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iluvbuckets · 2 months ago

Note

please a fic of reader thirsting over paige’s arms and trying to hide it but paige notices anyway and teases her about it also maybe leading to some smut where reader leaves a hickey because she’s seen way too many stans thirsting over paige and she gotta stake her claim 🙂‍↕️

flex for me

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: paige had invited you to come with her to a late-night solo practice session and you agreed, expecting to finally be able to finish the book you were reading. however, you quickly find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from her biceps and neglecting the book altogether. you just hoped she didn't notice.

warnings: sub!paige but vers!paige fits too!, some plot, semi-public and a mirror, fingering, dirty talk, you're a lil bossy and possesive (but she likes it), hickeys, biting, praiseee, a little choking

word count: 4.3k

notes: i was gonna work on other requests first bc this was only sent like 2 days ago but omfg i couldn't resist teehee

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you tried to play it cool as you sat on the floor of the gym, your back against the wall to support you behind the basket.

it was late, but paige wanted to get some extra shots in after a particularly poor shooting percentage in her last game. when she extended you the invitation to come with her, you accepted without hesitation. not that you ever denied it unless you had a good reason though. you usually spent the time reading a book, scrolling through your phone, or if neither of those sounded appealing, grabbing rebounds for her.

today was a reading day–or at least, was supposed to be. you had ditched your book a long time ago, setting it down in your lap like you were just taking a break. but you just couldn’t tear your eyes away from paige. she was wearing an old uconn shirt that she had cut the sleeves off of, giving you a perfect view of her arms.

and damn, was the view great.

it was blatantly obvious how much time she had been putting into the weight room just by looking at her arms. the way her biceps flexed when her arm was bent, the way her triceps flexed when she followed through on her shot, how defined her shoulders were when her arms were just at her side, and the way muscles in her forearms flexed when she crossed her arms. obviously, you weren’t the only one noticing either, you had seen so many videos on tiktok about them too.

you weren’t ashamed to say that you had a favorites folder dedicated to those videos, and you often got called out for saving them on her fan pages. you were just glad she barely used tiktok anymore so she couldn’t see that. even though it was never in a bad way, the pictures of your account in their notifications were usually attached with a caption saying something like same, y/n, same.

you couldn’t help it, though, watching her muscles work while she put shots up was actually mesmerizing. like, you could probably hypnotize yourself this way.

“you’re distracting me,” she said loudly from the elbow. she was dribbling the ball in front of her absentmindedly with a goofy smile on her face out of amusement.

you put your hands up in confusion, furrowing your brows. “literally how?”

she shook her head as she picked up the ball, resting it on her hip while she walked over to you. you tried to make eye contact, you really did, but her arms were genuinely so distracting. and the way her veins were popping in her hands?

“i can feel you objectifying me from all the way over there,” she laughed, towering over you because she didn’t sit down. you froze, your cheeks heating with embarrassment–you didn’t know why though, you’re allowed to stare at your girlfriend like you wanted to rip her clothes off right there.

“i was not,” you weakly attempted to defend yourself. you tried not to be obvious, but you definitely were not looking at her face. it felt like you physically could not pull your eyes away from her arms, no matter how hard you tried, now that they were close to you.

“no?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow with a smirk.

she noticed the way your eyes didn’t meet hers, of course she did. she always noticed everything–it was kind of annoying, you never had any peace. not that this was hard to notice, anyway.

“am i not allowed to appreciate the hard work and dedication you’ve been putting in lately?” you asked sassily, finally making eye contact with her. her foot nudged yours softly.

“don’t play w’me,” she replied. “i saw the folder.”

before you could ask her to specify what folder, she held her arm that wasn’t holding the basketball up to flex. she nodded with a cocky facial expression, but put her arm back down for a few seconds. you felt your face heat up, embarrassed to be caught even though you shouldn’t have been.

at least you had a good method of deflection. well, it was good in theory.

“why were you going through my phone?” you asked, trying to sound offended and mad but failing miserably. you really didn’t care if she did or not, so it was a weak way to change the subject. though, she did usually mention she was going to use it beforehand, and you don’t remember her telling you she was going to go on tiktok lately.

she shrugged, holding out her hand as an offer to help you up. “wanted to watch your tiktok drafts while you were in the shower.”

you took her hand with one hand and grabbed your book with the other, letting her do most of the work to pull you up so you could watch the way her muscles moved under her skin. you were probably already soaked through your underwear just from this. yeah, you were definitely going to have sex with her when you got home (not that you wouldn’t no matter what).

“my drafts? what’s so interesting in there?” you asked, absentmindedly smoothing your hands over your backside to swipe away any dirt from sitting on the floor.

“you got all those thirst traps that you’ll never post,” she smiled, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against your forehead fondly, slinging her arm around your shoulders. it wasn’t embarrassing; you did have lip-synching videos from moments you thought looked good that would probably never see the light of day. “i think you got a little drool on your face.”

your mouth dropped open like you were offended as you jabbed your elbow into her side, making her flinch away from you without moving her arm. “you’re annoying,” you mumbled as you turned away from her a little bit. paige took the opportunity to slide her arm from your shoulders to wrap around your neck lightly, putting you in a loose headlock. “hey!”

“what?” she asked innocently, flexing against your jaw. you tried to stifle the irritation because she knew exactly what she was doing–and it was working.

without even thinking, you turned your head slightly and sunk your teeth into her bicep, not too hard but not softly either. it was meant to be playful; you expected her body to jolt and for her to yank her arm away, but instead, she let out a shaky breath. in retaliation for her lack of reaction, you bit down harder for a second to test it, but she still didn’t move. you released your bite and pulled back slightly, just enough for your lips to brush against her skin.

“you like that?” you asked in shock, not really meaning for it to sound as sexual as it did coming out of your mouth. there were probably a lot of other phrases you could’ve chosen instead of that one, but your mouth moved too fast for your brain to compute.

“relax,” she said quickly, almost too quickly to be considered nonchalant.

there was a beat of silence as you weighed your options for where to go from here. on one hand, you’re quite literally in a public gym where there are definitely cameras, but on the other, you were both so clearly worked up.

“i’m trying,” you mumbled, shifting your weight from one leg to the other awkwardly. then, you blew out a breath, feeling suddenly bold. “i just–” you hesitated, wondering if you should really say what you wanted to say right now. if you should tell her what she was doing to you just by existing. “i really want to fuck you right now,” you finished with a low voice.

you heard the basketball hit the wood floor, followed by the feeling of her hand fisting your t-shirt at your waist to pull you against her.

“fuck, babe,” she muttered into your ear.

“careful,” you said quietly. the intention behind your words was that she needed to keep herself together because you were in public, and anyone could walk in at any moment. of course, it was a little unlikely at this point in the night, but anything is possible.

paige scoffed a little, like what you said was ridiculous. “you’re not exactly making it easy right now,” her voice was low. there was no amusement but no irritation, just a tone telling you that she was ready to take your clothes off.

“i haven’t even really done anything,” you said innocently, a smile rising to your face because of how easy it was to get her worked up.

she didn’t say anything at first, at least not right away–just let out a slow breath, pressed her forehead against the back of your head, and groaned quietly in frustration. the sound was so whiny, you almost expected her to stomp her feet like a toddler who wasn’t getting her way. she lifted her head and dropped her arm to turn you around lightly to face her. her lips were pulled into a tight-lipped smile, cheeks flushed, and pupils already starting to widen from lust.

“this isn’t fair,” she whined, setting her hands on your waist.

instead of wrapping yours around her neck like you usually would, you settled for placing one on her upper arm instead, the other being occupied by holding your book. she raised her eyebrows when you did that, either out of shock or a challenge, or maybe both.

“how?” you questioned, squeezing her arms a little bit. it wasn’t necessarily to add anything to the moment, though, you just wanted to.

“you know what you’re doing,” she said with an exasperated tone, throwing her head back for a second. you giggled at her, tilting your head fondly. “see? you want to see me suffer.”

you gasped dramatically. “me? what about you? you wore this,” you said, pinching the shoulder of her shirt and then settling your hand on her arm again.

she shrugged, glancing to the side for a second like she didn’t know what you were talking about, but she obviously did it on purpose. you didn’t know why else she’d be wearing her uconn shirts when she had collected a plethora of brand new wings gear–especially while in the practice facility.

“i dunno what you mean,” she replied.

“liar,” you rolled your eyes. “you were hoping to get fucked tonight.”

“god forbid a girl wants to see her sexy girlfriend naked,” she shrugged again with a goofy smile on her face.

you laughed at her, shaking your head in disbelief at her silliness. you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have bagged a girl like her. like really, with the amount of people who thirsted over her every day and were in her dms, you were so lucky that she picked you out of all of that.

“shut up,” you said, your cheeks heating from the compliment. you probably should’ve been able to receive a compliment from her without getting flustered by now, after all this time, but it still felt like you were finally talking to your crush every time.

she leaned forward and pressed your lips together in a peck, pulling away with a mischievous smile and glint in her eyes. “make me.”

“don’t tempt me,” you narrowed your eyes at her, smirking a little.

she paused to consider her options, what she wanted to say. but then she smiled smugly. “and what are you gonna do about it?”

you stared at her for a moment, trying to find any sign of backing down, but you were met with nothing but a mix of lust, mischief, and playfulness. there were a lot of places you could go from here–so many replies you could give her. some that were playful and some that would get her even more worked up.

“what do you want me to do about it?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper as you stared into her eyes.

her confidence seemed to falter a little bit, her mouth parting and a whimper so quiet you almost didn’t hear it falling from her lips. she tried to hide it, licking her lips and swallowing nervously to act like nothing happened. you waited for her to reply, but she didn’t, seemingly too stunned to do so.

you took a step back, dropping your free hand to grab one of hers and dragged her toward the locker room. well, dragged was a strong word–she definitely was not going to fight you and would follow you like a lost puppy. her fingers gripped yours like she was struggling to keep up with you, even though she was so hot on your heels, you thought that she might accidentally stop on them and take your shoe off.

when you finally burst through the doors of the locker room, she practically ripped the book from your hands and tossed it onto one of the benches carelessly. after, she pushed you up against the closest sink, pressing your back flush against her front again. your hands gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her intensely through the mirror, while she dug her fingernails into your clothed hips.

then, without breaking eye contact, you grabbed one of her hands–which made her immediately release her grip–and set it on your opposite shoulder, signaling that you wanted her to wrap her arm around you like she did earlier. so she did, of course. she was always pretty obedient for you.

“you’re crazy,” she breathed.

“for you, maybe,” you just smiled in return.

her arm tightened unintentionally, making her bicep flex against your jaw again. you took the opportunity to lean forward and press a kiss against the skin, keeping your eyes trained on hers. her jaw clenched slightly, her eyes refusing to look away. almost like the eye contact was a challenge, you turned your peck into an open-mouthed kiss, then sunk your teeth into the muscle and sucking to leave a hickey.

her breath caught in her throat at the sight, mind wandering to all kinds of filthy places that would definitely land her a fiery place in hell. she didn’t even know how to react at that point. all she knew was that she was wet as hell and throbbing already, and so were you.

you pulled back after a while, looking at the dark hickey and smiling in satisfaction. “mine,” you said softly.

“yours,” she nodded in agreement, looking a little dazed. normally, she probably would’ve whined about it, especially because it was visible and she needed to stay professional, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment.

“paige,” you said, your voice commanding but still fond. you didn’t have to say anything else, she knew what you were asking for–knew what you wanted. she gently pulled you away from the sink slightly.

you expected her to tease you, to act like clueless and make you tell her what to do, because she loved when you did that. her entire life revolved around being a leader and commanding a room, so giving up the control to you felt like she could finally let her stress melt away and take a breath. she would take far too long getting to where you wanted her just to hear you boss her around, you expected her to trace her fingers over your stomach and the waistband of your pants, allowing you to get restless under her touch.

instead, though, she wasted no time dipping her hand into your sweatpants. her fingers ghosted over your clit almost immediately like she was expecting to feel underwear, but she should know by now that if you’re wearing sweatpants, there’s probably nothing under them. it resulted in a whimper slipping out, her lips parting in both surprise and desire.

“no panties?” she asked quietly, mostly to herself. her eyes were no longer on yours through the mirror, favoring watching her hand instead. she traced lower toward your entrance, feeling the wet slick, and swirling one finger in it teasingly. when she spoke again, her tone wasn’t playful or teasing, it was laced in pure amazement, like she couldn’t believe that your body actually reacted to her like that. “this wet already?”

“you know what you do to me,” you said flatly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other impatiently.

she kept swirling her finger slowly, her arm tightening around your neck for a moment before loosening again. her eyes moved back up to meet yours, shooting you a small smile. you took your bottom lip in-between your teeth to try to bite back any words of impatience you wanted to throw at her, because it was only fair if you let her tease you. after all, you did it to her all the time just to see her squirm.

“i do?” she asked, playfully. her fingers trailed through your folds back to your clit, using two fingers to gently rub slow circles into the throbbing bud.

“paige,” you tried to say as a warning for her behavior, but it came out as more of a breathy gasp from her touch.

she placed a firm kiss to the side of your neck, and then another behind your ear, then opened her mouth to speak. “i want you to tell me what i do to you,” she murmured, lips brushing against the outer shell of your ear, not even breaking eye contact.

her gaze held a glint of mischief because she knew what she was doing–she was taking a page from your playbook, stealing your moves. making her use her words was something you did pretty much every single time, because you wanted to hear the desperate praise coming from her mouth as she babbled whatever came to her mind without thinking about it first.

“you want me to tell you how watching your muscles flex as you shot the ball turned me on?” you started, attempting to shift the lead back to you.

though, you didn’t mind letting paige take control every now and then, watching as she attempted to be dominant. in fact, it was kind of nice to sometimes just sit back and let her do whatever she wanted, let her do the work and the talking, do whatever she says, but it usually never lasted long–it was just her way of being bratty, so you’ve learned.

she swallowed nervously, her dominating demeanor already cracking before she could even really begin to use it. you tried to resist the smirk threatening to rise, but the attempt failed miserably.

“you want me to tell you how–” you paused to push a slow breath out once you felt her fingers speeding up slightly, “–how wet i was thinking about just fucking you right there in middle of the gym where everyone could see?”

her hips subconsciously pressed forward slightly, straight into your backside like she was trying to dry hump you, and her arm tightened again, but not enough to press against your throat. not that you would mind if it did, though. you were usually the one grabbing her throat, but you loved it when she did it back.

“or how when you were at practice this morning, i scrolled through those edits your fans make of you. thinking about how they can thirst over my girl all they want because at the end of the day, i’m the only one who gets to see you like this–have you like this, feel you touch me like this,” you added for good measure.

she always loved it when you got possessive, especially when it resulted in you telling her things like this. knowing that even though you didn’t mind that being with her meant that she had people shooting their shot with her or talking about how hot she is all the time, you still wanted them all to know that she was yours. and you really didn’t mind at all, you were always liking, reposting, and commenting on edits of her, fangirling alongside the fan accounts like she wasn’t lying next to you while you did it.

“fuck,” she managed to choke out, her voice strangled. her eyes fell shut, too, like looking at you was sending her into a frenzy, and she was trying to keep her composure.

you smiled in satisfaction at not only that, but the feeling of her fingers dipping lower again, teasingly pressing against your entrance. when she finally pushed her fingers deep inside of you, her head dropped down to press her forehead against your shoulder, like she was the one getting fingered right now. you gasped at the intrusion, bucking your hips forward slightly. you couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of your clit brushing against her palm from the position of her hand. almost as soon as she felt it, she adjusted her wrist so you could efficiently grind against it when your hips moved.

she curled her fingers just the way she knew you liked, immediately hitting that spongy spot with minimal searching. it caused a strangled moan to rip from your throat–trying to stay quiet just in case–and your eyes closed; she continued to thrust her fingers at a steady pace, curling her fingers every time. her thighs were clenching tightly against her will, trying to find even an ounce of friction, but she ignored it–putting her full attention into pleasing you.

“look at me, baby,” you choked out in between moans, your eyes half-lidded. “i want you to see how good you make me feel.”

with just a small amount of reluctance, she picked her head back up. her pupils were fully blown, eyes glazed with lust now, cheeks flushed, lips parted like she was struggling to breathe just through her nose–she looked wrecked, and you hadn’t even touched her yet.

“good girl,” you muttered.

you lifted your hands to wrap around her arm, one around her forearm and the other around her bicep, and to try to stay upright in her grip. and she adjusted her hand again so she could use her thumb to rub circles into your clit while her fingers moved at a slightly quicker pace, causing you to buck your hips forward violently.

her eyes stayed glued to your face–taking in the sight of how gone from pleasure you were. she almost felt amazed by how you were responding to her touch, even though this definitely wasn’t the first time she had fingered you like this (it probably wasn’t even the hundredth time either, given how long you had been together). she always paid close attention to every twitch of your lips, every scrunch of your face, what made you moan the loudest every time, so she could perfect her craft, making sure that she was pleasing you as best as she possibly could, and that each time was better than the last.

and you loved that about her. that she was as much of a pleaser as you were.

“shit,” you moaned quietly. “fuck, it feels so good, paige.”

she buried her fingers deep, curling and flicking instead of thrusting, circling her thumb faster. your mouth dropped open in pure pleasure for a few moments before you snapped it shut, biting your bottom lip to keep it from happening again in case you accidentally got a little too loud.

“i want to make you come,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, like she didn’t trust that she could speak. “can i?”

you nodded, a whimper sounding from your throat without your permission. you barely even registered that you had started speaking. “yes. yes, please. keep doing that. show me how good you are for me. make me come on your fingers.”

she does what she’s told–doesn’t change anything about her rhythm. your hips ground against her while you subconsciously chased your high, hitting her thumb just right when you pressed forward and her fingers when you pressed back. she flexed her bicep again, tightening her arm around your throat to choke you lightly.

and that was enough to send you tumbling over the edge almost immediately, your body jerking roughly when it hit. you didn’t even moan, couldn’t speak, too focused on the way her arm was pressing on your throat and how tightly your stomach was clenching from the hard orgasm. she kept the pace of her fingers to draw out your orgasm as long as she could, but then gradually slowed them down and loosened the arm around your throat to let you come down.

when tension in your stomach finally released, you relaxed your entire body, sucking in a deep breath. she stilled her fingers completely, but didn’t pull out to allow for a moment to recover. her eyes broke away from your face in the mirror as she turned her head to pepper light kisses over your cheeks, jaw, and temple.

“damn, i gotta say,” she started quietly, pausing to laugh and place another kiss on your cheek, “watching you come like that,” she paused again for dramatic effect to shake her head and huff out a breath, “it’s gotta be, like, the 8th wonder of the world. feel bad for the people who don’t get to witness it.”

you rolled your eyes fondly at her, still trying to catch your breath. “guess you’re pretty lucky, huh?”

“you have no idea.”

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #wcbb x reader #wlw smut #sub!paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut

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idksmtms · 1 month ago

Text

The Other Wife (Cregan Stark x reader)

Request

A/N: 1. I am so sorry it has taken me almost a year to get to this…

2. Thank you so much for the request anon! I know I’m the slowest writer on the planet but thank you for sending it in and giving me this wonderful idea! I really enjoyed writing it (and by that I mean it put me through seven levels of emotional torture which is exactly the conditions I thrive in…)

Edit: I have spent a week writing this and I have never been so drained both emotionally and physically while writing fanfic omfg

Summary: When Cregan Stark begins looking for a second wife, you are put forth as a viable candidate. But once you are chosen, all your fantasies of having a loving husband and the chance for a family are poured away when you find out that everything is not quite as it seems.

Word count: ~24.3k (what the actual fuck)

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, ANGST, unrequited love, depictions of a panic attack, thoughts of suicide/suicidal ideation, depictions of depression, canon-typical views on women/sex/gender/marriage/etc, smut (but it’s both sad and sexy), kidnapping (technically), (please let me know if I missed any)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so.

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You smiled as you patiently waited for Dyanna to finish threading the last of your hair into a braid. You smoothed your hands over the silvery grey fabric of your skirts and tried your hardest not to twist it in your hands. Though you were trying to be patient, you were also excited.

When the call was first sent out into Winterfell and the surrounding areas that Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, was looking for a wife, a flurry of activity began in every house with an eligible daughter. It had, of course, only been two moons prior that each of these houses had come to pay respect to the lord for the death of his infant son and the precarious condition of the Lady Arra. It appeared that the pressure of producing an heir, and the never-ending suggestions of his advisors for him to take a second wife had proved fruitful. The call was sent out, and all eligible ladies of some relevant rank were invited to Winterfell to take part in a week of festivities, during which Lord Stark would choose a new bride.

You were not low-born by any means, but you were also most certainly not going to be the lady of the highest rank in attendance. Furthermore, your presence at these festivities (starting with a welcome feast in the great hall of Winterfell) was purely for the joy of it. You had two older brothers, married already and with enough heirs to ensure the continuation of the line. You even had an older sister who was happily married to a more southern lord and had taken up residence in his manor. You were the last of the children in your home, and though your parents wished for an advantageous match for you as well, it was not so essential anymore. You were given rather more freedom than your siblings in this regard, and though your family hoped you may somehow come out of this week of festivities as the new Lady of Winterfell, they also knew Lord Stark would not be the only eligible male in attendance. There were options abound and even endless entertainment for the young ladies. It suited everyone.

Your attitude had settled itself somewhere in the middle of all of this scheming. You wished to be married now. Even in childhood you had always wanted to play mother, to walk about with your ragged dolls made of cloth and pretend you were happily married and raising your baby. You longed for the chance to make the games reality, to find a man whom you loved, to have a horde of children and run a home the way you wished to. You had heard time and again from other ladies of matches made with no consideration for love and homes that turned into prisons, but you were just sheltered enough to believe you may be the exception.

However, you also knew you had the luxury of time still, that you need not rush to find a match. So you made it your mission to enjoy the festivities as well. You would eat the delicacies they offered, explore every nook and cranny of Winterfell, and enjoy having time to frolic with friends you may never see again after the festivities were over. You were determined to enjoy yourself, and to simply hope to find a match rather than chase it.

Your family was lucky enough to be one of those housed at the castle and not a nearby inn, and so you could observe the preparations for the feasts and festivities. Upon the arrival of your carriages, there had been a distinct lack of the Lord. One of his advisors had greeted your family, apologised on his behalf (some excuse on being called away on urgent business or other spilling from his lips hurriedly), before leading you to your chambers. And there you had stayed, lounging and slowly readying yourself for the magnificent opening feast to be laid before everyone that evening. You could occasionally hear servants bustling by your door, speaking about their duties, and it had filled you with a buzzing sort of excitement, simmering deep in your limbs as you walked back and forth in your room.

Though time passed slower than you would have wished it to, eventually you were led to the main hall just behind your mother and father. It had been beautifully decorated, with tapestries and sashes of fabric gracing the walls and each chandelier fully lighted (the occasional stray drip of wax falling somewhere near the edges of the hall). As many long tables as could be fitted crowded the main floor and were already brimming with ladies and their families.

The table of honour was set on the dais facing the rest of the great hall. Advisors lined each side and in the middle sat Lord Cregan. As you walked further into the hall, you barely even offered him a glance, watching everyone and everything else with wide dazzled eyes. He was draped in dark grey furs and sat low in his seat, gazing off into the distance. He seemed to be frowning, but you couldn’t tell if he was actually annoyed or if it was simply a naturally set furrow on his brow. Then you looked away once more as you were led to your place at one of the more middle tables but near the edge closest to the dais.

You gathered your skirts and sat down, instantly twisting this way and that to marvel at the festivities, like you had become a curious and squirrely little girl once more. Another maiden sat to your right and both of you smiled brightly and fell into giggles upon noticing the matching looks of awe you wore. She commented on the plates, you on the tapestries, and you were quick to fall into conversation

Once everyone had entered the great hall and the chatter became so deafening you had to yell to hear one another, Lord Cregan stood from his seat and raised his goblet high in the air. A hush was quick to fall over the entire room as they followed suit, standing at their seats and picking up their goblets in return, and you finally took a moment to properly study your lord.

Though he was smiling now, it seemed practiced, bordering on disinterest. His furs were beautiful, cleanly cut and balanced on his shoulders with a certain regality one must be born with. You could not deny that he was handsome, perhaps more handsome than many of the other men you had ever seen. He was stocky in build in a way that belied muscle, with a broad torso and shoulders, arms as thick as tree trunks. Though he was not the most tall man you had ever seen, he would still tower over you, and his long hair was clean and well-kept, tied back to keep out of his face. You were sure that the Lady Arra must have been quite ecstatic upon their betrothal, and at the thought you turned your face away for a moment and as a hot blush rushed your cheeks. It would be safe to say that whichever woman was selected in the coming week would be blessed in many ways.

“Welcome everyone,” he began, slowly moving his eyes over the crowd. “We are glad to host you at Winterfell for what is sure to be a joyous time. Eat, drink, and be merry,” then he raised his goblet once more and took a deep swig from it.

“Aye, aye!” A chorus, loud and deafening, as everyone raised their cups in return. Hands were slammed against tables and raucous chatter was already beginning anew as large platters of food were quickly brought out and set down all over.

You smiled at those around you and took a sip from your own cup, grimacing slightly at the tartness of whatever you had been served before sitting back down once more. Your mother was already pulling pieces of chicken from the platter and placing them on your plate but you took a moment to look back at the Lord of Winterfell. He was sitting again, but his eyes were unfocused as they gazed off into the distance. He took another sip from his goblet but did not engage in any conversation with those around him. He didn’t even bother reaching his hand out to eat something. He seemed so solitary, a bare tree in a wasteland, and your heart clenched in your chest.

You turned away and back to your food, taking a large gulp from your drink before beginning to eat. Of course he would not be at his most merry, you reasoned. His son had died, his wife only just saved from the same fate, and here he was being forced to take another and act as if he was merry. You too would not be so enthusiastic if you had suffered the same fate. You shook your head free of the thoughts and put forth your best smile as the girl next to you began speaking between bites. You could be upset for your lord later. For now, your own merriment awaited.

After much of the food had been consumed, the tables on the main floor were pushed to the sides to create a large space for dancing. A small troupe of musicians appeared in the corner and began playing a variety of jigs and servants walked around offering jugs of wine and ale.

At first you stuck to the sidelines, bouncing on the spot and enjoying the songs, laughing as the different men and women swung each other around. You spotted many of your acquaintances dancing vivaciously and clapped along to the music. Then a boy from House Glover had asked you to join him for a dance and soon you were being passed from hand to hand, laughing jovially and getting lost to the music. A sea of faces passed you for the next hour, hands slipping through your own, feet tripping over yours, gowns and doublets and all sorts of fabric brushing against your dress. You were lost in the array.

But before long, your feet began to ache and the heat from the dance floor became suffocating. The jostling from one dance to another created a pulse just behind your temple and you knew it was time to get away from the hall. You extricated yourself from the grip of your latest partner and stumbled out of the circle. You took a deep breath, but the air was still stale inside the great hall and you could feel your back drenched in sweat under the fabric of your dress. You snatched a cup of something from one of the tables and gulped down the sweet drink before slipping between the many people and stumbling through the doors that led out of the hall.

You stood still for a moment and took a deep breath, allowing your heart to finally slow down and the cool air in the long hallway to gently touch your cheeks. You smiled, letting out a small, almost dazed, giggle before finishing off the contents of the cup and placing it on the floor by the door.

Though you knew you shouldn’t be wandering around without a chaperone, especially at night, the wine and ale had made you a bit more loose and carefree. Everyone would be busy in the hall anyway except for the few servants who would be preoccupied in the kitchens. You were free to run about and explore. And you were not stupid, you would ensure your presence back in the hall before the festivities truly began to wind down and allow your mother and father to You walked out of the rear doors and perused the courtyard, milling about this way and that, poking at the bales of straw that must be used for training on a normal day. Though it was not snowing, there was the everpresent chill in the air that never left the North, especially in the evening. You shivered, shaking out your arms. Though you did not regret the choice of your dress - it had served you well in the stifling heat of the great hall - you did wish that the material was a little thicker in preparation for your spontaneous outing. You simply hoped if you walked a little more you could evade the chill.

You meandered your way out of the gate and toward the thick line of trees you could see just behind the castle. When your eyes set upon the wood, you began walking with a little more purpose. You had a mission now, to find the heart tree in the weirwood. You had always wanted to see it, to perhaps pray and feel closer to the old gods, but your usual home did not have a weirwood to speak of and you rarely ever ventured north enough to find one.

After you crossed the empty plane and met the tree line, you could see a clearing not far off. It was a bright night with not a cloud in sight, bathing the entire world in moonlight. You could see it shining off the white bark of the heart tree in the clearing, even the sheen of the blood red leaves. You smiled and hopped toward it, keeping a light jog despite how precariously thin your slippers were and the uneven ground.

When you entered the clearing, you sighed long and deep. Your shoulders dropped and you closed your eyes for a moment. You could almost feel the silence press over you. It was quieter in this little spot, like not even the birds or the breeze touched it. The air was thick and still, and the leaves didn’t move. It was exactly what you needed after the buzz of the great hall.

You moved to sit on one of the old logs placed under the cover of the heart tree’s branches. You looked up into the leaves and realised you couldn’t see far. It was a dense mesh of leaves and branches and you were lucky if you glimpsed even a touch of the sky. You thought you saw a crow or raven somewhere near the top, a flash of black in the moonlight, but no other sign of life appeared.

You marvelled at how large the tree was. The trunk was so thick it would need four of you to be able to link arms around it, and the sudden realisation hit you that someone could be on the other side and you would be none the wiser. You stiffened for a moment but then shook your head. No, no, you were being so unnecessarily silly. There would be no one else here, not at this time of night when a perfectly jolly feast was being held not far off. No one would be as stupid or reckless as you. You huffed out a laugh and pressed your hands to your face, shaking your head before standing up and doing a little spin.

“Do not let your own imagination poison your reality,” you mumbled to yourself. But once the seed of doubt has been planted, it takes root and you knew you would not be able to settle until you had taken one complete stroll around the tree to ensure you were alone.

At first you saw nothing on your charge around the tree, just more empty logs and creeping roots. But at the exact spot you would not have been able to see from your own place on the other side of the tree, a shape took hold. You were stopped short, stumbling back and almost falling on your behind onto the forest floor as your slipper moved precariously over a root. You pressed a hand to your heart where it hammered in your chest. Your lips dropped open, a choking sound disturbing the quiet. You pressed your other hand to your hair, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them again.

The shape was clearer now, a man who had moved to stand, one hand still outstretched as if he could catch you before your fall despite the distance. You smiled, bashful and embarrassed as you sucked air in quickly and began to laugh. You patted your hair, chest, the skirts of your dress before shaking your head.

“My apologies, Ser,” you giggled out, before finally opening your eyes again and looking at the man. When you looked a little closer, the smile dropped from your face. “Uh-” Your eyes widened and you fumbled as you looked around, unsure what to do. You were about to bow into a curtsy but the man across from you held up his hand with a small smile and shook his head.

“It is I who should apologise to you, my lady,” he began in his deep voice, all rough and gravel. Your cheeks felt hot all of a sudden but you didn’t lift your head to look him in the eye. You couldn’t, you may simply cease to exist from the amount of shame and embarrassment filling you up. “I should have announced myself when I heard you approach. I suppose I was hoping I may continue to go unnoticed,” he shrugged and you glanced up. He looked almost… forlorn. His smile had fallen away and his brows had pulled a little tight. He was gazing at the heart tree once more and you felt a little better about lifting your head. You brought your hands to clasp in front of you and held them tightly as you tried to smile once more. It came out as a grimace but he still wasn’t looking at you.

“Then my apologies again, my Lord,” you said, clearing your throat as all the earlier laughter fled you. “I will leave you to your solitude,” you bowed your head once more, “I am sure you require it more than most at this moment,” you added softly. When you glanced back up he was looking at you again, the frown softened just slightly. He shook his head and gestured to the log behind you.

“Please, do not leave, my lady. The heart tree is not mine to covet, and I would be loath to deny someone else access to it,” and he moved to sit on one end of the log. You hesitated, watching him in the moonlight. He was still dressed as he had been at the start of the feast, but his hair was slightly more unkempt, a few strands falling in front of his face. His eyes were so grey, almost luminescent in the dark, and you scolded yourself for staring so unabashedly.

You nodded at his invitation, smiled softly, and sat on the other end, tucking your hands into your lap. Silence fell over the two of you once more, broken only by the rhythms of your breaths and the forest. You glanced awkwardly between the tree and Cregan, trying not to look at him too long lest you be caught. A few more moments passed and the quiet became difficult to bear, your mouth itching to speak.

“It is a grand feast you have hosted,” you began softly, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. He hummed in acknowledgement and lifted his head to look at you. You smiled awkwardly and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, before clearing your throat. “I…” you weren’t sure if you should keep speaking, say what you actually wanted to say, but Cregan leaned back and watched you curiously and you huffed out a breath before continuing. “I wished to express my condolences for your son,” you gulped, “and to pray for a speedy recovery for Lady Arra. It seems… unfair of your advisors to not allow you a little more time to mourn before speeding along… business.” You dropped your gaze to the ground and rubbed the fabric of your dress between your fingers. When you glanced back up, Cregan’s eyes had widened, his lips parted just slightly.

“Thank you, my lady,” he whispered in return, pressing his palms to the log under him and shifting a little so he faced you more fully. “Though I must admit… I am surprised you would express such a sentiment. I believed all the ladies attending would be ecstatic at this… opportunity,” he finished with a grimace but you simply smiled conspiratorially, laughing a little before shrugging.

“I think you may have misconstrued the emotions of their families as their own, my lord,” you teased, smirking a little. “While it’s true that many may be excited at the thought of becoming the Lady of Winterfell, I do believe others - like me - are simply excited at the opportunity to dance and mingle and be merry. And I believe all would offer their sympathies for the tragedy you have suffered. The loss of a child is a different kind of pain, I think,” you blinked softly at him as he nodded in agreement.

Your body felt looser now and you allowed your hands to fall to the log you sat on, swaying back a little and stretching your legs out in front of you. You gazed at the heart tree once more, avoiding Cregan’s eyes as he looked at you once more.

“So you are simply here to dance and be merry then?” He asked, a little smirk of his own pulling at his lips. Your head lolled to the side to look at him and you squeezed your eyes shut and laughed. His smile felt… precious.

“I came with no expectations of being selected from the large array of ladies at your disposal, my lord,” you smiled sarcastically, and when he chuckled softly a sharp giggle fell from your lips and you leaned forward, almost completely bent in half before picking up your head a little. “My parents are hopeful that if I am not picked by you then I shall discover some other match among the brothers and fathers in attendance. Though I do wish to marry, I would like to spend this time in the company of friends and simply… enjoying myself,” you sighed. “Young ladies have few opportunities for this,” you added quickly, giggling again, but Cregan just watched you thoughtfully. He wasn’t smiling anymore but he wasn’t frowning either.

You shook your head back and forth, humming a little before a cool breeze blew by and your entire spine shivered. You wrapped your arms around yourself and made a funny little ‘brr’ noise, chuckling to yourself as you exaggerated how cold you truly were. When you glanced back at him, Cregan was shuffling closer, pulling the fur from his shoulders and leaning forward to wrap it over yours. Your lips parted as you tilted your head up. He gently placed the fur over both your shoulders and you gazed up into his eyes. They were even more beautiful up close, a mix of blue and grey like rocks on a clear riverbed. His hair was more brown than black and gently brushed your shoulders when he leaned close to adjust the way it fell over you. He smelled softly of earth and cotton, a hint of sweat but not in an unpleasant way. He seemed to radiate warmth like he was the sun itself. You could feel it when you clasped the edges of the fur to your chest and your fingers brushed against the tunic over his chest. His warmth had transferred to the fur and you snuggled deeper into it. Your fingers dug into the fuzzy fur and the entire thing seemed to bathe your torso.

When Cregan leaned back, he was sitting only a hand’s breadth away from you and you continued to watch him from your place deep in the fur. He seemed to run his eyes all over you, from the top of your head to where your pretty silver slippers sat daintily on the dirt. You looked down at yourself for a moment, trying to see what he was gazing at. You saw the edges of the grey fur, surely a large fox or even a wolf, and the beautiful shiny silver fabric of your dress that made you look bathed in moonlight.

“Thank you, my lord,” you whispered, glancing back up at his face. A hush had fallen over the weirwood. He shuffled a little closer and your breath caught in your chest. You trembled a little even under the fur. Cregan reached up and gently tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, his breaths brushing over your lips and chin, his thumb brushing the place between your ear and cheek. You gulped, lips parting and then meeting again. Then he leaned back and stood from the log, clearing his throat and smiling gently down at you before looking back in the direction of Winterfell. The hush was broken.

“Come, my lady, I shall accompany you back to the castle,” Cregan held his hand out for you and you smiled awkwardly, nodding and placing your hand in his. He gripped you gently but still engulfed your palm and fingers before letting you go and allowing you to walk just ahead of him. After the first few steps, you turned back to look at him.

“You needn’t leave your solitude to return me to the castle, I am capable of finding my way back,” you spoke softly, smiling in encouragement, but he shook his head and smiled in return.

“No need to worry, my lady, I think I have had enough solitude for now,” and he gestured to the path ahead of you, waiting until you turned away from him and began walking again.

The rest of your journey back to the castle was spent in silence. He guided you inside and through the doors, but when you turned back to thank him, he had disappeared. You frowned as you reentered the great hall but quickly shook it off. The merriment had neither ceased nor decreased. The musicians played a lively jig and people filled the dance floor, a little more wobbly with drink than they had been before you left.

You picked a place near the side of the hall, sitting at one of the tables that had been shoved to the side and sipping from a cup of ale. You smiled and swayed to the music but did not dance. You pulled the fur from around your shoulders and folded it up before putting it on the bench beside you, stroking it distractedly. When you glanced up at the head table, Cregan was back in his seat of honour and his eyes were on you.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you offered him a shaky smile, but he simply turned his head away, bringing a hand up and lightly scratching at his chin as he gazed down at his plate. You dropped your head and frowned at your lap but then shook off whatever odd feeling had taken over you for a moment and forced yourself up onto your feet. You would allow yourself one final dance before dragging yourself back to your rooms.

You stayed true to your word, turning in circles for only one song before pulling away from the grabbing hands of the men and maidens and making your way back to your little spot at the table. You picked up the fur that had been entrusted to you and found your way to your mother and father, yelling that you would be returning to your room before heading back out of the great hall.

You hummed as you strolled down the corridor in the direction of your chambers, swaying slightly with the music you could still distantly hear. As you rounded the corner to the final hallway, you spotted a servant walking in your direction.

“Oh! Hello!” You flagged them down, waving toward them as they got closer. You smiled as the older woman curtsied to you before proffering the fur in her direction. “This is Lord Stark’s property, would you be able to return it to him?” The older woman looked shocked for a moment, her eyes widening just so before she schooled her expression and nodded, gently taking the fur from you.

“Of course, my lady. Would you like a message to be passed on as well?” The woman asked, but her tone seemed heavy with something you didn’t quite understand.

“Uh, no, no, I do not think so?” Your face contorted and you tilted your head in confusion, clasping your hands in front of you. “Perhaps a simple thank you will suffice,” you shrugged, smiling at the woman and bidding her farewell. She curtsied once more and just before she turned away you saw her eyebrows raise. Your own furrowed in confusion once more but you simply finished the journey to your rooms.

The next day was made for the fathers and brothers who had accompanied the young ladies; a casual tourney to simply enjoy the sporting prowess of all the men who had gathered. The weather was perfect for it, clear blue skies and bright sunshine, the best of the summer without being unbearably hot. Everything had been set up on the grounds just outside the palace, a myriad of tents for different purposes dotted the wide open space. There were the large tents for the women to lounge and meet, split up into many rooms with swathes of fabric. There were the smaller, more open tents for the men to rest and ready in just beside the grounds dedicated for archery and riding and hand-to-hand combat. Even the tables from the great hall had been dragged out into the open so the evening’s feast could be held out of doors.

A hustle and bustle filled the fresh open air. There were clinking goblets and cups, the tittering of the older ladies as they discussed their children with varying tones of love and disregard, the loud unabashed giggles of the younger children and the hushed little laughs of the maidens. There was the clank and clatter of weapons, the rush of bowstrings pulled and arrow fletching brushed, the boisterous talk of the men and the neighing of horses. Everything held an overwhelming degree of sound.

Though the young ladies had spent a few of the morning hours in the tents, attached to your mothers and sisters, upon the arrival of noon you had ventured out to watch some of the sport being carried out. The archery had been put next on the agenda and you all gathered on the benches that had been brought out for any spectators.

You had settled yourself down between two of the ladies you had become most familiar with over the course of the morning and began looking around for Lord Stark. When you found him nowhere, your face fell into a puzzled frown for a moment before you shook it off. Though he was known to be an accomplished warrior, perhaps archery was not his strong suit. Or perhaps he had been called away on business once more, the demands on a lord were never-ending. You didn’t have any business worrying about his whereabouts anyhow, you reminded yourself, laughing softly and pinching yourself on the wrist.

Though the short time with him at the heart tree the previous evening had softened his image in your mind, it did not change much else. Yes, he may have endeared himself to you with his valiant offering of his fur, just like the knights and lords of the old stories told to little girls, but it meant naught. He simply was valiant, and it had nothing to do with you whatsoever. You nodded at yourself in confirmation before turning to the girl on your left and striking up a conversation about one of the men in the tent on the other side of the archery course.

You had enjoyed yourself thoroughly bouncing between watching the tourney, sitting in the cool shade of the tent and simply strolling about with the other girls. Lord Stark had been curiously absent the entire day but when questions were finally probed, everyone was told that he had been called on urgent business but would return in time for the evening feast. And true to his word, he had returned just as the final event of the tourney had finished and the sun was setting.

The tables had been set up as they would have been in the hall, but canopies had been set up over them dangling with candles and lanterns to light the merriment well into the night. Even bonfires had been set up around the perimeter of the tables and everyone was bathed in warmth and soft golden light.

The feast was just as lively as it had been the night before, perhaps moreso. There was a certain sense of freedom that came with being out of doors, the land dark and endless, and it seemed infectious. The laughter was more boisterous, the yelling more raucous, and the drink more free-flowing. Everyone seemed ruddy-cheeked and silly.

You had been as merry as you could since the sun set. You had sipped on wine (though much less than those around you) and eaten your fill. You had laughed and made others laugh, and even sung along when music broke through the chatter. But just like the night before, your limit was soon reached and you craved a few moments away from the stifling crowd. The air had begun to fill with smoke from the bonfires and though it would be warmer to stay near everyone, you desired peace more than anything else.

You slipped away as people began mingling to talk and perhaps even start an impromptu dance in the field. Your destination was clear in your mind, and you followed the wall all the way around until you found the woods once more. You took the same path you had done before, though this time you were better equipped for it in a pair of pretty but hardy boots and a thin shawl around your shoulders. You hummed as you walked, hoping to keep whatever had unsettled you the night before at bay, and gently rubbed the material of the shawl between your fingers.

You felt a little giddy in your stomach and tried to force the smile from your lips every time it tugged at your face. It was not anticipation, per say, that seemed to writhe in your spine. Perhaps a little innocent hope? No, you wouldn’t say that. You were simply confirming to yourself that you would be happy if Lord Stark happened to be present at the heart tree, but you would not be disappointed if he was not. You clamped your lips together, which then made your face look a little odd, before releasing a breath that made them flutter and create a funny little ‘brbrbr’ sound.

You schooled your face as you reached the edge of the clearing. You could not see him when you first entered the circle of moonlight, and a little twinge plucked in your heart. You simply shook your head and moved further toward the tree when you heard someone clear their throat. You froze in your spot, not yelping or jumping but startled all the same. You looked in the direction it came from and walked a little further around the tree to find your lord sitting on the log you both had occupied the night before.

He was already looking at you, a softness in his eyes you had not seen previously. He did not smile, but his face was at ease and he stood as you approached. Though custom would have dictated he reach out for your hand and press a kiss to the back of it, you stayed too far to be within reach of him. You smiled gently, twisting your fingers as you clasped your hands in front of you, hoping to disguise the way your heart seemed to soar in your chest.

“I have disturbed your solitude twice now,” you sighed, but your smile did not match your wistful words.

“It is not unwelcome,” he responded, and it only served to widen your smile. He gestured to the log and waited until you sat on your end before retaking his seat. He was turned toward you this time, and his eyes did not stray to the tree the way they had done the night before. Though your body pointed to the tree, you twisted at the waist to ensure you faced him as well.

“I hope it is known that I do not intend to disturb,” you told him, brushing some hair out of your face. His chuckle was just the huff of a breath as he glanced down at his lap, but you wanted to grab it in your hands and keep it close to your chest.

“You need not worry,” he assured as he glanced back up to lock eyes with you, “I believe your presence could not disturb me even if you attempted it.” Your face was instantly furiously hot and a shiver tingled from the back of your head down your spine as you turned to face the tree. You gulped, suddenly a little parched, and you clenched your hands tightly together in your lap. Then you huffed out a little laugh as well, airy and slightly awkward as you glanced at your lap, then the tree, then your lap again before returning your gaze to him.

“I fear my family would not agree,” you quipped, but he only offered you a boyish smile. “It is true!” You argued, as if you must prove to him that you could be a pest if you tried. “On more than one occasion I have chattered so much that my mother has looked at me incredulously, then threatened to shove a stocking between my lips just to hush me for a moment.”

He laughed then, deep and long, his eyes squeezed shut and his body rolling up and down. You joined at first, slightly awkward then awed and jovial as you took pride in being able to make him laugh. He rubbed at his cheek for a moment, as if his face was unused to laughter and smiling and his cheeks were beginning to ache. You uncurled slightly, stretching your legs out in front of you so their weight rested on your heels and you could swing your feet side to side. You pressed the heels of your hands against the log and leaned your weight back into them. You turned your head to look at him as his laughter calmed and his small became a little smaller.

“I fear my suspicions have been confirmed,” he finally spoke, taking a deep breath to replenish after his bout of laughter. “Even upon telling a story of how you can be an annoyance, I still find you to be altogether too pleasant.”

After you shot him a bright, rather mischievous, smile, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. You turned your head up to gaze through the branches again, watching the leaves twitch and sway in a phantom breeze. You slowly brought your gaze down to the tree and the face carved into it. You watched the trail of dark red sap that had already dripped through the eyes and mouth before glancing away. When you turned your head back to face him, he was already looking at you again.

“Does something trouble you that you seek this refuge once more?” He asked in his deep gravelly voice, more hushed now. You smiled a little, a barely there stretch of your lips and shook your head.

“No, nothing in particular,” you sighed. “I love to dance and be merry, and enjoy everything that comes with a feast,” you began slowly, hesitantly, “I do. I enjoy it very much. But sometimes… everything is suddenly too… much. Everything irks me. The lights are too bright, the people too loud, and it is intensely overwhelming.” You shrugged, looking down at your lap. “I just want to be quiet, and just… at peace for a few moments, I suppose.” You shrugged again and kept your head dipped low but flitted your eyes to look at him. His face had settled into a neutral sort of expression and you could not tell if he understood what you were babbling about. “I can return to the merriment again afterward,” you added hastily, “I do not need to escape it completely, that would be no fun either.” Cregan nodded sagely, gazing at the ground in front of him.

He was leaning his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in front of him in the space above his knees. He fiddled with his fingers a little and hummed in agreement.

“I wish to do away with all these feasts altogether,” he grumbled, and your limbs suddenly went a little rigid.

You felt that you had said something wrong, done something wrong, destroyed the peace between you somehow. Your mouth was dry but your back was suddenly a little damp with sweat. You turned your head to face your lap once more but glanced in his direction over and over.

The two of you were silent for a few moments, your teeth worrying at your lip as you continued your quick little eye movements between your lap and the man sat to your left. You were completely still otherwise, not even swinging your feet. Then Cregan let out a long breath and shook his head where he had dropped it between his shoulders. He leaned back and straightened up, looking at you with a sad little smile that made you feel more upset than comforted.

“That was unfair of me,” he breathed out. “If not for the feasts then I would not have had the pleasure of your company.”

You smiled, though it twitched and your eyes felt stuck to his face. You let out an awkward little ‘heh’ of a laugh, and nodded, but Cregan was already standing and brushing down his clothes before offering you his hand.

“Come, let us return to the merriment. Perhaps you can enjoy one more round of dancing before you truly cannot stand it anymore,” and he was smiling like he had done before, so who were you to argue?

You daintily placed your fingers on his palm and allowed him to haul you up, but you were quick to bring your hand back to your side as soon as he released it. You clutched your shawl tightly in your hands and allowed him to lead you back on the familiar path.

Though two nights of feasting had already passed, many more awaited. Three nights of feasting were to be followed by another for the announcement of the betrothal. The guests would stay on, for the wedding would be slightly rushed and held the week after, giving enough time for any other family members to make the travel and preparations to be made for a simple ceremony. On the third day, the men gathered themselves for a hunt. The women saw them off at the gates of Winterfell, waving handkerchiefs and wishing luck to all before simply returning to their chambers. It proved a rather boring day filled with embroidery or reading, perhaps a shared luncheon, but ultimately mostly solitary for everyone.

You supposed it was good, it made you crave the music and dancing that awaited you in the evening. A messenger had returned just ahead of the hunting party in the late afternoon announcing that the hunt had been extremely fruitful and that Winterfell would be blessed this evening. It had enticed everyone to put on their best clothing and surely to be even more joyful at the feast.

You kept with your theme of greys, whites, and silvers, though this dress was finer than the other two you had worn thus far. You had Dyanna thread pearls through your hair, and when you were fully dressed, twirled around in front of her with a happy little squeal. The fabric of your dress was shiny in the light and you were sure to catch many an eye in it. You felt beautiful, and it made you smile broad and unabashedly. You pressed your hands to your cheeks for a moment and closed your eyes, just allowing yourself to feel the joy before straightening up and clearing your throat. You nodded at Dyanna as if you were a soldier and schooled your expression to be slightly dimmer. Dyanna simply giggled and ushered you out to join your parents and enter the great hall once more.

When you entered, you felt a little shy for a moment. Though it was not a sea of heads turning to stare at you, some definitely watched your approach. You simply clenched your hands together and forced yourself to look ahead, breathing slowly as you followed after your parents. As you lowered yourself into your seat, you glanced in the direction of the head table and found Cregan already gazing in your direction. You went a little wide-eyed, turning your head away sharply before feeling foolish and girlish and tilting your head to the left a little so you could see him out of the side of your eye. He was still looking at you but his eyes had softened and he was almost smiling. The same burning under your skin began and you looked ahead once more, hoping someone would sit down next to you quickly so you could be distracted with conversation.

Your prayers were eventually answered and you became distracted for the rest of the meal, laughing and joking with those around you until your plates were emptied twice and your cups thrice. When everyone stood to move the tables and open the floor for dancing, you were loose with joy. Though you were still proper of course, all the young ladies were, you were also Northerners, and Northerners loved to dance.

You danced the first with a blond boy who had yelled his name at you but you had not heard, and the second with a slightly older but more enjoyable partner who you were sure was the eldest brother of one of your friends. You sat out the third to catch your breath, linking arms with another of your acquaintances and sipping ale slowly. You were so jovial that you did not notice the presence of Lord Stark until he was right at your shoulder.

A shadow fell slightly in front of you and you turned to glance in the direction of it, thinking nothing at first, before your eyes landed on the familiar locks of dark hair that settled about his shoulders. Mouth parting a little, your eyes trailed up from his neck to his face where his lips were pulled up on just one side, an innocent smile. He stood so close that his chest was practically pressed into your shoulder and you could feel the warmth he radiated on your arm. You gulped, finally gaining enough control to close your mouth, and returned a rather shocked smile. He held his hand out lightly and leaned down so close his lips brushed your ear as he spoke.

“Would you dance the next with me?”

You shivered. His breath was still brushing your ear and your entire body seemed to tingle from it. He was so close that you could smell him again, that soft clean cotton and earth smell that made you want to press your face to his neck and simply breathe over and over. You nodded, a jerky and slightly hurried motion, but it seemed to widen his smile and you would do it again and again just to see that happen once more.

The previous song was already at its end and you gently placed your hand in Cregan’s grip, allowing him to lead you to the other dancers as the next began. You could feel eyes on you, could just hear faint whispers of your name and Lord Stark’s without catching anything else. You ignored it all to focus on the man in front of you.

Though you expected him to know the dance, you did not expect him to be very graceful. He defied even that expectation, his movements lithe and clean. Perhaps he was not the most graceful, but he still moved with ease and timed it well to the music, a warrior through and through. You smiled brightly the entire time you danced, laughing with each hop or swish of your skirt, memorising the feeling of his palm against your own or the press of his hand at your waist. Your eyes glimmered in the candlelight and the pearls in your hair made you a beacon on the dancefloor. And Cregan was not the most expressive person, communicating through subtle shifts in a naturally stony expression, but he seemed relaxed and light as you danced, even smiling at your laughs and giggles.

When the song ended, you were out of breath and clapping with everyone else. You swayed a little on your feet and Cregan reached out quickly to steady you but you politely patted his hand and stepped out of his reach. You curtsied as the other partners did and beamed at him. If you could only save this moment in the palm of your hand, weave it in a tapestry exactly as it was, you would live in it forever.

You and Cregan parted ways and you rejoined your earlier acquaintance, gulping deeply from your cup as Cregan disappeared into the crowd. She turned to you and emphatically demanded to know everything about your dance. You did not have much to tell other than that you had enjoyed it, neither you nor Cregan had spoken during the entirety of it, and though she seemed dissatisfied with the lack of detail, she simply scoffed and shook her head before smiling and squealing a little with joy.

You remained on the sidelines for the next two dances before rejoining for the third. There were more eyes on you than ever, but you were lost in your own joy. Though Cregan had disappeared again, he had danced with you, and only you. Another three dances later and you knew you would fall right in the middle if you did not take a step back and have a rest for a few moments. You wiggled your way through the crowd right to the edge of the hall and found a seat against one of the walls. You pressed your back to the cool stone and sighed happily, drinking from your cup and watching the dancing through the gaps between the bodies standing in front of you. Someone lightly tapped your shoulder and you turned to find a woman gesturing to the seat next to you.

“Oh, yes, of course,” you nodded enthusiastically, moving your skirts to ensure she had enough room to sit next to you.

The woman’s gown looked almost black in the dim light but upon closer inspection it was a very dark grey. It was of a simple fashion but the fabric was very fine, surely something expensive. Her hair was left mostly loose, a few strands pulled back to keep her face clear, and it was a beautiful brown just a few shades darker than mahogany. Her eyes were like pure honey in the candlelight but she seemed a little sickly, her pale skin reflecting the yellow light a little too well. She could not have been much older than you, perhaps closer in age to Cregan than yourself, but she seemed tired and aged around her eyes. She may have drank too much or danced too emphatically, you supposed, and you smiled genially at her. She returned it, but as you turned to face forward again, she kept her eyes on you. Perhaps she wished for a friend, you reasoned, and leaned back so you were against the wall once more and turned your head to face her.

“Are you enjoying the festivities?” You asked, and it seemed to make her pause. She smiled, though it was small and a little false, but not in a rude way, moreso in a way that belied sadness and insecurity on her part.

“They are very grand,” she responded. Her voice was quiet and you thanked the gods that the music and chatter was not as loud where the two of you were seeking refuge.

“Indeed,” you responded, nodding emphatically. You felt a little awkward, laughing shakily and glancing about the room as you tried to keep the conversation alive. “I do not know if I have ever had this much fun.” She smiled at that, a little more sincere, and nodded along with your words.

“Yes, young ladies perhaps do not get to experience such merriment often,” she added, and you smiled brightly, nodding emphatically.

“Yes! You are absolutely right! I expressed just such a sentiment in conversation only two days prior,” and then you smiled a little dazedly as you remembered sitting beside Cregan, your heart warming like a pot slowly heating on the fire.

“So, you are happy with Winterfell, then?” The woman asked. She seemed so serious, like the question held more weight than you could recognise, but you simply laughed and nodded, your brows a little furrowed but the confusion smoothing out quickly.

“It has come to hold a special place in my heart, I think,” you answered with a shrug, “I will surely be sad to part with it when the time comes, but so will many others I believe.” You turned to face her a little more fully, hands clasped in your lap, “are you happy with Winterfell?”

She seemed a little surprised when you asked, and her mouth moved as if forming words but none of them came out. She gazed off into the distance, as if seeing things you could not, but you patiently waited for her response.

“Yes,” she answered, but said nothing more.

You stared at her, trying not to be too overbearing with your eyes. A light sheen of sweat had appeared at the edges of her neck and her hands seemed to tremble where they rested on her lap. You gently reached out and clasped one of them, holding it gently like an injured bird in your own palm. She turned to look at you again, and you could almost see tears brimming in her eyes. You reached back and grasped your cup of ale from the bench before offering it to her.

“Would you like some? You seem a bit out of sorts,” your voice was as quiet as hers as you spoke, and she accepted the cup from you, unfurling her hand from yours and holding the cup with all her fingers wrapped around it. You felt almost motherly in that moment, smiling to yourself as she drank from the cup before returning it to you. She thanked you quietly and allowed herself to slump back a little against the wall. Whatever odd tension had settled over the two of you quickly dissipated like fog burning away in daylight. You joined her in slumping your back against the wall and laughed at how truly unladylike the two of you seemed.

You fell into an easy rhythm with her then, simply speaking as she listened. You made jokes that had her laughing uproariously, little observations that made her smile, or just comments that had her humming in agreement or thought. When the conversation came to a natural lull, she bid you a gentle goodbye.

“I wish you well, dear,” she said, a small yet comforting smile on her lips. “That was perhaps the first time I have enjoyed myself since the feasts have started,” and with that she bowed a little then turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd. You watched after her for a moment before shaking yourself a little to rid the odd feeling that seemed to creep on your bones after her departure.

Then you stood and ventured into the crowd for more dancing, because you were determined to enjoy this night. Tomorrow Lord Stark would meet with the family of whichever maiden he had chosen, and at sunset, at the beginning of the feast, he would announce the name of his bride-to-be. And though you had arrived with no hopes nor expectations, you knew that they had grown regardless upon meeting him, and you knew that it would hurt like a spike to the chest if he chose someone else.

The day ends up being both tense and rather… boring. You spend much of it in your own room, taking both breakfast and lunch there at your small table. You flit between activities but nothing can keep you focused for very long so you spend long moments pacing back and forth and nattering to Dyanna as she sits there looking rather fearful and helpless. You interrogate her for information every time she ventures out of your rooms to fill your jugs or bring you food or water to wash with, but she always returns looking hapless and apologetic.

“I’m sorry, miss,” she sighed when you almost jumped on her as she returned through the door, already shaking her head as she walked further into the room and deposited the jug on the table. You sighed overdramatically, throwing yourself back onto the bed and staring at the canopy over your bed.

“Nothing at all, Dyanna? You did not bump into anyone? Did not happen upon someone whispering about the lucky maiden?” You stared at her with wide eyes, urging her to say something, but she smiled painfully and shook her head.

“Again, I’m sorry, miss, but nothing at all. No one has heard anything. No news, no whispers, not even an inkling of who it might be.”

“Ugh!” You groaned and shook your head, pressing your hands to your face before pulling yourself up from your bed and settling into the chair in front of your vanity table with a huff. At this point you did not even want to be chosen, you simply wanted to know who had been. You stared at the surface of the table and went quiet for a few minutes as Dyanna tidied and readied things for the evening. You were hit with a pang in your chest, like someone had hammered a gong deep inside you.

Surely, if it was taking this long for you to hear something, that meant it would not be you. If it had been you, there would have been some sign. Though it had been agreed that the lucky maiden would not find out until the feast along with everyone else, it was also customary for the groom to discuss the engagement and arrangements with the bride’s family. And surely if that was to be upheld, then whoever was the lucky maiden would have some sort of sense of what was going to happen. Surely… surely… surely…

But then you grumbled again and frowned at the vanity table as you became frustrated with yourself. Your thoughts had been going in circles all day, vicious spirals of wishing he would choose you, hoping he would choose you, despairing that he had not chosen you, that he would not choose you, that you were never in contention in the first place. You had cycled through so many emotions already that you felt wrung out, too tired to even bother attending the stupid feast anymore. You did not want to sit there and clap and be happy while some other maiden tittered and cried as she got to walk up to the dais and sit beside Cregan. All the while you were seething and upset and hating yourself for becoming so invested in something you could not have cared less about three days prior.

“Come now, miss,” Dyanna soothed from behind you, walking over and gently toying with your hair. “Let’s begin readying you for this evening, and perhaps we can get your mind off this. Hm?” And she smiled so warmly and sweetly that you could not help but nod and try to smile in return.

You were deviating from your usual theme of greys this evening, instead opting for a dress of beautiful blues. The fabrics differed slightly in shades and overlapped with each other in a way that reminded you of a river. Your hair was left mostly natural, flowing down your back with the front strands pulled back in a clip decorated with sapphires.

You felt rejuvenated as you stood in front of Dyanna, twirling in your dress and running your hands over the fabric. She had distracted you with random stories and stupid jokes as she did your hair and laced up your dress and you slowly began to feel at peace once more. Dyanna smiled at you like an older sister, gently touching your hair and your cheeks as tears pooled in her eyes.

“You look beautiful, miss,” she whispered and you hugged her tight to your chest. If you had Dyanna, you would be alright regardless of the outcome of the evening.

You walked to the great hall just behind your parents. They seemed happy, smiling at each other and chatting. You tried to decipher if this was anything new, if they seemed particularly jovial this evening, but you couldn’t tell. They had been smiling since you all arrived in Winterfell and it seemed no different this evening.

Just as you had done the previous night, you all made your way through the hall and to your seats. Upon your cursory glance of the head table, you found an extra chair had been added beside Cregan’s, waiting for whoever would take their place as his wife-to-be. You glanced in his direction as well, running your eyes over him as if it would be the last time you saw him. In a way it might be, the last time you would allow yourself to look at him with such softness and familiarity anyway. His head began to turn in your direction but you looked away before he could look at you, fixing your eyes on the wall in the distance.

Instead of Cregan himself making the announcement, an old man you had recognised as one of his chief advisors stood with his cup held aloft. Everyone turned to look at him as he smiled brightly and ran his eyes over the crowd.

“We have all gathered here for a special occasion,” he began sagely, “to offer the chance for our Lord to find an unmatched happiness many of us have already experienced.” You watched Cregan instead of the man, the way he almost seemed to grimace at the words. “To this end, our Lord has chosen on this fine day! The match has been agreed with the maiden’s family, and I am beyond pleased to announce the betrothal of Lord Cregan Stark and Lady Y/n L/n!”

Applause broke out in the great hall. Thunderous applause that echoed against the very ceiling. People were standing, holding their cups and goblets aloft, jostling with each other as they cheered and jeered. Your parents were standing beside you now, your friends clapping and squealing with joy. You were ushered up from your seat, hands gripping your arms and lifting you to standing before gently touching your back to urge you forward in the direction of the dais.

And through it all, the movement and the deafening echo, you still could not quite believe it was your name that had been called. You could see the man gesturing the goblet in your direction from his place on the dais, could see his lips moving around your name, could even hear it in your ears, but you could not quite believe it.

Your breath was light in your chest, as if you couldn’t pull enough in and it slipped from your nose before you could truly appreciate that you had taken a breath in the first place. Your entire body felt too light for that matter, as if your limbs weren’t quite your own, only borrowed. You gulped, though your lips did not stay quite closed as you moved. Your eyes were slightly dazed and unfocused but you managed to find your way to the dais, ushered gently to the chair and sat down before you could complete two blinks.

You turned and found Cregan smiling down at you, a small and gentle thing, but a smile nonetheless. He gently patted your hand where it had landed on the armrest and you gulped again. That simple touch seemed to settle you into your body a little, and you adjusted yourself so your posture was a little better. You nodded at him with a fluttery little smile, something that twitched at your lips and moved between too wide and too small.

“To our future bride and groom!” The same man held his cup aloft as everyone in the great hall followed suit, yelling ‘to our future bride and groom!’ Cregan handed you your cup and you both toasted as well, though your hands were a little shaky.

As you looked out over the great hall, elation seemed to slowly descend on you. You turned in your seat just slightly so you could see the side of Cregan’s face from the edge of your vision. Your heart seemed to sigh in your chest, as if it had been yelling for so long and it had finally been acknowledged. You felt peaceful, a little bashful, and a little chaotic with joy too. You had been hoping, quietly and only in the depths of your heart, that perhaps whatever warmth and budding something that had appeared in your chest after meeting him by the heart tree had not been solely in your own imagination. It felt so wonderful to believe that perhaps he had felt something grow between you as well.

The rest of the evening had passed in a blissful blur. There had been many speeches of congratulations and wishes of good health from the heads of the different houses; your father had given one on joy and love that had made your eyes tear up. Food and drink had flowed freely and though Cregan did not speak to you much other than to offer you more meat or wine, he had smiled at you like you had given him a gift he could never repay and it made your heart clench happily. He had even danced with you on three separate songs, swinging you around as you laughed and smiling even brighter as you did.

The feast had gone on long into the night and the two of you had only been released from your seats when the first of the drunkards were beginning to be led back to their rooms by their family members. Cregan had taken your hand and pressed a fleeting kiss to the back of it before you were led to your rooms. You had laughed and screamed giddily with Dyanna, yelling about how you could not believe that you had been chosen. You had allowed her to unlace your dress and help you wash but then you had taken her hands into yours and spun around the room until you were sick with dizziness.

Dyanna was ecstatic for you, amplifying your own joy. She squealed with you, giggled with you, tickled you until you were breathless. She brushed your hair and told you of the amazing life you would live at Winterfell. Then she tucked you into your bed and left with one final congratulations on your engagement.

You spent much of the night tossing and turning, laughing to yourself in ecstasy and imagining all sorts of scenarios of the wedding. The ravens would have already been sent out after your father had agreed to the betrothal and your brothers and sister would be on the way to Winterfell in the coming days. You could see the flowers, the dress, and Cregan. You could see Lord Stark standing in front of you at the heart tree, smiling down at you as he had done that evening. You could almost feel him kiss you, and you turned over to press your face into the pillow as you burned with a blush.

The next day dawned a little colder and with a cloud cover over Winterfell, but you did not let it deter your joy. You woke with an airiness to your limbs that had you floating through getting dressed and breakfast. In the hours before luncheon, a messenger came knocking on your door, requesting your presence in the afternoon for a stroll with your betrothed if you pleased. You beamed at the messenger, responding with an emphatic yes before closing the door on him and calling Dyanna to attention to ready you well for the afternoon.

You did not contain the patience required to sit in your rooms and wait for him to call on you, so you made your way outside to the courtyard early. Though Dyanna stayed close to you now as you strolled back and forth (you were not allowed to be without chaperone just yet), she had promised to keep at a distance when your Lord finally arrived. Cregan was prudent, if not a little early, and greeted both you and Dyanna before offering you his arm and beginning to lead you out of the courtyard.

“Your dress is very pretty,” he complimented as you walked under the arch, and you felt the burn of a blush under your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you responded politely, though the smile on your face was bright and clear. You glanced back and saw Dyanna already trailing out of earshot. She sent a smile your way and you beamed in return, nodding in thanks.

“I hope I have not disrupted your day by requesting this walk,” he began politely, but you simply shook your head in response, a chorus of ‘oh no, not at all,’ following. “Good,” he sighed, smiling a little, “for there are some things I wish to tell you.” You raised your eyebrows, eyes widening just slightly before smiling a little again.

“Do tell,” you responded simply. Your spine felt a little stiffer all of a sudden but you tried to ignore the odd sense of foreboding.

“Well, first and foremost, I wished to express to you how happy I am in choosing you,” and the odd feeling dissipated so quickly you could not remember having felt it in the first place. You huffed out a surprised little laugh, holding onto his arm a little tighter as you walked. Your shoulders loosened and your cheeks seemed to be permanently stuck in a smile. You were about to open your mouth to respond, but he continued. “And I wished to tell you something else.” He pressed his lips together for a moment and stared at the land ahead of you as you.

He had begun leading you around the perimeter of the castle, following the wall at a slight distance. You watched him instead of the path, trusting him to guide you and hold you steady. He seemed lost in thought, not exactly frowning but not completely without a furrow to his brow.

“Yes?” You prompted quietly, hushed, trying not to disturb whatever fragile thing now hung in the air between you.

“When Arra became pregnant with Rickon, we were… blindingly happy. She had struggled to get with child, and it had begun upsetting her. All she ever wanted was to be a mother. And when it finally happened, it was everything we could have wished for. The pregnancy was not without difficulties, sickness and tiredness, but the maesters said it was not unusual. Then… when Rickon arrived…” he paused, closing his eyes in a long blink before taking a deep breath in and continuing on. “When Rickon arrived, the cord keeping him to his mother was wrapped around his neck. In the chaos she began to bleed and the maesters rushed to tend to her as well. They could not revive Rickon, and he died almost as soon as he had been born.”

You held tighter to Cregan now as a lump began forming in your throat. Your eyes felt heavy with the sadness of his tale and you bowed your head to stare at your feet as you continued your slow pace.

“They were able to save Arra, staunch the bleeding and keep her from death’s door, but… the maesters declared her barren. Whatever had caused the bleeding had also left her unable to bear another child… it was devastating.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth as he blinked rapidly, eyes flitting this way and that. He breathed deeply but his voice still came out low when he continued. “I would not hear of anything until Arra awoke, and I stayed at her bedside until she was able to lift herself to sit up. Then my advisors descended upon me like vultures.” He huffed a sardonic laugh, glancing at you as if expecting you to respond with your own rye smile but you were staring off into the distance, spine perhaps a little more rigid than before but not noticeably so. “They all said something must be done, the line of succession needed to be secured. The first idea posed was an annulment. They said I could dissolve my marriage to Arra as she could not fulfil what was essential to our union but I would not hear of it. I would not even hear the idea entertained.”

Here he paused and turned to look at you earnestly. You met his eyes, but your hands trembled. A knot began forming in your stomach like the slow turning of a spindle. Your chest was heavy and each step took more effort than the last.

“I love Arra,” he breathed out, “I love her more than any other soul, and I could not even imagine being parted from her, let alone considering an annulment.”

Dread was slowly settling over you like thick molasses being poured from a jug. It did not drip or run, simply poured over your shoulders and head and began sinking into your skin and bones. Your eyes became unfocused, your breath shallow, and your hands trembled so much that you had to clench them to hide it.

“And so it was suggested that I take a second wife. I could keep my marriage to Arra undisturbed, but I would still be able to produce a legitimate heir. It felt wrong, like a betrayal of Arra. All she had ever wanted had already been taken from her, and to rip up our marriage in such a way so soon after… I consulted her, as I do with everything, and she accepted that the only way forward was for me to marry another. She said it would be alright, that she believed in my love for her, that this would not change that,” and the way he smiled made you feel sick to your stomach.

It was unlike anything he had ever shown you. It was soft and sweet and pulled at the corners of his lips. It was as if he could see the object of his happiness in his mind’s eye. You could feel the lump in your throat thicken, almost press against the back of your tongue. Your hands felt swollen and tingly, as if your pain now coursed through their very tendons.

“I agreed and the preparations were made, the people arrived, but I felt… hopeless. I could not imagine choosing any woman other than Arra. I looked out at this sea of maidens and saw no one I wished to marry. And perhaps I am weak but, I could not imagine condemning any young woman to something they would not understand. Condemning either of us to the company of the other when we would not be wholly in it. I could feel myself falling deeper into a pit of despair.” Then he paused and turned to you again, this time smiling with a light boyishness, almost teasing as if the continuation of the story was obvious.

“But then I met you, the answer to all my woes in your pretty dresses and carefree attitude. Though I worried about perhaps condemning you as well, you began speaking about how you only wished for merriment. How young ladies do not get to experience it much and how you came not to vie for me but to simply enjoy yourself. And I realised that I could offer you something in return.” He was so happy as he said it, an almost juvenile excitement. “If we were to marry, you would not be confined at all.” He paused, glancing away before leaning a little closer and lowering his voice. “Laying with one another, cannot be avoided,” he said, awkward and a little halting on the word ‘laying’, “but once a son was safely born then we would both be free. You would be free. You could travel or roam or take lovers if you wished, though perhaps that would be kept quieter for your own sake,” he lowered his voice again, smirking and laughing a little. “You would never have to see me again if you so wished, but,” he laughed a little again, his smile all innocent happiness once more, “I do hope that will not be the case. I have come to enjoy your company as a friend.” He took a deep breath in and sighed, long and slow, as if the weight of the world had finally been lifted from his shoulders. “You would not need to care for the babe either. Arra will raise him as a mother, and you will be truly, truly free.”

You could barely keep your eyes open. You could feel the hot press of tears just behind them but you could not allow yourself to cry, not yet. You gulped over and over but the lump in your throat did not dissipate. Your chest clenched so painfully that you could almost scream with it. You wanted to press your hands to your face and scream until your throat was ripped to shreds. How could a misunderstanding of words, a simple conversation in which you had not expressed yourself quite as you had wished, lead to the destruction of all your hopes and dreams? How could everything you had once imagined, love and a family, children of your own to care for, slip away so quickly because of some noble intention and misplaced words?

“I was wary for Arra when the festivities arrived,” he began again, face a little somber. “I did not want to cause her any more pain than what she had experienced, but when I told her of you, she seemed glad with the choice. She recommended it wholeheartedly,” and he smiled brightly, as if that was the highest compliment he could pay you but your brows furrowed quickly.

“What?” You breathed out, clinging to this little piece of confusion to pull you out of the black spiral in your head. You still could not look at him, could not bear to turn and face him, so you kept your eyes on the air ahead of you unseeing.

“She told me of meeting you at the feast the evening before last. You had given her the seat by your side, offered her ale from your cup and conversed with her for a while,” his face was so open, so joyful, that when you glanced at it you felt your chest clench all over again. “She said you made her laugh uproariously, that you had a good heart.”

You were stuck in a horrible wasteland. You were frozen, incapable of doing anything but listening, yet your body wished to rip itself from his side and be sick in the dirt. Your feet were blocks attached to the rigid wood of your legs, and if he had not kept moving, kept you in motion, then you likely would have collapsed right where you stood.

You had arrived back at the gates without realising, but you could not see anything around you. Your body was not your own but you were connected to it so fiercely. Your hands trembled, your stomach tensed, your spine was a piece of string pulled taught. You were not your own.

Cregan gently untangled his arm from your own and stood in front of you with a beaming smile.

“Thank you, my lady. Thank you for being the answer to all my woes,” he breathed out. Your head nodded for you, listening to him bid you goodbye but not returning it. He walked back into the courtyard, head held high, where one of his advisors waited patiently to guide him back to whatever business awaited him.

You were frozen to your spot, like winter had arrived in one gust of wind and left you stuck there. It felt as though there were a pair of hands deep in your chest, fingernails digging into your heart and slowly scratching at it, tearing cuts into it then digging their fingers into the cuts and ripping whole pieces of it away. Your eyes began to burn with the tears you had held back for so long and you swayed dangerously.

You could hear his words over and over, could hear him telling you he loved Arra, could hear him saying how you had been the answer he was looking for. All because you had not been clear when you said you wanted to enjoy the festivities. You could see the future you had always so craved, a husband who loved and cherished you, a house of your own to organise and run, a troupe of little children to call your own and raise, slipping away like ice into a river. All because he had misconstrued your words upon meeting you, because you had been kind and carefree, because you had not realised the identity of the woman you had met. A series of events created on pure chance and carelessness had led to you losing… everything.

You began looking around for Dyanna, your breath short and shallow as it punched out of your chest. She was quick to return to your side, grabbing your arm as you leaned all your weight onto her.

“Take me back to my rooms,” you whispered, eyes dazed and haunted.

When you had returned to your rooms, you had sent Dyanna away. She had tried to inquire why, had tried to suggest that she would simply help you with your laces, but you had shut the door in her face and secured the beam to lock it. You were dazed, walking into the room and standing by your mirror.

As the silence settled over you, only the sound of your own breath echoing back to you, you became a flurry of movement. You ripped at the laces on your back until they were undone and you could push the offending dress off your arms. You were heaving your breaths now, loud and painful like that of a plague victim. They bordered on sobs, crushing as they filled and left your chest. You were haphazard in your motions, stepping out of the dress and clambering onto your bed in your thin cotton shift, the sleeves bunching a little at your elbows.

You pressed your face to your pillow and began to cry like you had never cried before. Your sobs bordered on screams, your tears were like little rivers down your face, pouring without restraint. You had never felt pain like this, the kind that clawed at your throat and made you feel both limp and rigid. You curled around one of your pillows, another soaking up the tears that wet your cheeks. Your mind was too loud, yelling yet incoherent, and you could do nothing but feel it all.

You did not know how long you cried, only that eventually your sobs turned to blubbers and then huffed breaths. You teetered on the edge still, one reckless thought and you would dissolve into tears once more, but your eyes were finally blinking open. You moved your mouth from where it had pulled back as you cried and gently massaged your cheeks. You wiped your eyes on your pillow cover and sat up until you were pressed against the headboard, your knees pulled up to your chest. You pressed your face to your knees and allowed your hair to fall around you like a curtain, hands clenching tightly to your shins.

You could only think of the dread you had been destined to now, wrung out by the force of your crying. You could not break the engagement. It had already been announced to everyone, your father had already agreed. It would bring shame and ruin on the family to refuse it now, and you would not have any suitors in the future. Though you would be the one breaking it, everyone would wonder what had been wrong with you, what you had done to end a dream of an opportunity.

And even if you did tell your mother and father what Cregan had told you, what you had been doomed to, you knew they would tell you to stop being so childish. To marry for love was foolish, and to refuse the best of matches for such a notion was beyond stupidity. They would tell you to open your eyes and look at what a gift you had received. The Lord of the North had chosen you to be his bride. If nothing else, that counted for something. Though you may be only a broodmare, you would still carry the title of Lady of Winterfell. You would live a lavish life, one the other maidens who had attended could only dream of now. You were focusing too much on your pathetic heart and not on the blessings right in front of you.

You considered ending your own life. You could see a length of rope and a tree branch, or perhaps a dagger and slit wrists in the bath. But you could not do that to Dyanna, could not bring that shame on your family in your wake.

When Dyanna returned to ready you for the evening, you were slow to unfurl from the bed and allow her in. For a long moment you considered simply pulling the covers back over your head and pretending the world outside your chambers did not exist. Though you could not have been able to hide for long, you would not have had to face the world quite at that moment. Despite the war in your head, you had shuffled your way to the door and allowed her in.

Dyanna gasped at the state of you, touching your face gently as she guided you to sit at your vanity. She pressed soft fingertips to your cheeks and your puffy eyes, and when she cupped your face in her hands you began to cry once more.

“Oh darling,” she breathed out, pulling you close and caressing the top of your head.

You began blubbering out the story, telling her everything Cregan had told you. You could not keep it in, could not wallow in the sadness on your own any longer. She listened closely to what you told her then cradled your head to her chest. When your cries subsided once more she hushed you gently, wiping your tears with her sleeve and pulling away. She did not say anything in response to the tale you told her, simply wiped your face with a wet cloth and held a cold metal pitcher first to one eye then the other. She told you to hold it and keep it against your eyes and began readying your dress. She helped you step into it and laced it up before sitting you down and doing your hair.

You looked up at her in the mirror like a lost child, all wide eyes and trembling lower lip, but she simply smiled in sympathy and told you to keep straight or your braids would be crooked. You took deep breaths as she worked, closing your eyes and trying to steady yourself. You would need to face everyone now, would need to face Cregan. He was not aware of the turmoil within you, of the way he had cursed you without meaning to. You almost began to cry once more but shook your head to rid yourself of the thoughts (to a flurry of tuts from Dyanna). No, you could face this. And that was what you told yourself for the next week.

The week leading up to the wedding became a blur that you could not remember when you looked back on it. You seemed to float through it like a cloud in an otherwise clear sky. You smiled when necessary, and spoke as you had been taught to since childhood, but you couldn’t quite remember why you smiled or what you said. You gripped Cregan’s hand when necessary and laughed when needed, but you were not quite present.

During the day you stayed confined to your bed, curled around a pillow with the covers pulled up to your nose so only your eyes gazed out blankly to the wall. Dyanna tried to coax you out, to engage you with any little thing she could, but to her every inquiry you simply hummed and stayed in bed. You told her to handle everything, to make whatever choices needed to be made, and to leave you in your bed until the last possible moment.

When the servants and vendors arrived for the wedding, Dyanna met them at the door and told them you were not feeling your best and had taken to your bed for the day to try and curb any illness before the wedding. She tried to bring the choices to you, but you did not even bother raising your head to look at her. In the end she did make all the decisions, from the fabric and style of your wedding dress to the dessert that you wished to be served during the feast.

And every evening in the time leading up to the wedding you would rise like a ghost from the grave, allowing Dyanna to move you this way and that to prepare you for the feast before sending you out to the great hall. There your performance began and ended. It was good enough to convince, but fragile. If one looked too close, they would realise that your cups stayed full to the brim bar a few sips, your plates remained as full at the end of dinner as they had been at the start, one or two small bites gone, and your gaze, once bright and soulful, was now vacant.

Cregan seemed happy enough to leave you to your devices during the day, not a visit or a whisper to be heard of, though he seemed happy to see you upon your arrival to dinner each evening. Your parents worried over your withdrawn state but you forced Dyanna to ease their worries and ensure all dogs were put off the scent of your new demeanour. It was only when your brothers and sister arrived did you seem to gain some life back.

Dyanna forced you to leave your bed during the day to welcome their arrival, pulling you from its clutches despite your protests and dressing you in a pale pink gown, leaving your face clean-washed and natural. Every step you took to leave your room felt weighed down by tar but upon stepping out in the fresh air you felt slightly rejuvenated. A cold breeze blew through Winterfell and brought the earthy scent from the woods to its doorstep. You took deep slow breaths and filled your lungs desperately as you watched the carriages come to a stop. Even the whinnying of the horses felt new and soothing, and the sight of the sky made your eyes feel slightly more alive than they had done before.

You could feel Dyanna watching you carefully from your side, and you turned to offer her the barest hint of a smile, nothing more than a twitch of your lips, but it seemed to put her at ease, a little sigh of relief puffing from her lips. Her shoulders seemed to relax as she slumped a little where she stood and a pang of shame hit you in the chest for all the turmoil you had put her through.

Your brothers and sister piled out of their carriages and huddled around you in a tight hug, yelling their congratulations and well wishes. You allowed them to jostle you in their arms, press kisses to your hair and gaze at you with teary smiles like you were their first child and had grown rather fast. You could not bear to ruin their fun but their happiness seemed to dig into the wound in your heart and rip it open afresh, the painful blood pouring out into your veins once more. You smiled and allowed them to heap their joy onto you, but tears burned at your eyes and you were forced to pass them off as overwhelming joy.

You had not realised Cregan’s presence until your siblings were unwinding their arms from around you. You could see him watching you all with a soft, wistful, smile and it made your chest pulse with pain. Your siblings moved to greet him, clearing their throats and dimming their expressions a little to appear more dignified. He was sincere, proud in a polite manner as he shook hands and smiled warmly. You kept your distance, waiting with your back to the carriages and watching them all interact. A sudden wave of cool tiredness washed over you and without another word you disappeared into the castle, back into your bed and slipping under the covers.

You were a little more returned to life as the wedding drew nearer. Your sister was quick to invade your space, pulling you off to explore Winterfell or aid in the preparations. Though she had noted your now-muted personality, she did not pry and simply set to dragging you about with her.

The day of the wedding you were woken a little earlier than usual. Dyanna helped to feed you little bits of fruit until you felt sick on your new shrunken appetite before leading you to a steaming bath. She allowed you to soak for a long while, until the water was just shy of tepid, then began scrubbing you and rubbing different oils and lotions on you until you smelt like a fresh flower garden. As you began drying after your bath, she tried to feed you once more but you turned your head away at every attempt.

Though you had become quiet since your betrothal, you were particularly silent this morning, not even bothering to open your mouth for yeses and no’s. Your gaze was vacant as you stared at the wall and your breaths were so soft you almost seemed like a corpse walking. Dyanna worried over you, gently patting your cheeks and stroking your hair and trying to urge you to say something, anything, but you would simply blink up at her for a few moments before returning to your pondering. She prayed silently to all the gods, old and new, that you would reappear for the wedding ceremony.

Dyanna laced you into a beautiful gown of white and silver, making you look like a princess bathed in snow. It was long enough to touch the floor in front of you and had a short train. Your slippers matched and she adorned you with pearls where she could, dripping through your hair and hanging from your neck and ears. You looked ethereal, a creature of the snow that had appeared from the weirwood, a true spirit of the North.

“You will be a vision he cannot resist,” Dyanna whispered in your ear as you both gazed into the mirror. But all you did was nod and allow her to continue brushing a soft rouge on your lips and cheeks.

Though the sky was overcast, the clouds were not thick with rain and simply cast a grey light over the world. The procession was beautiful, a bouquet of snowdrops in your hands as you walked toward the heart tree. Your breaths were shallow in your chest little puffs that barely moved your body. You cast your eyes on the heart tree, where it all began, and you felt something twinge deep inside you.

You wanted to scream, to throw the bouquet from your hand and dig your nails into the tree bark and rip at the face that had been carved there. Why had the gods cursed you in such a way? Why had they instilled the desire for love and companionship in you, pointed your heart at Cregan Stark and dangled a future of perfection before your eyes before ripping everything away with his confession?

You looked at him, standing just under the cover of the tree and watching you walk to him with a small smile on his face. Hot tears slipped from your eyes and you could almost see every face in the crowd beginning to frown. You tried to school your expression, even to smile, but it was watery and unconvincing and almost made your sadness more apparent than the neutral face you had kept before. You heard murmurs of how you were most likely crying from happiness, or the sadness of leaving your home and family behind, and you hoped others would listen and excuse you.

You stopped in front of Cregan and took a long look at his face. He seemed at peace, and he was smiling at you as if he was truly happy to be attending this wedding. You stared at the easy set of his cheeks and lips, at the piercing quality of his blue eyes and the neat gathering of his hair off his face. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to pummel his chest and slap his face and scream and cry, ask why he would do this to you? Why you? But you also saw the warmth, the youth in his face and the innocent joy and it made you want him to wrap his arms around you, to press gentle kisses to your cheeks and lips and tell you that it was all a misunderstanding, that he loved you and only you.

But then the ceremony began and you could do nothing but repeat the words and bind yourself to him. You could do nothing but close your eyes and let the tears cascade freely as he gently pressed his lips to yours, a fleeting barely-there kiss that made your face heat up and your heart clench in your chest, all to the backing of loud cheers and whistles.

The wedding was particularly difficult to get through for you. It would have been easy if it was like all the other feasts, but this one required you to be aware, refused to allow you to unfocus your eyes and wander distant lands in your own mind.

Throughout dinner a parade of people came to the table to congratulate you and Cregan. It seemed the head of every family had lined up, and you had to treat each one with respect and felicity, smiling and nodding in thanks, asking after their wives and children and enduring each long-winding story they pulled out just to have said they spent a little longer in the company of the newly weds than others. You supposed this parade was good in a sense, you were not keen to eat much and it was a good excuse to have barely touched the food.

Then came the dancing, particular songs requested of the musicians and cheering and urging from the crowd for you two to join them. Cregan smiled and huffed out a bashful laugh before standing and offering you his hand. And you could not refuse lest everyone begin to question the sanity of the bride, so you let him guide you from the chair and onto the dance floor for a slow and gentle son that required he pull you close into his body.

His arms wrapped around you as you two swayed to the music but you kept your eyes clenched shut. You thought if you kept them closed you could ignore everything around you, transport yourself somewhere else, but all it did was highlight how close he was, how his breath felt brushing over your cheek and neck and the fresh clean smell of him, the warmth he emanated.

“You are quiet tonight,” he whispered by your ear, pulling back a little to run his gaze over your face. He looked almost concerned and it made your innards pang with pain. You didn’t reply at first, continuing to dance and cast your eyes over his shoulder rather than on him.

“Just… in thought, I suppose,” you whispered in return, shrugging your shoulders and relaxing a little into the motion of the dance. He nodded and his face opened as if something was dawning on him. He leaned closer again as he spoke.

“If you are worried about… later this evening, you need not be. I will be gentle, and perhaps… you may feel some pleasure,” the way the words caressed your ear made you shiver. If you closed your eyes you could almost pretend that he was an eager husband, one who loved you deeply and cared for you beyond belief, one who wished to make the bedding pleasurable for you. But your eyes were open and staring at a lit sconce on the wall, and dread poured over you like ice cold water.

Though bedding ceremonies were not much cared for in the North, you knew your purpose, and you knew he wished to fulfill it soon. Upon the completion of the dance you were both permitted to return to your seats for a little while longer. You were called away first by your maids, slipping out of the great hall to a chorus of cheers and jeering.

Dyanna led the charge, welcoming you to your new bedchambers before dismissing the others. She could see the heartbreak in your eyes, the apprehension and pain mingling like a dose of poison. She helped you change into a pretty white nightgown, rubbed scented oils on your wrists and behind your ears, then sat you down at your new vanity to brush your hair. Her hands were soft and soothing and you let yourself relax in the seat, closing your eyes and taking slow deep breaths.

“You will be alright darling,” she whispered, gathering your hair before fanning it over your back. “It will be done in a flash, nothing to remember or dwell on. You’ll close your eyes a moment, then it will all be gone. It will all be alright,” she muttered continuously, stroking and brushing your hair as tears dripped from her eyes.

You were still at the table with Dyanna when Cregan entered. You opened your eyes and she began hastily wiping at her cheeks as the door revealed him. He had abandoned his fur and jacket, dressed in a plain tunic as he strolled in. He smiled at you and Dyanna, gentle and kind.

“Do not rush on my account,” he told Dyanna, pressing a hand to his chest, and he settled himself on the edge of the bed, palms at his sides.

“We had just finished,” she responded, smiling at him before turning back to you. She bent to grab the brush from the table, and pressed a firm kiss to the back of your head. Your eyes met in the mirror and she smiled in encouragement before straightening and leaving.

You stayed in your seat for a moment, closing your eyes and stealing yourself before blinking them open and standing, turning to face him. He was watching you closely, eyes darting all over you as you came closer and closer. You stopped in front of him, an arm’s reach away.

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly, his eyes soft and concerned. You nodded, instinct, and waited for his next move. He reached out and gently grasped both your arms, bringing you closer until you were tucked neatly between his legs, your hands brushing the tops of his thighs and his face level with your neck, only a hair’s breadth away. You gulped, hands shaking, and his breaths brushed warmly over your neck, shivers trembling down your spine.

“It…” he whispered, voice calm and confident, lips almost brushing your neckline, “can still be pleasurable,” he breathed, “and I would not dare to put you through unnecessary pain.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed and throat moving as you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth. Your insides were wrought in chaos, desperate yet pained. It seemed regardless of anything your pleasure would always go hand in hand with your pain.

He ran his hands up your arms to your shoulders then down to your elbows before gripping your waist on either side and pulling you even closer until you were pressed right to his chest. His chin rested between your breasts, pulling your neckline down a little, and he began pressing soft kisses to the skin just above it. They were soft, a little damp as his lips opened a little, and he trailed them slowly up to your neck. You bent your head a little so he could kiss up to the spot just behind your ear, pure instinct in your veins. Your hands came up to rest on his shoulders, grasping tight to his shirt.

He wrapped his arms a little tighter around you, pulled you down a little so he could trail his kisses over your cheek. He paused by the corner of your mouth, watching your face for a moment before continuing on the other side, avoiding your lips entirely. You seemed to tremble in his hands like a leaf in a storm.

Cregan pulled back a little, allowing you to only stumble back a step. He watched you, eyes ablaze, as he gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, exposing his bare chest and stomach. You marveled at him, gulping at the sight. He was broad and thick with muscle, gentle ridges defining each one. You could see his chest move up and down with each breath and a little trail of hair led over his stomach and disappeared beneath the line of his trousers.

You reached out and gently placed your palm flat against his chest, feeling the warm skin and firm muscle, the rise and dip of his breath. Your own was shaky in comparison to his steady (though slightly hurried) pace, and you stepped a little closer once more.

Cregan reached down and began gathering the skirt of your nightgown in his hands, collecting it in his palms and slowly lifting. He kept his eyes on your face, waiting for any fear, any refusal, but you only gazed at him in return, pupils blown wide and lips parted. He stood with it, now looking down at you as you raised your arms and allowed him to lift it over your head. Your hair became a little ruffled, strands bent and sticking up in places, but he ran a gentle hand over your head, and smoothed it all down. You shook as the cold air touched your bare skin, bumps raising along your arms and your nipples pinching into tight peaks.

He finally trailed his gaze downward, raking over your breasts and stomach, your thighs and the shadowed place between them. You felt the intense desire to cover up, to step away and pull the nightgown back over you, but you were also frozen, in thrall. His gaze seemed to touch you with heat, raking fire along every inch of skin. You wanted him to devour you, to cover every inch of you with his own body until you became a part of him.

He reached up and cupped a breast in his hand, stroking the flesh reverently with his thumb. You shivered, putting all your effort into staying standing. His thumb grazed over your nipple, the natural roughness pulling it down a little. He did it again, then once more as you tingled deep in your core and your breaths came out a little shorter, a little punchier.

He pulled back and undid the laces on his trousers, not even bothering to gaze down at himself. His fingers pressed under the hems and he shoved them off his hips, dropping them and pushing them to the side with his foot. You let your gaze drop, trailing down from his stomach.

He had strong thighs and calves to match the rest of him, corded with muscle. His cock stood between his legs, red and thick, touching at his stomach. You swallowed the saliva coating your tongue and cheeks, swallowed the urge to reach out and touch him and learn what it felt like.

He moved to wrap his arms around you, one curling around your back and pressing you close to his bare torso while the other gripped you at the waist. His hair fell on your shoulders, tickling your chest. You gasped, the feeling of his warm skin against your own made you hot inside out. He turned and lay you out on the bed, pulling away just enough so you could shuffle back further until your head met the pillows and your feet no longer dangled over the edge. He loomed over you now, gaze hungry and a touch frantic.

You licked over your lips, chest heaving and head dizzy, and your hands curled into fists in the bedsheets. He dropped to press kisses over the tops of your breasts, his hand running down the side of your body and over your thighs. He separated them as he enveloped a nipple with his mouth, listening to your sharp gasp and soft whimper.

His fingers were gentle as they ran up your slit, collecting the little bit of slick that was already beginning to coat you. He pressed in at the top, rubbing a little portion of you that made you twitch and clench all over. He rolled it a little then carried down, gently probing until he managed to twist a single finger into you all the way to the hilt.

You were clinging to his shoulders now, running your hands over the smooth skin as you clenched your eyes shut and allowed yourself to simply feel everything. His hair, still tied back, fell over his shoulders and touched your chest. He pushed and pulled the finger inside of you, beginning a rhythm that made your legs tighten where they lay. He continued to lavish kisses over your breasts and neck, his breaths becoming heavier against your ears.

Then he brought two fingers together, hushing you gently as you moaned at the sting and stretch. Your hands clung a little harder to his shoulders but he simply mouthed at your cheeks, a little ‘sh, sh,’ against your skin. He returned to the same rhythm, the in that pressed as deep as he could go, the out that left the very edges of you brushing the tips of his fingers.

It was such an odd yet addicting feeling, the rub of him inside you, the texture of yourself finally being discovered. Something within you seemed to be lifting with each movement, cresting like the journey up a flight of stairs. Just when you felt it, the edge, a light airiness beginning to touch your limbs and your mouth trembling with noise, he pulled his hand away from your core.

“Sh, sh,” he mumbled again, soothing you after the surprised little ‘mph’ left your lips.

He braced the hand that had just been between your legs beside you, his face pressed to your cheek as he shifted his weight so he was almost laying over you. He reached down first with one hand to lift your thigh and sling it over his hip before doing the same with the other. You could feel him against you, the weight of him on your stomach, hot and firm. The warm skin over his ribs and hips was pleasant to your inner thighs and you wished he would lower himself a little more, rest his chest against your own, suffocate you with himself.

He pressed his elbow onto the bed as he manoeuvred a hand between your bodies, notching himself at your entrance. You grimaced a little at the feeling, at the way your core began to stretch around him as he pushed in. Your hand came up and clung to his bicep, your nails digging in a little. You huffed out a breath, eyes clenched shut.

You could feel his nose digging into your cheek, his lips moving softly on your jaw. You breathed out with a little sound, something between a whimper and an airy sigh, as he pushed fully inside you. His hand returned to the other side of your head and he grunted, pulling his face away as his shoulders curled in slightly. He was panting as you were, eyes fluttering as he clenched them shut, hips trembling and twitching.

He waited until your breath evened out a little before moving again, a slow pace of back and forth that made you clench and tremble, keen a little against his ear. He was grunting, thick sounds leaving his throat and muffling against your neck where he had dropped his head. Each thrust was a deep, rolling, thing that pressed his stomach to yours. Your skin, slick with sweat, rubbed against his, your nipples pressed to his chest.

He gripped your waist, moving a little faster now, a little harder, his mouth pressing to your neck, open and boiling hot. You twitched against him, around him, clenched your thighs tighter over his hips. Your moan lifted into the air like a cloud, settling above the two of you. His head drooped further until his lips pressed to your shoulder.

Everything was rushing now. His hands were on your thighs and he pressed them tight to his sides, digging his fingertips into their soft flesh. His grunts were sharper, occasionally melting into moans when you clenched around him. His skin was burning hot and it set yours on fire everywhere he touched you.

The feeling was back, the pressure deep in your core that made your mouth open a little wider, made the hot tingling become a frenzy. Your face contorted into a tight expression, your entire body seemed to tense up with it, to chase that crescendo that was fast approaching. You moaned a little louder, a little higher, and Cregan seemed to grunt in response, moving his hips even faster and harder.

And it hit you like a flower blooming with the speed of a horse, a little ball of hot pleasure in your core unfurling until its edges touched the very edges of you. You could see waves of light in the black oblivion behind your shut eyes, could feel your limbs tremble and shake without restraint.

And Cregan was groaning loudly, his hips stuttering. He pressed his teeth into your shoulder, not quite a bit but with enough pressure to leave little indents in your skin. His hair, long dark strands of mahogany brown, draped over your neck and chest, touching the bed under you. He heaved loudly, shaking and pressing himself harshly to you. His arms dropped and he rested the entire weight of his body on you. You could feel the warm gush inside you, the twitching of his cock and the new hot slide coating it.

You closed your eyes and let your limbs relax against the bed, arms spread out and legs tilting slightly away from his body. You felt wrung out, every muscle used like it had never been before. A warm glow seemed to surround you, a soft throb that touched your skin and mind and heart.

Everything felt… real. The bed under you was real and your own. The pleasure ebbing had been real and your own. The fatigue now dragging your limbs was real and your own. The man on top of you was real and… your own. You kept your eyes closed, let your hands rest flat on the planes of his back.

“My husband,” a whisper of a voice in the deepest recesses of your mind, soft and alluring, and you let it be.

The two of you stayed like that until the sweat was cooling on your skin and the stickiness between you became uncomfortable. He shifted, putting all his weight on one of his arms as he pulled himself from you. You made a little sound of discomfort, but it was short-lived and soon he was rolling onto his back beside you. He shuffled higher so he was half sitting up, and wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you turned onto your side and curled a little on yourself.

You kept your eyes closed, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to ruin the moment or rip yourself from your fantasy. He let out a breathy huff of a laugh, his body moving with it, but you didn’t let yourself be tempted to open your eyes.

“I cannot say that I did not enjoy this,” he breathed out, dipping his head down to look at your face, at the tousled mop of hair that lay on your cheek and pillow. You simply hummed.

You basked in it, in the tiredness and his presence. He moved to pull the covers over you, tucking them under your arm and up to your chin before settling once more. He was a warm and sturdy presence in front of you, and you felt lulled into peace. Though sleep did not touch you, something akin to it seemed to settle over you, stilling your arms and slowing your breath.

After many minutes had passed, you felt him begin to slip out from under the covers to the side of the bed. You did not move, keeping your eyes shut and feigning sleep. When you could hear his feet on the floor, you cracked your eyelids open just enough that your lashes still draped dark edges over your vision. You watched him pull his trousers on, lacing them up softly. His head began to turn in your direction and you shut your eyes once more, hoping your sudden stiffness was not obvious. When you heard the rustle of fabric once more, you cracked open your eyes and watched him pull his shirt over his head. He pulled his hair out from the collar, then he turned and headed for the door, opening it slowly and softly, then shutting it with just as much care behind him.

You stared at the door for a long time with your barely open eyes, at the patterns in the wood and how it did not open again. You felt the heaviness settle over you once more like a familiar blanket. You felt the cold seep into your bones. And you felt the despair and heartache curl around you like lovers.

As time passed, Dyanna watched you become a ghost. For the first fortnight you wandered awkwardly around the castle, now silent without all the guests, hoping you could find something to do. But at every turn it was announced that Lady Arra ran the household, that Lady Arra had everything under control. Each time you asked, everyone from the cook to the sweeper smiled brightly and told you that everything was being taken care of and you had no need to worry, that you could do whatever you wished. You simply did not know what you wished to do.

After so many buffeted attempts you took to your bed again, long hours spent sleeping or staring off into the distance like you could see lands far away. Dyanna despaired for you all over again, having half a mind to go yelling at everyone in the godforsaken castle to treat you better, to find something to make you feel useful, but she could only sit in your room with you, trying to convince you to leave your bed.

You did eventually get out of bed again at Dyanna’s urging, allowing her to dress you and take you for a walk in the fresh air. It did wonders as it had done before, though perhaps did not make you as enthusiastic as the first time, and became a habit thereafter. Long walks around the castle, in the courtyard, past the walls and into the weirwood, deep in the thicket past the heart tree became your norm, soon without Dyanna to accompany you.

Dyanna tried her best to busy your other free hours, handing you embroidery projects or stitching until your room was full of tapestries and new dresses and more socks and stockings than any woman could have need for. Dyanna even convinced as many people in the household staff to give her clothes for mending so she could keep you busy and within the castle, under her careful watch.

You did not seem to gain your life back, even after a month had passed. In fact, you seemed to sink further and further and further into your desire for solitude and rest despite Dyanna’s efforts. She could see the dark circles develop under your eyes despite the constant sleep, could see the how vacant your once glimmering eyes had become when you did deign to open them.

In all this time, Cregan continued to bed you once a week. The maesters had urged him to bed you as often as possible to ensure you would become pregnant as soon as possible, but he never came to your chambers more than once a week.

He continued to be gentle the first few times, asking if you were alright before he began pulling your clothes off and laying you on the bed. But eventually the way he bedded you depended on his mood. Sometimes he was a little more frenzied, throwing his clothes off and rushing you through it, pushing your legs higher, thrusting faster. If it had been a difficult day, or something had angered him, he sometimes set you on all fours in the middle of the bed and rutted into you from behind like a beast, pulling your hips against his own, almost ripping your nightgown as he hauled it off you. Other times he did not bother even removing your clothes, simpling unlacing his trousers, pulling your nightgown up to your waist, and bending you over the edge of the bed as he mouthed along your spine.

He sometimes lay with you afterward, caressing your arm and back, but as time wore on he left quicker and quicker after the act. Not once in all the nights did he kiss you on the mouth.

And you allowed yourself to enjoy it, to enjoy the pleasure and pretend for a moment that he was your husband, that he loved you or was desperate for you. It was your one return to life each week, your one salvation. But each time the moment ended and the black veil of despair that seemed to hang over your eyes slipped back down and returned you to its clutches.

Outside the bedroom, you rarely stumbled upon him. An occasional meeting in the halls occurred and he would smile and ask after you, but you would converse no longer than a minute or two and then he would be on his way again.

In the first month, him and Arra had invited you to dine with them one night, and Dyanna had urged you to attend. You had put on one of your prettier gowns, hoping to somehow enjoy yourself despite the cloying sadness in the air about you, but the moment you entered the room you knew it was not to be.

They had been seated already at your arrival, chairs pulled close together as they waited for you. You were sat down across from them, and the divide was clear. They were husband and wife, so deeply in love that they kept close even at the dinner table, and you were… an intruder.

It was obvious that all three of you were immensely awkward, smiling and greeting each other, but where you would have tried to make conversation in the past, now you simply stared down at the table with a rather vacant expression. Arra attempted to converse with you, bringing up topics that she thought might interest you, but you could barely nod let alone form a string of words to let slip from your mouth.

It sickened your heart to watch them interact, to watch them smile warmly at each other, touch each other’s hands, occasionally whisper in each other’s ears like you weren’t even there. You sat silently for a few moments and watched them, wondered what their motive had been in inviting you to supper. Was it guilt? Did they possess the awareness that you had been shunned from life itself? You could not begin to imagine their intentions. You were barely able to take a few sips of your broth, and within the hour you had stood abruptly from your chair claiming illness. You had not let them get in a word of concern, simply curtseying by the table then turning on your heel and rushing out. You had denied any and all attempts of friendship from then on.

And Cregan seemed content to allow you to withdraw. He posed naught a single question to you on your long disappearances, on your lack of a presence. He simply continued bedding you and leaving you to your own devices, and you had nothing to say to change that.

One afternoon, three months into your new life, you left your room for your daily walk. You had slept longer than you had wished to, and so were delayed on venturing out for your escape from the imposing walls of the castle. On your way through the winding halls you had stumbled upon a scene you wished to purge from your memory.

At the other end of the hallway, lit perfectly by the windows, Cregan and Arra stood embracing. He towered over her, arms curled around her waist as she gently pet his chest and smiled up at him like she contained a beam from the sun. He was returning it, a more bright and loving expression on his face than you had ever seen before, and he bent his neck to press a soft kiss to her mouth.

You turned on your heel and found another path out of the castle. You could only tell yourself to walk, urge yourself to take another step, put one foot in front of the other. You could not let your mind wander to anything else, not to the scene nor to the direction of emptiness that your life had taken. Your eyes seemed almost glazed over, a dazed expression making your face slightly slack as you continued on your path.

It was all familiar to you now, the path through the courtyard and out of the gates, around the castle wall and into the woods, now covered with a late summer snow. You did not see what was ahead of you, but your muscles knew, a higher lifted foot here, a step to the side there. You passed the clearing of the heart tree, the first mile of woods, and continued on. You simply put one foot in front of the other, simply kept walking, it was all you could do.

You did not know how long you walked, how far. You did not perceive that the sun was beginning its descent and the world was becoming colder around you. You did not understand that the darkness had set in and that blinking reflective eyes watched your path through the woods. You only stopped when you saw a fallen tree and felt the soft brush of snowflakes against your hair and eyelashes. You would sit on the tree for but a moment, just rest for a moment, only a moment…

You looked up and saw Cregan, astride his horse and holding a lit torch aloft. The woods were black in the dark around you. You blinked the snowflakes from your eyes and watched him jump hurriedly from the horse and rush to you. He held the torch aloft, turned and yelled something, but you couldn’t quite hear anything. He was kneeling in front of you now, face contorted in concern. His mouth moved, but you couldn’t quite hear anything. His brows furrowed further, his lips a little more frantic, but you couldn’t quite hear anything.

“Huh?” You breathed out, trying to decipher his words, “I was just resting…” Your lips didn’t seem to form properly around the words but you were sure you said them, if a little mumbled.

He continued staring at you, eyes wide and brows pulled close together. His lips turned severely down and his jaw was slack, but you simply continued staring.

He rushed back to his horse and pulled a large fur off its back, storming back over and draping it entirely on you. It engulfed you, black and soft as it covered from your head to your knees. He shoved the torch into the ground and used both hands to pull the fur around you, but you felt a little distant from it all. You could feel the jostling of it, the tight cocoon as it wrapped you up before he hefted you into his arms and set you on the front of the horse. He pulled himself up behind you and leant over you to grip the reigns and begin the journey back to Winterfell.

You couldn’t remember much else, not being taken off the horse nor being carried up to your bedroom where you were set directly in front of the fire and a cup of tea was pressed into your hands and brought to your lips by Dyanna as she sobbed.

All you knew was that two days later the maesters declared that you were with child.

The news that you carried the Stark heir spread like wildfire and caused celebrations anew. Everyone seemed so joyous, celebrating with wine and fine cuts of beef, but you were almost confined to your room.

After the chaos of your walk into the woods, Cregan had a guard assigned to you. The man stayed outside your room, followed you around the castle if you dared to venture out, and deterred you from ever leaving the grounds, even for a prayer at the heart tree. You were too precious to be lost now.

You truly became a ghost then. With the pregnancy, Cregan ceased to bed you, and the one minor pleasure you once received disappeared. You became a forlorn thing, rarely ever leaving your bed or your room. You allowed Dyanna to read to you, to feed you, but you did not engage in anything, not even in embroidery. You had nothing left.

As the nine months passed, you did not improve, but you did not worsen. As your belly grew, as the feeling of a baby growing inside you became real, you began speaking to it. Only late at night, when the moon was high in the sky and you could not sleep, did you open your mouth and began whispering to it. You told it about your life before, about your home and your childhood. You told it about your brothers and sisters, about their spouses and their houses and their children. You sang it hushed and cracked little lullabies that came out squeaky from your unused voice, and you told it you loved it more than anything in the world and beyond.

When you went into labour, a sudden gush of water down your dress as you sat by the fire listening to Dyanna read, she almost fainted from her panic. She ran to fetch the maesters and you stood in the middle of the room, eyes wide and… alive. The pain contorting through you was horrible and amazing. It was perhaps the first time you felt faced with the reality that you were with child. You were pregnant with your child.

The labour was long and full of pain. The babe did not want to leave you despite the struggle and you were leaning toward fainting from the exhaustion when he was finally pulled from you trembling and wailing. He. Your child was a son.

“I want to see him,” you whispered, shaky and hoarse, drenched in sweat and smeared with blood. Your limbs were shaky and tingling but they felt like your own for the first time since you became pregnant. Your hair was plastered to your face and forehead but you could not care less. You were blinking and panting, but you reached out hoping someone would show him to you, hand him over. “Please.”

The first maester cut the cord and wiped off his head and face before wrapping him in a blanket and placing him on your chest, while the other left to tell Cregan the news. You cradled the baby to your chest and looked down on him. The tears welled so quickly in your eyes that you could do nothing but let them stream down your face and begin hiccupping with sobs as his cries became little huffing noises.

He was small and impossibly soft, with tufts of dark hair that were the exact same shade as Cregan’s. His hands formed little fists that he tried to flail and his face was all scrunched lines and pink blotches. You lifted him higher and pressed your lips to the top of his head, clutching him tight to yourself.

You lay like that for a long time hugging your son and whispering sweet nothings against his skin. Each time the maesters came to try and pry the boy away you refused, holding him a little tighter. But eventually you were overcome with exhaustion and sleep slackened your arms. With silent movements they slipped him from your grip and left the room, instructing Dyanna to stay with you.

You slept for a long time. Each time you began to stir, a mix of warm milk and milk of the poppy was poured down your lips and you were sent straight back into the darkness. Dyanna gently washed your face and neck with a wet cloth and tied your hair into a braid to keep out of your away. She stayed vigilant at your bedside, even as Cregan came on the next day and kissed you gently on the forehead, whispering something by your ear before leaving once more.

On the third day you woke up with a start as the last of the milk of the poppy left you and the throbbing pains from the birth returned. You were frantic, ruffling your hands around the bedsheets before trying to get up and finding Dyanna’s wide eyes.

“Where is he? Where is my son?” You asked hurriedly, eyes running all over the room but not seeing anything. You were almost fully up and beginning to slide off the bed when she came over, grabbing you by the shoulders and stopping you from moving any farther.

“Sh, sh, hush now, darling,” she began softly, “he’s alright, he’s perfectly alright, you just need to rest.” You allowed her to help you sit up in bed and tuck the sheets around your waist but you still tried to look over her shoulder as if he was hiding just behind her.

“Where is he?” You asked again, running your hands over the sheets. Dyanna paused for a second before continuing to pour you water from a pitcher and bringing the cup up to your lips. She stayed silent as you gulped down the entire thing before filling it again.

“They’ve named him Edrick,” she told you with a small smile, a nervous thing that tried so hard to be comforting but looked so fearful. “After the king of old.”

“They?” You heaved out as you pulled the cup from your mouth, water dripping from your lips down to your chin.

“Lord Cregan and Lady Arra,” she told you quietly, gazing at you from under her lashes. She busied herself refilling the cup as you sunk into the bed, your mind whirling. You stared at the door across the room, frozen as if dipped in ice. “He has been brought to his new nursery and…” she paused again, gulping as a sheen of sweat appeared upon her brow, “they have said you need not worry about him now.”

You were filled with an anguish that would never end. Suddenly you wished for the days back before you became pregnant, the days when you were lost in your own mind, feeling nothing and knowing nothing of how your situation could become so much worse. You were empty on the inside out, as if the line connecting you to your child had been forcibly severed and you were left to bleed without end.

You cried endlessly, sobbing and wailing in your bed until Dyanna was forced to pour milk of the poppy down your throat to subdue you. You begged and pleaded with Dyanna, clasping your hands together and bending in half on the bed as you called for your baby, wanting but a moment with him. But each time your only response was that he was alright, he was exactly where he was meant to be. How could you believe that when you knew it was not true? When you knew that his rightful place was with you?

You were confined to bedrest for a handful of weeks to ensure you healed properly from the birth. The maesters came to check on you often and each time they watched you with wide and worried eyes. You transitioned from loud wailing sobs to silent rivers of tears to eventually becoming a stony rock once more, your jaw and eyes set more harshly than even the jagged peaks of the mountainous Vale. Dyanna tried to tempt you with reading and embroidery once more but you simply shook your head, crossing your arms and contenting yourself with staring at the door as if you could make it open with the will of your mind.

You replayed the moments of Edrick’s birth in your mind over and over, never letting the sight of his little face stray from your mind’s eye. You wondered how he looked now, how much he had changed in the long time he had been stolen from you. And as you healed, slowly beginning to walk the length of your room, first with Dyanna’s assistance and then on your own, you settled on that thought. He had been stolen from you. They had stolen your son from you.

Eventually you were allowed out of your chambers and you took to roaming the castle on your own. The guards became familiar with your figure at all hours of the day and night, watching you stroll through the halls in your nightgown or robes like a spectre. You explored every corner of the place, every nook and cranny, every store room and bedroom, every window and ledge. You did it without fail every single day, and eventually the household staff had a running story about the spectre of Winterfell.

Sometimes you would stumble on Arra or Cregan, arms lifted to cradle a little bundle. You could never see into the blankets from afar, could not see his face or his eyes, but you felt such an immense pang of pain that it took everything within you not to run to them. If you were lucky, you might glimpse his arm sticking out of the fabric, or a stray foot wiggling in the air, but most of the time you watched from a distance as his father smiled down at him, as some woman posing as his mother rocked and sung to him before kissing his forehead.

Despite how it looked, the roaming was not aimless. You took carefully crafted routes, never the same one twice, to always end up at the nursery in the late evenings when even the wet nurses had gone to their beds. Sometimes you sat outside the door, back pressed to the stone wall, knees pulled up to your chest as you rocked back and forth, overcome with grief and something tinged with madness. Other times you carefully opened the door and tiptoed in, standing by his cot and hurriedly wiping your tears before they could drip onto his cheeks.

He was the perfect child. He was yours. He had soft round cheeks and his hair was like silk. Sometimes, when he would blink his eyes open and stare up at you, they were bright and blue and you were overcome. He rarely cried in your presence, and if he began to fuss, you would quickly lift him from the cot and hold him close to your chest, whispering the stories you had once told him as he rested in your womb and kissing his downy little head.

And each night when you set him back down and returned to your own bed, you clenched your jaw and mumbled to yourself that you would not let them take him. They had taken your happiness, your joy, your very soul, over and over until your insides were carved out and there was nothing left. But you would not let them take him.

Slowly the plan came into action. All your walks yielded everything important for it. Your presence was never noted, you became familiar with the changes of the guard and the guards themselves. You knew which ones were rather lax in their attention, which ones were drowsy and half-asleep against the wall, and which ones left their watch at the door to play a quick game with their compatriots in darkest hours of the night.

You began gathering provisions, saving bread and cheeses from your sparse dinners in little cloth bundles in a sack under your bed. You found a length of rope and wrapped it all in a fur before securing the rope around it. And then you waited.

You waited for the night when the moon was gone under a heavy cloud cover. You tied the pack onto your back and made your way through the empty halls and into the nursery. You gathered Edrick to your chest and held him close as you took servant’s ways and hidden passages to a back door that led you straight to the edge of the courtyard. You watched the guard leave his post and kept pressed close to the wall as you edged out and began following the wall until you were at the back of the fortress.

You took a moment to breathe, to try and ease the stiffness in all your limbs and calm the loud panting breaths that were leaving you. You looked down at your baby, at the peaceful close of his eyes, his long lashes fanning his cheeks and his little mouth pouting. He already looked so much like his father. You pressed a kiss to his face and began jogging for the woods, not slowing until you hit the cover of the trees.

You had planned everything. You had listened carefully to the stories Dyanna had read to you, of the towns even more northerly than Winterfell and the places where one could slip beyond the wall and find wildlings. You had decided to go north through the woods in search of a village before getting to the wall and beyond. You prayed at your hearth that whatever people you may find beyond it would take pity on you and your son, that the wildlings, though savage they may be, would find some kindness in their hearts for you, a naive hope or not.

You stopped again just past the first line of trees and looked back at Winterfell. The clouds shifted for a moment and the fortress was a black silhouette in the moonlight. You remembered your last dinner with Dyanna, how happy she had been that you spoke to her like your old self, how tightly she had hugged you and smiled with teary eyes, how gravely yet gently she had said goodbye. You knew that by the time the first rays of the sun broke the horizon the disappearance of Edrick would be discovered. You knew that they would find you gone as well, and riders would be sent out in every direction, told not to return until they found you. And you knew that it was most likely that you would not succeed, that if they did not find you first then you would succumb to some type of death. But you turned your back on Winterfell and prepared to walk endlessly through the night. Because here was the point of no return, and you would die trying.

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