wall, “You are married. I am your son’s sitter. We cannot-”

“I am going through a divorce, Jace.” Cregan said, stopping at the high chair where Jacaerys sat, “And Rickon is sleeping, so technically, you are off duty now.”

Jacaerys could smell the aftershave from Cregan, fresh woody scent with a hint of musk, reminding him of a cozy cabin in the snow. Cregan always made him feel cozy, like sitting beside a burning hearth. Chatting with the Stark had become Jace’s favorite pastime, and he had grown very fond of the man, but it didn't mean he could cross the line. Call him a conservative, but it just didn't feel right to develop a relationship with your employer, no matter how much Jace wanted it.

“Relax.” Cregan said, stopping right behind Jace, “I haven’t done anything inappropriate yet.”

“You shouldn’t.” Jacaerys replied, but somehow, he didn't struggle when a pair of strong arms snaked around his waist.

Cregan chuckled, resting his chin on Jace’s shoulder, his little stubble stinging the sensitive skin on Jace’s neck. Cregan felt cold, but warm at the same time. The feeling was too complicated to describe. Jace had never felt anything like this before, the slight tingling creeping up his spine, the clench of his stomach, and the lump in his throat.

“It’s up to me to decide, isn't it?” Cregan whispered in Jace’s ear, brushing his lips against Jace’s cute earlobe.

“Cregan-”

Jace never had the chance to finish his sentence, for Cregan had sealed their lips together into a passionate kiss. It was not the first time they kissed, but it was the first time Cregan’s tongue sneaked into Jace’s mouth. Cregan tasted just like how Jace had imagined it, fresh like the fresh air of a crisp winter morning and warm like a cup of hot liquor. Jacaerys should push the man away. He really should, but his mind was too clouded by the caffeine and intense reading that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He just placed his hand on Cregan’s strong chest, but didn’t push.

“You have no idea how long I have dreamed of this,” Cregan whispered as they parted to catch their breath, “and what kind of nasty thoughts are on my mind whenever I see you.”

“Pervert.” Jace murmured, his cheeks burning, “I am your son’s sitter!”

“You like me doing perverted things, don’t you?” Cregan’s large hand slipped into Jace’s sweater, roaming on the young man’s smooth skin and stopping at his nipple, “Or you won’t be like this.”

Cregan teased Jace’s stiff nipple with his fingers, pressing, pinching, and embedding his nails into the flesh. Jace jolted in surprise, breathy moans escaping his lips.

“Cregan, we really shouldn’t.” Jace tried again, but his words were powerless.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want this.” Cregan lifted his head from Jace’s neck, and looked straight into the young man’s soft brown eyes, “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

How could Jacaerys tell him to stop? Cregan felt so warm, their bodies pressing tightly together, so perfectly matched like two matching puzzle pieces. Jacaerys liked Cregan. No, hell, he fancied Cregan, from the moment he came to the house to interview for the nanny’s job. Jacaerys tried to keep his affection hidden, for he felt embarrassed and guilty that he had developed feelings for his married employer who happened to be a guy.

Jacaerys was the first to break eye contact. He couldn’t look at Cregan’s eyes anymore, so honest and open, as if making out in the kitchen when his son was fast asleep in the room was absolutely normal. Jace didn’t struggle when Cregan’s hand slipped into his sweatpants.

“You are hard.” Cregan observed, wrapping the bulge between Jacaerys’s legs in his large palm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You are, too.” Jacaerys said, more like a retort. He reached down to Cregan’s pants and mirrored the large man’s gesture, amazed at how large Cregan was. Jacaerys was not some pillow princess. Once he had made up his mind, he would do everything within his power to enjoy the moment. And now, he had made up his mind to fuck Cregan tonight.

Fuck moral standards. Fuck appropriateness.

“For you.” Cregan wrapped his free arm around Jace’s tiny waist and lifted the young man up onto the counter, and settled between Jace’s legs.

Jace instinctively wrapped his legs around Cregan, pressing their groins together, their hard cocks making first contact through Jace’s sweatpants and Cregan’s jeans. Even through layers of fabric, Jace could feel Cregan’s pulsing cock so much that he couldn’t help but swallow, anticipation slowly building inside him.

They kissed again, eagerly taking off each other’s clothes. Soon Jacaerys was sitting on the counter completely naked, his butt against the cool surface, his laptop and coursework completely forgotten. Cregan had taken off his shirt and his jeans were half way down his legs, exposing his massive cock and the thick bush in his groin. Cregan’s body hair was just as dark as his hair, a little rough to the touch like his stubbles, which Jacaerys just adorned.

“Fuck, you are more beautiful than I imagined.” Cregan marveled, pumping Jace’s cock with one hand and groping the young man’s tight ass with the other.

“You are more romantic than I expected.” Jace joked, sweat dripping down his curls onto Cregan’s lips, which Cregan licked clean immediately.

“I want to fuck you.” Cregan said, always so open and honest that Jace found it cute.

“Okay.” Jace nodded, opening his legs a little more.

“Okay?” Cregan asked, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“What? Are you backing down now, Mr. Stark?” Jace chuckled, deliberately calling Cregan by the man’s family name, as if they were nothing more than employer and employee.

“No. OF course not.” Cregan flipped Jace over and covered the young man with his large form, “You cannot get rid of me now, Jace.”

Jacaerys had no such intention, but Cregan would have to wait to hear him confess.

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Choices

pairing: Fanon!Viserys Targaryen x Female OC

summary: When Aemma passed away during childbirth Viserys was faced with two choices, either wed the daughter of his Hand Alicent Hightower or Elna Stark, the daughter of the north.

Word count: 2,9K

Warnings: Fluff

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Elna straightened her back fixing her furs that were too heavy and made her sweat in the heat of King's Landing, she wanted this to be over soon so she could take off her furs.

"Welcome Lord Stark" Otto Hightower greeted Elna's father with a fake smile on his face, she knew her father brought her here to challenge Otto so the King will marry her instead of Alicent.

"Thank you, Lord Hand, can you show us the way around, I fear I have exhausted myself with this trip" Her father nodded back. His words were a lie, he was as strong as a horse and such a trip never tired him out but he did not want to be in Otto's company.

"Of course and this maiden shall show Lady Stark the way to her room" Otto flicked his finger making one of the girls behind him scramble over to Elna. He did not even bother bringing his own daughter to greet them which was a way to show disrespect.

"This way, my Lady" The maiden led the way away from the med. Elna's own handmaiden followed with her famous glare on her face, she was a hard person and very professional unlike Elna.

"This shall be your chamber, my lady" The handmaiden opened the doors to a room just as big as her own in Winterfell. She thanked her and walked throwing her furs off.

"Shall I prepare a bath, my Lady?" Her handmaiden asked. Elna nodded her head. She proceeded to untie the strings holding her corset together. Her dress fell down on the floor in a heap followed by her small cloth leaving her bare as her handmaiden spilled the last bucket of water in the tub.

Elna let out a sigh as she sank into the water, not hot or cold just perfect lukewarm cooling her heated skin. She scrubbed her skin to rid herself of the sweat that build there from her furs. Her handmaiden prepared her dress in the meantime. It was light blue, and flow to let in the summer breeze in as well had many openings to cool her heated skin.

Elna grinned as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair dried much faster than usual in the heat and her handmaiden braided som strands back to keep it out of her face other wise she let the straight black hair down covering the back of her dress until the top of her bottom. Elna was proud of the length of her hair and wanted to show it off, not many had hair as long as hers and definitely not as healthy thanks to the oils her father gifted her from Volantis after one of his trips.

"I feel like taking a quick walk in the gardens, I will meet you in the throne room soon" Elna turned to look at her handmaiden. the older girl nodded and waited in the room as Elna left, there was no need for her to distrust the Lady of house Stark. Elna was described as elegant and ladylike, lords and ladies would put her as en example to their own daughter, she was perfect at embroidery and sewed her house sigil on a flag at only seven name days and now it was hung proudly over their home and her father refused to take it down even ten years later. She was also skilled with a dagger thanks to her younger brother Cregan. She as well was very good with children and would help with their teachings after finishing her own studies with her Septa who never scolded her once in her life. All that made the houses of the north choose her to be sent to the King.

Elna sat down on a bench beside a rose bush. She does not usually see flowers since she loved in the north where only snow was seen for miles. During her few trips with her father she would pick a flower and hide it until it was dried before placing it in a book to keep it as a reminder of the trip and the beauty of the nature.

"What is a Lady doing here all alone with no chaperone?" Elna jumped at the sudden voice. She turned to find a middle aged man standing beside bench. She did not know who he was but she stood up respectfully either way and plastered a sweet smile on her face.

"Enjoying the gardens, my Lord" She answered. She touched the bud of the rose she was smelling earlier.

"Not something you see often?" The man asked stepping closer to her. She shook her head letting go of the flower and turned to face him.

"All I see is snow" She answered. The man chuckled shaking his head a little.

"What about you my Lord, should you not be in a meeting? i do not want to cause you trouble" Elna chewed on her bottom lip nervously. The man stared at her for a second before reaching over and pulling her lip from between her teeth making it flush red again as well as her cheeks.

"No worried, my Lady" He said. Looking between her brown eyes and the rest of her. She felt a little uncomfortable and wrapped her arms around her midsection to cover the exposed parts of her body which snapped the man back to reality.

"You do not have to fear me, my Lady" The man assured. She aloud her lips to twitch a quick smile before turning to the palace knowing she should leave soon.

"You look like you are running away from something, my Lady?" The man asked. He sat down on the bench she earlier sat on. He gestured for her to sit beside him, she was hesitant a little but did so.

"Just needed a moment before I get presented in front of the King" She answered. She shrugged her shoulders which was an unlady like act but she did not even notice herself.

"Do you not wish to meet him?" The man asked. He sounded a little worried. She looked at him confused but chose not question his reaction.

"No, it is not that. I am overwhelmed, tis all" She answered. The man smiled a little. Her eyes widened when his hand extended to her face only for it to bypass her and pluck the rose she was smelling earlier. He moved to place it behind her ear which proved to be a wise choice as the colour popped against her black locks.

"A rose for a rose" He mused. She smiled shyly and looked down at her fingers sitting elegantly on her lap. She had taught herself to stop fidgeting when nervous after her Septa told her that it was unlady like.

"Are you sure you are merely overwhelmed? You look terrified" The man touched her chin and Elna let his hand wander to her cheek before looking up at him and he let his hand drop back on his lap.

"I heard that the King was ill and needed a nurse for a wife and truly do not wish to spend my life nursing a man instead of loving and being loved by one" She answered truthfully. She did not know why she felt safe and like she could trust this stranger, she could get beheaded for her words or even for a second thinking ill of the King.

"Ah I see, well those rumours can make even the strongest maiden fear her future?" The man leaned back against the bench. Elna's eyes widened when the man did not deny the rumours.

"So they are true?" She asked leaning forward. The man shrugged his shoulders a little and much to his amusement she gulped as if she was afraid.

"If you will excuse me, my Lord, my father should be expecting me soon" She stood up curtsied a little. The man reached over and grabbed her hand making her gasp a little. He raised her softer hand and placed a kiss on knuckles. He let go of her hand and watched as she stalked back over to the Red Keep with her back straight and her head held high but each step held grace and composer.

Elna found her father and handmaiden by the door waiting for her. Her father smiled at the sight of her and his eyes held proudness at the sight of their house sigil as a necklace around her neck. He knew she wore it because she missed her wolf, there were no more direwolves in Winterfell but he insisted on gifting her a normal she-wolf who she named Willow.

"What ever happens in there you must know that I will be proud of you regardless" Her father patted her hands that clutched the inside of his arm. She smiled and leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek.

"I know, father" She whispered. Lord Stark turned to the door and nodded at the guards standing there.

"Lord Rickon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and his daughter Lady Elna Stark" The guard announced as he opened the doors. Elna smiled as the crowed parted as her father led her down the stairs. She did not dare look up at the Iron Throne, she was told that the King was an old ailing man who wanted to marry a woman who will nurse him through his last years.

Her father paused by Otto Hightower and Alicent Hightower, a brunette girl who looked younger than Elna herself. Elna felt bad for the poor girl who looked terrified and like she was praying in her head to not be chosen.

Elna finally found the courage to look up at the Iron Throne only to find it empty. She turned to her father who gave her an encouraging smile. She smiled back and straightened her back.

"King Viserys of house Targayen! the first of his name, King of Andals and the Rhoynar and the First men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and the protector of the realm" A guard announced. Elna tightened her grip on her father's arms, she was truly afraid, she did not wish to marry a sick man who could barely walk. She awaited the sound of a cane but it never came and instead she heard the sound of two healthy feet creating a rhythm as they walked. She turned along with the entire court to face the king.

Her heart dropped into her stomach when she saw the stranger earlier make his way over to her and her father or more like to pass by them to the Iron Throne. He winked her way discreetly as he passed by and walked up the steps to the Iron Throne. She spoke ill of the King in the King's face without knowing and now she feared his anger.

"Lord Stark,I welcome you to my court" King Viserys' voice boomed around the throne room.

"You honoured by accepting me in your court, your grace" Rickon Stark bowed to the King. Elna gave a curtsy along with her father, eyes never leaving those of the King trying to read his expression. He did not look angry which was a relief but one cannot always be sure.

"Your daughter had grown into a beautiful young lady I see" The King spoke. His eyes on the rose she still had tugged behind her ear. Elna looked down blushing at his compliment, this gave her some sort of peace that he was not angered by her.

"She has" Rickon grinned at his young daughter. Yes she was no son and not his heir but he loved her dearly and coddled her even at her age of ten and seven. Soon after the King announced a feast to be held in their honour before ending the meeting for the day.

Elna made her way to her room still shaking from earlier. She had never expected the stranger to be the King himself. She let out a squeal of surprise when she opened her chamber door to find the King sitting on her bed awaiting her arrival.

"Your grace" Elna curtsied, not daring to raised her eyes off the ground. She was ashamed and she was even more ashamed to admit it even to herself.

"Your sickly King requires assistance, Lady Stark" King Viserys was the one to break the silence that fell over the room. Elna looked up at the King to find him pointing at the table beside the bed where a pitcher of wine sat with two cups of wine.

Elna moved over to the table silently, she did not know what to say or how to justify that she did not mean any disrespect. She picked up the pitcher and filled one of the cups halfway through before placing the pitcher back on the table, she wished she was the one drinking this wine now. She handed the King the cup with a blush as their fingers brushed against each other.

"I did not mean to disrespect-" Elna's jaw dropped when the King downed the wine in one go. He placed the cup down on the floor by the foot of the bed and turned to look at her bewildered expression.

"Did not expect an old man to drink wine so fast?" The King asked. Elna gulped and looked down at her hands.

"I did not mean to offend you, your Grace. My words were dumb and I do not know how to show you my regret" Elna whispered. She flinched a little when he stood up from the bed. He stepped closer to her until they're chest were almost touching. Elna has never been struck before and it seems this was the day she will be.

"Let me steal a kiss from your lips and you will be forgiven" Elna's head snapped up in shock at his request. He raised an eyebrow awaiting her reply.

"I do not know what to do, I have never-" Her words were cut off when his palm made contact with her cheek, so soft and cautious she almost thought it was a feather.

"No worries, I can just cut off your head instead" The King's fingers trailed down to her neck and used his pointed finger to draw a line from one side to the other. Elna's heart picked up in pace and she felt dizzy and her ears were ringing. The King moved to step away from her but both of her hands grabbed his biceps before he could and he turned to her with a smirk.

"No, please, I will do what ever you want, your grace" She whispered. The King chuckled and fixed his posture to his previous one again. He placed his hand on her cheek again and leaned his head down, not yet connecting their lips. Elna closed her eyes feeling his breath hitting her lips, she could almost taste the wine in it.

The King took a couple of seconds before making up his mind and diving into her lips. Elna's breath caught in her throat when she finally felt his lips on her own. She did not know what to do so she mimicked what ever he was doing. She felt herself growing addicted to the taste of wine on his lips. The King wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest, himself growing addicted to the taste of something sweet on her lips, probably a fruit she used to paint her lips with.

His hand trailed from her neck to her bicep and down to her elbow and raised it to wrap around his neck. Elna got the memo that she was not supposed to just stand there and wrapped her other arm around his neck letting it tangle in his gold-white hair. She forgot all about the time or the fact that her handmaiden may already be on the way to help her change her dress and accessories for the feast.

She let out a small gasp at the sound of something heavy hitting the floor and it sounded like metal. She turned to find the king's golden crown on the floor beside them. They both panted after the powerful kiss, her eyes wide on the crown and his on her.

"I am sorry I did not mean to-" The King placed his finger on her lips making her stop.

"You do not recon they will notice our absence from the feast, do you?" he questioned teasingly.

"Why would we miss it?" She asked tilting her head to the side.

"Do you not want to continue that?" Not a sinlge answer was given in that conversation. Elna's face grew hot at his suggestion making him chuckle. He grabbed her hand and raise dit up to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"I will be expecting you there" He whispered in her ear before leaving. Elna's face was still bright red when her handmaiden walked in with several dress on her arm for Elna to choose from. Elna was more than excited for the feast now.

[sarasnow2024]

Lady of the Laughing Tree

Father Philip sighed with relief and sat down on a comfortable bench under the kitchen window, carefully leaning his oak stick against the wall so that it was within reach. Bessy the Cook gave him a quart of good, chilled brew. For a week he had been looking into every nook and cranny, supervising deliveries, servants, the kitchen, halls decoration, guest rooms preparation and the tailors and seamstresses milling about everywhere.

- There's nothing like a good ale after a hard day's work.

- If you hadn't been running up and down the stairs...

- For those scoundrels to steal and destroy everything? Oh no! And do you remember, dear Bessy, how on the royal twins' name day Pete fell asleep under the table? If only I hadn't checked the hall then!

- But you did, now sit down and drink!

Philip sighed as he dipped his lips into the delicious drink, raised his free hand and slapped his knee out of habit. He would have slapped Bessy, but they had not spoken yet, and since she had only been in mourning for seven months, it was not proper to court! Dowager Queen Alicent would certainly not approve!

- What will you have?

- This is the fifth time you've asked me that! - Bessy huffed, although she knew well that Philip expected to taste a few things from the royal table. - As a side, we will serve salad...

- It's good for rabbits nor adult man!

- And who asked you? There will be all kinds of eggs, cold meet and several kinds of cheese too.

- Now that's better! And for the main course?

- Potted hare and trout baked in clay.

- Good, good. And for the dessert?

- Oh, sweet biscuits and these mini marzipan cakes.

- Veeeery good! Do you remember, dear Bessy...

Bessy didn't hear that day what was that she would or would not remember, because Father Philip froze with his mouth open like that famous trout baked in clay.

From the bench they had a pleasant view of the well-grown herbarium. Usually one could see servants there, and sometimes the Keep’s maester or Harold, court's secretary, but this time a complete stranger was walking down the path - and worst of all, in Philip's opinion - it was a bizarrely dressed woman.

Her hair was braided into several tight ropes, her features noble, both mature and young, timeless beauty, but her ruffled, yellow-orange dress or tunic reminded more of the mummers or comedians' costumes than of attire appropriate for the royal court.

The woman approached Bessy and Philip, bowing her head regally.

- Welcome, good people. - she smiled prettily. - If you hear of any weakening woman or maiden in need, send her to me. I am Sarah Snow, half-sister of the lord of Winterfell, Cregan Strak. - Having said that, she simply turned around and left.

- And who is that?! - Bessy gasped.

- Haven't you heard? The Stark's bastard.

- It's a witch from the North! - Felicity the scullery maid threw out. - I heard that the rope maker's wife fell down just in her time at the Old Gate, and lady Snow stopped the whole squad, ordered Lord Stark to hold the woman in labor and cut her belly open!

- You're just chattering away! - Philip was angry. - How do you mean - cut her open?!

- Yes, like some do with a sow! - Pete threw out, lugging wood. - The butcher told me that witches in the North do that when a child doesn't want to come out, but they can then use spells to make the woman in labor survive.

Philip made Star sign.

- You're dumber than lobster bait, and I didn't say that at all! - yelled the butcher, who had just arrived. - They do it with threads, like every quack, not with any spells! Only ointments and elixirs, such that they will even drive away puerperal fever. If such as this one appeared when the late Queen Aemma time came...

- Get to work! - Bessy boomed. - See them, maesters altogether, experts on what's under a woman's gown! It's none of our business, whatever happens or doesn't happen, it's all in the hands of the Gods!

- Well said Bessy! Go and deliver it, Pete! And you, Felicity, the cauldrons from the day before yesterday are waiting! - reminded Phillip.

Bessy pretended to check the delivery, but she glanced anxiously in the direction where Sara Snow had gone. Her youngest daughter was eight months pregnant and Bessy worried, if she can afford the decent maester, just in case.

[misswynters]

Winter’s Embrace — Chapter Two

Cregan Stark x targaryen!fem!reader

[warning: suggestive, cregan pinning the reader to the bed

[synopsis: You spend time with your husband, cregan. There’s a big snow storm happening outside, and you get caught in the middle.

[word count: 3.0k

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

previous chapter | next chapter

Winterfell had never seemed so bleak. The walls, which were normally a sanctuary, felt like a prison with the storm raging outside. Snow fell like thick sheets, obscuring everything beyond the castle's stone walls. The wind howled like a wild beast, its icy breath seeping through every crack and crevice, chilling you to the bone.

Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, stood by a window, his silhouette stark against the swirling snow outside. His presence was as commanding as ever, even with the tempest raging behind him. His grey eyes, the color of storm clouds, were fixed on the blizzard, a deep frown etched into his features.

"It's worse than I expected," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate through the very walls of Winterfell. "We might be stuck here for days."

You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself, feeling the cold despite the fire. "At least we're safe inside," you replied, stepping closer to the hearth. The warmth was a welcome reprieve from the chill that seemed to permeate everything.

Cregan turned to face you, his gaze softening as it settled on your form. "Are you alright? You seem... uneasy."

You met his eyes, feeling a jolt of something you couldn't quite name. There was a strength in his gaze, a reassurance that made you feel safer despite the storm. "I'm just not used to storms like this," you admitted. "It's... overwhelming."

He moved closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. The contact was electric, sending warmth coursing through you. "Winterfell can be a harsh place," he said softly. "But you're not alone."

The intimacy of the moment caught you off guard. You had always admired Cregan from afar, his strength and stoic nature a constant presence in the Stark household. But now, with the storm raging outside and the world reduced to the confines of Winterfell, you found yourself drawn to him in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

Cregan's hand lingered on your arm for a moment longer before he stepped back, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "Come, let's check on the supplies. We need to make sure everyone is taken care of."

You followed him through the dimly lit halls of Winterfell, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the stone walls. The storm outside seemed distant now, the only sounds the echo of your footsteps and the occasional gust of wind rattling the windows.

As you worked together, checking the stores of food and ensuring the fires in the various hearths were well-fed, you found yourself stealing glances at Cregan. There was a gentleness to him you hadn't seen before, a side that he rarely showed to others. And in those moments, you felt a connection growing, a bond forged in the midst of the storm.

By the time you returned to the Great Hall, the storm had intensified, the wind howling like a wild beast. Cregan stoked the fire, adding another log to the flames, and you both settled down in front of the hearth, the warmth a welcome contrast to the cold outside.

"It's almost beautiful, in a way," you mused, staring into the dancing flames.

Cregan nodded, his gaze fixed on the fire. "Aye, there's a certain beauty to it. But it's also dangerous. We have to respect its power."

You turned to him, finding his eyes already on you. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. "Cregan, I..."

He leaned closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek. "Shh," he murmured. "No need for words."

The kiss that followed was like nothing you had ever experienced. It was tender and passionate, a release of all the emotions that had been building between you. The storm outside raged on, but in that moment, all you could feel was the warmth of his embrace, the taste of his lips, and the beating of his heart against yours. The fire crackled and popped, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the stone walls. You and Cregan remained by the hearth, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

Cregan's hand traced a path down your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," he admitted, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

You looked up at him, your breath hitching at the intensity of his gaze. "So have I," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn't think you felt the same."

His lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. "I've always felt it. I just... thought you didn’t like being betrothed to me."

You reached up, your fingers lightly brushing his cheek. "No…i was just scared. Everything here is new to me."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. When he opened them again, there was a fire in his gaze that matched the one burning in the hearth. "Come with me," he said, his voice husky with emotion.

You nodded, allowing him to take your hand and lead you through the dimly lit halls of Winterfell. The storm outside was a constant reminder of the world beyond, but here, within these ancient walls, you felt safe and cherished.

Cregan led you to his chambers, a place you had only ever seen in passing. The room was warm, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. It was a reflection of its owner—strong, steadfast, and filled with a quiet intensity.

He closed the door behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet room. For a moment, you both stood there, the silence filled with unspoken words and a palpable tension. Then, Cregan stepped forward, his hands gently cradling your face as he kissed you again, this time with a hunger that took your breath away.

You melted into his embrace, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The kiss deepened, a fire igniting between you that rivaled the one in the hearth.

The dim light of the hearth cast a warm, flickering glow across the stone walls of Cregan Stark's chambers. The winter chill was kept at bay by the roaring fire, but inside, a different kind of heat was building. Cregan's piercing eyes locked onto yours, and without a word, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

His hands found your waist, strong and sure, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, your fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging slightly as you tried to bring him even closer. His breath was hot against your lips, mingling with yours in a shared rhythm of desire and need.

Cregan's hands began to roam, exploring the curve of your waist and the small of your back. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you towards the bed, never breaking the kiss. You could feel the strength in his arms, the controlled power that always made you feel safe and desired.

As your back met the soft mattress, Cregan's body pressed against yours, his weight a comforting presence. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down with you, desperate to keep him close. His lips left yours, trailing a line of fire down your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck.

You arched beneath him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your skin, followed by the soothing touch of his tongue. He was relentless, each kiss, each touch, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on.

Cregan's kisses grew more fervent, his mouth exploring the hollow of your throat, the curve of your collarbone. His hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup your face while the other held your hip, anchoring you to the bed. His body pressed you further into the mattress, and you welcomed the weight, the feeling of being completely enveloped by him.

He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes were dark with desire, a smoldering intensity that made your heart race. "You are mine," he murmured, his voice husky and low. The possessiveness in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you nodded, your breath coming in shallow pants.

"Hmm…I am yours" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire. The words seemed to ignite something in him, and he captured your lips once more in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

His hands began to roam again, tracing the contours of your body, memorizing every curve and dip. He kissed his way down your neck, his lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you wild.

Each touch was electrifying, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your hands found their way under his tunic, exploring the hard planes of his back, feeling the muscles bunch and flex under your touch. He groaned into your neck, the sound vibrating through you, adding to the heady mix of sensations.

Cregan's kisses grew more insistent, his teeth scraping lightly against your skin, followed by the soothing caress of his tongue. He knew exactly how to drive you to the edge, and he was relentless in his pursuit. You were lost in him, in the feel of his lips, his hands, his body. With a growl of need, he claimed your mouth once more, his kiss demanding and consuming. You gave yourself over to him completely, reveling in the intensity of his passion, the depth of his desire. As he pressed you further into the mattress, you could feel him getting hard. You knew that this night would be one you would never forget, a night where he showed you just how much he loved you.

⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫   ˑ

The next morning, the storm still showed no signs of abating. Snow piled high against the windows, and the wind continued to howl like a restless spirit. But the fire in Cregan's chambers kept the cold at bay, and the warmth of his embrace made you feel invincible.

You woke to find Cregan watching you, his grey eyes soft and filled with something you couldn't quite name. "Good morning," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

"Good morning," you replied, smiling up at him. "Did you sleep well?"

He nodded, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Better than I have in a long time," he admitted. "With you here... it feels right."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to cup his cheek. "It does," you agreed, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I feel the same way."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. "I'm glad," he murmured. "Because I don't want this to be a one-time thing. I want... more."

You could hear the vulnerability in his voice, and it made you love him all the more. "So do I," you said softly. "I want to be with you, Cregan. Not just for now, but for always."

His eyes opened, a spark of hope and determination in their depths. "Then that's what we'll do," he said firmly. "We'll make this work. No matter what."

Hours passed by and what followed were a blur of snow and cold, but the warmth between you and Cregan never wavered.

Later that evening, as you sat together by the fire, Cregan took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.

You looked at him curiously. "What is it?"

He stood, pulling you to your feet and leading you through the halls of Winterfell. The castle was quiet, the only sound the soft crunch of your footsteps on the stone floor.

He led you to a secluded part of the castle, a place you had never been before. It was a small garden, sheltered from the worst of the storm by high walls and ancient trees. The snow lay thick on the ground, sparkling in the moonlight.

Cregan turned to you, his eyes reflecting the light of the moon and stars. "This place... it's special to me," he said softly. "It's where I come to think, to find peace."

You looked around, taking in the serene beauty of the garden. "It's beautiful," you said, your breath misting in the cold air. "Thank you for showing me."

He smiled, his hand tightening around yours. "I wanted you to see it," he said. "Because you're special to me too. More than anyone or anything."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you stepped closer, your free hand resting on his chest. "And you mean everything to me, Cregan," you said, your voice filled with emotion. "I love you."

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, a slow, tender kiss that spoke of all the love and devotion he felt for you. "I love you too," he murmured against your lips. "More than I can ever say."

You stayed in the garden for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside forgotten. The storm had brought you together, and now, as the snow gently fell around you, you knew that nothing could ever tear you apart.

⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫   ˑ

That night, as the snowstorm outside intensified, you found yourself alone in the library, seeking solace among the ancient tomes. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. You had just settled into a chair with a book when the door creaked open.

Cregan Stark stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He looked surprised to see you there but quickly masked it with his usual stoicism.

“My dear,” he greeted, his voice softer than usual. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

You offered a small smile, trying to hide your nerves. “I find comfort in books, my lord. They offer an escape from reality when the weather gets horrible.”

He nodded, his eyes studying you intently. “Winterfell can be overwhelming, especially in the winter months. If you ever need anything to keep you warm, do not hesitate to ask.” He winked at you with a small smile.

Before you could respond, a sudden gust of wind howled through the hallways, rattling the windows and extinguishing the fire. The room plunged into darkness, save for the faint glow of the embers.

Cregan moved closer, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Stay close. The storm is worse than I thought. We need to find shelter.”

As you followed him through the dimly lit corridors, the howling wind seemed to grow louder, echoing through the stone walls. The castle felt like a labyrinth, and you struggled to keep up with Cregan’s long strides.

Just as you reached a narrow stairway, a deafening crash resonated from above. The ceiling groaned under the weight of the snow, and you felt a sense of impending danger.

Cregan turned to you, his expression grim. “We need to hurry. Follow me.”

But before you could take another step, the ground beneath you shook, and a section of the ceiling began to collapse. The last thing you saw was Cregan’s outstretched hand, reaching for you as the darkness consumed everything.

© misswynters ‘24 - don’t modify or steal my writings

tag list: @beebeechaos @benjicotblckwood

[pansyparkinsonsworld]

THE LONE WOLF AND THE LAUGHING DRAGON

Rhaella was the youngest daughter of the King, Viserys I Targaryen, and his wife, Alicent Hightower. At the age of twelve, Rhaella was sent to Winterfell for a betrothal to the young Cregan Stark.

CHAPTER TWO: Horse Riding and Kisses

She stared at the horse. "Wow.." She was at a loss for words, she walked a little bit close and touched the horse. "It looks beautiful.."

He watched as she stared at the horse for a moment before laughing. She was so precious, so innocent. Would all other Targaryen girls be as perfect as this?

He smiled as she pet the horse. "Would you like to ride her? She is a fine animal, very gentle and tame. You can trust her as much as you trust me…and that is saying something." He winked at her once more before gesturing for her to take the reins as he smiled proudly. "Go ahead, my lady."

"My Lord.." She stammered. She did not know how to mount a horse as well as he could, she only knew how to mount a dragon. "I do not know how to mount.. a horse," She admitted.

Cregan laughed as she confessed that she did not know how to mount a horse. "Would you like me to show you how? It's quite easy." He walked over to her, still holding the reins of the horse. "All you must do is grab these reins, and then you put your foot here and jump."

He pointed to a spot near the horse's back. "And then once you're there, you swing your other leg over…and then you sit." he paused. "And then…well, then you're riding."

Rhaella nodded.. "Will you catch me when I fall, my Lord?" She asked, as she grabbed the reins, and swung her foot, and jumped. She nearly fell, but she managed to catch herself.

He caught her easily and held her steady. "You nearly fell, my lady. I am glad you made it." He smiled at her. "Are you ready to ride? Just hold these reins tight like this and squeeze them with your right hand and hold on, and you should be secure enough. I promise you, she is not a frightening animal."

"Could you–." She looked down.. "Ride with me? I feel insecure, riding a horse."

A smile spread across his face as Cregan nodded. "Of course my lady, I have ridden plenty of horses with a rider before. I shall protect you." he mounted the fine horse, and then held his hand out to Rhaella. "Do you trust your betrothed?"

"I do.." She whispered. She smiled when he said the word betrothed, but she did not show it. "Thank you, Cregan." She adjusted herself on the horse. He smiled as she seemed to blush. Did the Targaryen Princess have feelings for him? Or was it simply a reaction to his closeness? He felt himself blushing again as well.

"Of course. I will always protect you, my lady," He said quietly before giving the horse a light tap on its side and beginning to gallop forward. "Hold on, my lady…this should be an exciting ride."

Rhaella held on to the reins tight, and she maintained her breath. "Gods, this is way frightening! A dragon is easier to mount, but a horse is harder, I believe."

Cregan laughed out loud as she called riding a horse harder than riding a dragon. It was an amusing sight to see such a Targaryen Princess who had flown on a mighty dragon for most of her life, get nervous on top of a horse.

"This is normal, my lady, do not worry. All riders have to learn to control their horse somehow." Cregan squeezed her hand. "Just hold onto the reins tightly, and you will stay on just fine. Would you like to go faster? Are you comfortable enough for that?"

"A bit faster.. I would like that," She smirked, but hid it slyly. "My Lord.." She cleared her throat. "Any names for children? Which one do you like?"

He grinned as he felt her hand squeeze his own. "You are brave enough for a bit faster in that case." He laughed and kicked the horse a bit harder, and they began to pick up speed. "I have thought of many names for our children," He admitted as the horse began to move faster and faster. "I think I would like any of my children's names to hold Northern importance, with the possibility of a Targaryen name to honor you and your house. What names have you been considering, my princess?"

"I do not know," She pouted, and looked at the horse. "Cregan, you might be hurting the horse.." She let out a gasp, as the horse was going fast. "Perhaps Alaric? Aerion?"

Cregan laughed as he squeezed her hand again. "I promise the horse is fine, my lady." The horse, as if on cue to prove a point, neighed happily as they raced through the woods. "Alaric is a fine name. Perhaps a bit… old fashioned. Aerion is a lovely name to honor your ancestors, if you are okay with it."

He smirked as he leaned down, speaking a little quieter than before. "Would you prefer to have a son or a daughter? Or no preference?"

"No preference at all.. Cregan." She whispered. "A son or a daughter would be fine. Why? Would you want a son? Should we name him Rickon?"

Cregan was surprised by the whisper, but smiled nonetheless. "Any child you bear would be a great blessing, my dear," He whispered back in kind. "But yes, I want a son. I want to be able to teach him everything I know, and I want to see him grow to be a fierce warrior like his father. But I would still love to have a daughter just as much. And Rickon is a fine name to honor my house. I would be willing to name a son that, should you wish for it."

Rhaella nodded. "Shall we return to Winterfell.. I must admit, Cregan," The name slipped off the name sultry. "Horse riding wears me out. And I cannot ride any longer."

"Of course, my dear," Cregan laughed as the horse began to slow. "I think even great Targaryen Princesses grow tired of riding occasionally." He smiled as he squeezed her hand again. "You were wonderful on that horse. Truly, you did a fine job." He kissed her knuckles. "You should go and get some rest. Perhaps you may even want to take a nap. I will go and fetch us some wine. Would that sound good, my lady?"

"I cannot drink! Aren't we too young to drink wine, my Lord?" She asked, as she got down from the horse. "I mean, you are three-and-ten, and I am two-and-ten.."

He laughed once more at her words. She may have been a Targaryen, but she certainly did not act like one. "You have never had any wine?" Cregan asked her in a low voice, surprised by her answer. "Not even at feasts? Many people in the North take their first sips of wine at feasts when they are much younger than you." He laughed again. "Are you perhaps forbidden to drink it while your father is King? I can tell you for certain, my lady, in the North, you would not be too young to drink."

"My mother." She rolled her eyes. "And besides.. I think of myself too young to even drink mead. Let alone wine. It is too much for me, my Lord."

He laughed at her answer. She was more Targaryen than he cared to admit if she was this innocent. Yet there was a certain part of him that admired the sincerity of it. He smiled at her and squeezed her hand once more. "Well then, how about we have some apple juice? Is that okay for you, my dear? I am sure there is plenty in the castle we can enjoy." I looked at her with a smile. "Would you like that?"

"Apple juice would be great," She smiled. "I am sorry, Cregan.. If I am not the best.. Targaryen princess you shall marry. I will admit, I think you should just marry a Northerner than a Southerner.."

Cregan looked at her as she spoke, still feeling her hand squeeze my own. "No need to apologize, my sweet. You may be a bit sheltered, a bit innocent. But you are also honest, kind and sweet. Is that not worth just as much?" He smiled as he looked down at her. "Besides, you are just two-and-ten. You still have many years left to grow and change into what it is you truly want to be. Do not worry, my princess," He said with a smile. "I have plenty of faith in you."

She kissed him on the cheek. "You're kind to me, Cregan.. Too kind, in fact. Are you positive you want to marry me? And not just for my title?

He smiled as she kissed my cheek, feeling his cheeks turn red in response. "I am certain I want to marry you, my lady. There is no one I want to marry more than you. Would you say the same in return? That there is no one you would rather marry than your betrothed?" He squeezed her hand as he spoke.

"There's no one I would marry rather than you, Cregan." She kissed him, and kissed him passionately. She hesitated to say the three words in her mind, what would be his reaction? "Cregan.. I-."

Cregan returned her kiss with one of my own, letting his feelings for her spill out as they embraced. When they pulled apart, he smiled up at her, and raised an eyebrow as he saw her hesitating. "Hmm?" He asked her. "What is it, my princess? Speak what is on your mind. I would like to hear no secrets from my bride-to-be."

"I love you Cregan," She smiled, as he cupped her face. "I love you a lot. I love you so much.."

Cregan was surprised by what she said, but in a good way. He smiled as his mind raced to keep up with his heart. Did she mean it? Truly? Or had she merely mistaken friendship for love? There was only one way to find out. "You love me?" He asked with a smile. "You truly mean that you love me?"

"I do mean it, Cregan." Rhaella nodded. "If I had to be married to you, so be it. I do not want to wed and bed an old Lord, I want to wed you."

He hugged her tightly as he heard those words leave her mouth. His face was flushed, and his heart felt like it was going to leap from his chest. "I…I love you too, my dear. I cannot believe I am so lucky as to marry a woman who loves me as much as you do." he kissed her again. "I love you, my princess."

"And I love you too, Cregan." Rhaella smiled. She's never confessed her feelings to anyone, so this was quite new to her. Really new. "I love you more than you know it. Please, my love. May I.. touch you?"

His heart stopped at her words, and his face reddened in response. His jaw dropped as he nodded, not fully understanding what it was she was asking. "Of course," He whispered. "You may touch me."

Rhaella smirked, and began to kiss Cregan. As she did so, she took off the big fur coat of his, and her coat as well. "I love you, Cregan." He pulled her close as the warmth of her lips met his own once more, and as his eyes closed, he felt as though he were in heaven.

Her hand ran through his hair as their lips touched, and he felt himself being swept away by the moment. "And I love you, Princess Rhaella." he kissed her passionately, not caring who might see them or whether this was inappropriate. She was his betrothed, and she had just confessed her love for him. Who else mattered in this moment?

Rhaella stood there, only her dress in tact. Her coat on the floor, alongside with his. "I love you, so much." Rhaella smiled. She really did, she's never loved someone as big as Aemond had. "I just.. I love you so much, my love."

"And I love you," was all that he could manage to say. Her beauty was striking, and he could not help but stare at her. He felt as though no one in all of Westeros was as beautiful as her. "You look wonderful," He eventually managed to stammer out, but the words sounded ridiculous. They felt like mere words, whereas the look in his eyes spoke a much louder language. "There could never be another woman who could win my heart as you have…I am bound to you forever, my princess."

"Really? I've heard that you like Arra Norrey. Tell me, my Lord." Rhaella had a jealous look on her eyes, but she covered it well. "Between her and me, which would you prefer?"

Cregan’s heart sank at her question, and his stomach churned with guilt. This was not the conversation he wanted to have with her, especially so soon after such a precious moment. But there was no lying to her…and who was he to lie to his own betrothed? He took a deep breath before responding.

"Arra is a fine woman…" He began, hesitating. "But…it is you who has managed to capture my heart, and nobody else. You are the one I wish to spend the rest of my life with. She cannot hold a candle to you, my dear."

"Isn't she the one who you've been friends with, since childhood?" She smirked. She wanted reassurance from Cregan. "And, since you've known her longer, I'm sure you'll wed her instead of me."

"She was indeed one of my childhood friends…" He admitted. "And yes, we have known each other for a long time. But it is you I want, my princess. If I had to explain my feelings to you…I am not sure how I could even put them into words. You fill me with a happiness and a joy I never thought I could feel. You are the sun of my days, my lady. Is that enough to prove my love for you? Is it enough to show that my feelings are true?"

She smirked. "Yes, my little Lord-to-be." She nodded. She looked at the man looking at them and scoffed. "Is that your uncle, Bennard?"

He let out a surprised laugh before nodding at the direction she was looking. "You would be right, my dear. That is indeed my uncle Bennard. He likes to watch from afar, I am not sure why." He shrugged. "Perhaps he is wishing I were as brave as him when it comes to wooing someone I wish to marry." He winked at her as he spoke. "Why do you ask? Is he bothering you?"

"Not.. so," She fake smiled. She felt unsafe, especially with his brooding eyes. It made her shiver. "He is not bothering me, in the slightest. I am a Targaryen Princess, whilst he.. is merely a Lord Regent."

It pained him to see her discomfort around his uncle. Was he scaring her? He did not know what he meant to her, but if she was uncomfortable around him as she claimed, then it would be his duty to speak with him. "Uncle," He called out to him, my voice carrying across the courtyard to where he had been loitering. "Would you come here for a moment?"

His beady eyes looked up at Cregan and he nodded, walking over to Cregan. "What is it, boy?" He asked with a grunt of a voice. "Have you found yourself a wife, yet?"

Rhaella let out a little gasp, as the man stood over them. He was a man, compared to Cregan. "Uhm.." She held onto Cregan's arm. If she had to be honest, he was as large as Westeros giants.

Cregan stared up at his uncle, and felt his lip curl in agitation. His tone of voice, his demeanor… they were all wrong. He should be nicer to his betrothed, and he had no right to call Cregan a boy.

"I think you owe my betrothed, Princess Rhaella, an apology," He said evenly. "She claims you were staring at her and making her feel uncomfortable." He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Are you willing to apologize to her? And to ensure she feels safe in my hall?"

"Cregan.." She whispered, as he squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Please.. No more of this matter, I just want to go to your office."

Cregan gave his uncle another cold, hard glare before nodding. "Very well…but just know that we will speak of this later, Uncle." He grumbled under his breath before turning back to her, squeezing her hand once more. "As you wish, my lady. Shall we proceed then?" He smiled as he offered her his arm. "Do you wish to walk? Or ride, perhaps? I can have the horses brought out once more if you wish."

"Walk with me, my love." She smiled, and kissed his cheek. She gave one cold glare, that Targaryens usually give to their enemies, to Bennard before sweetly looking at her betrothed. "I think we shall walk together, around the castle."

"Of course, my love." Cregan smiled back, and gave her hand another tight squeeze. "Just say the word and we shall go wherever and do whatever you wish." The cold glare she sent to his uncle's way did not go unnoticed by him, but he decided it was best not to speak of it. "Would you like to walk through the Godswood? It is a quiet place that I find calm and relaxing. I think it is the perfect place for two lovers such as us to stroll through. What do you say?"

"Godswood it is, then." Rhaella smiled, and kissed his cheek again. Her love language was that of kisses and hugs. Well, mainly one of them. "I love you, Cregan Stark."

[apinchofm]

ok Rhaemond prompt with Aemond and Jace not getting along and it's just messy messy messy

Lmao, it would be messy!

Rhaena sighed, watching the training yard. A tourney was coming up and so, many men were here training.

And Jace kept on getting into scrapes with Aemond. The older prince was a skilled fighter, perhaps having to work harder due to his one eye. Some underestimated him, but he had gained the respect of Cregan Stark after disarming him in a training session.

Jace still did not care, and that was why Baela was wiping blood from his brow after Aemond kicked him to the floor after disarming him.

"Oh, Jace!" Rhaena ran into the room, worried for him.

"I am well. Aemond is a prick." Jace assured, wincing as Baela cleaned up the small cut.

"Jace, you do provoke him at times." Baela conceded.

Baela looked at her sister, and Rhaena turned away from her scrutinizing gaze. She knew what she was asking without her having to say a word.

...

Rhaena walked down the long empty corridor of the Keep. She yelped, feeling her arm tugged harshly but was relieved when she fell against a familiar hard and warm chest and looked up at a smug Aemond who tucked her into an alcove, hiding them from view.

"You must stop doing that!" She scolded.

"I cannot resist. For someone who carries a dagger, your reactions are rather slow." Aemond said.

She kissed him gently. For a few moons, they had been in this secretive courtship and whilst they did not want to change so much of their behaviours, she did know Baela knew and therefore wanted to find some way for her love and her big sister to get along.

"Can you please be kinder to Jace?" She asked, and he rolled his eye, "I am not asking you to make complete peace with him, but you are rather brutal in training.

Aemond scoffed, "If he believes that is brutal, I pray he is not called for war, let alone a tourney."

"Baela and I have asked the same for Jace, and when we tell everyone our plans, I wish for as few obstacles as possible." Rhaena asked, "And you love me, do you not?"

"Of course I do." Aemond looked offended that she even questioned his devotion.

"Can you love me more than you hate him?" She asked.

"I love you more than anything." Aemond vowed, and then reluctantly nodded, "I shall try not to maim him."

Rhaena grinned and kissed him on the cheek, "Thank you, my heart." He nodded, giving her a small smile and pressing a quick kiss

"He is not the Velaryon who took my eye. Where is his brother?"

"Aemond!" Rhaena hissed, walking quickly to catch up with him.

[lcstinthewoods]

&&; @kinslcyer

                  You must do your duty, Sansa. 

She’d been told this her entire life, and various voices intertwined to voice the reminder to her as if she didn’t know that her her whole existance was made to serve, to do her duty as a lady and child of Winterfell. Most recently, her brother had been the one to remind her again after he’d forged a betrothal for her. 

                 We will need allies for the long winter, Sansa. 

          Allies with dragons are a powerful thing. You must do your duty.

She understood, truly she did. But with the betrothal and future marriage came the prospect of leaving the North, of leaving Winterfell. While once long ago she had dreamed of travelling South and seeing the granduer of the Targaryen dynasty, that childs fantasy had long faded. Winter was coming, and she wouldn’t leave her family to fight it alone. She entertained the thought of perhaps convincing her future lord husband to let them remain North, but she knew it would be highly unlikely. 

The days and weeks leading up to the arrival of her betrothed, Sansa Stark tried to find everything there was to know about Aemond, the one eyed Targaryen. There wasn’t much to learn other than the tragedy with his eye and of his skill with a sword, and of course the fact that he claimed the largest living dragon. As if feeling her unease, her wolf remained even closer to her side than usual, barring her teeth to any who approached her that weren’t her brother. Sansa had affectionately named the wolf Lady, as a quiet reflection of who she wished to be. A proper lady of the land, but deep down still a vicious wolf. 

Lady was still considered young, but the wolf was already on her way to reaching Sansa’s chest, and the maesters estimated she still would grow some more. And despite Cregan’s urging to keep the wolf away when the prince arrived, Sansa chose to ignore her brother and instead stood proudly in the courtyard of Winterfell, her wolf companion standing faithfully at her side. She wasn’t going anywhere without her wolf, and she intended for the prince to realize that sooner than later. 

The moment the one eyed prince entered Winterfell, Sansa fell into a well practiced curtsey after taking a long moment to survey the Targaryen prince. He was handsome, she was reluctant to admit, and far different from any man she had seen in the North. Beside her, Lady growled warningly and Sansa had to hide her smile by bowing her head low. “Down, Lady.” Sansa gently instructed her wolf, who laid down in the snow with a low grumble, her piercing stare never straying from the prince. “An honor to meet you, my prince.” Sansa then addressed the man in front of her after her brother introduced her, slowly rising back to her full height but keeping her head bowed.