nuclearpocketwatch - Tumblr blog

nuclearpocketwatch · 1 year ago

Text

Fire, Ice, and Blood.

The Targaryens are vampires, the Starks are werewolves, and one Prince Jacaerys finds himself some warmth in the cold of the North. One Cregan Stark finds himself with a problem.

huge lack of jace and cregan fics on this earth so i'm solving my own problem. this has not been proofread so let me know if i missed any grammatical errors or need to add any tags or warnings! enjoy this vampire au. also cross-posted to ao3 here

Fire, Ice, and Blood. - Chapter 1 - nuclearpocketwatch - House of the Dragon (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter 1, Cregan

The Targaryens: Gods among men. Pale skin, smooth and unyielding as if carved from a block of marble. White hair, braided into ropes and dripping with rubies and sapphires. Violet eyes, slit-pupiled and piercing. And then, of course, there were the fangs. The mouth full of jagged ivory prongs that mirrored the dragons that shared their cradles. All the marks of the vampire. Of the blood curse that flowed through the veins of the ancient House Targaryen, twisting their bodies into something less-than-human. Dark, sadistic, and beautiful beyond expression, the Targaryens held the Seven Kingdoms in an unflinching grip. Ruling from the confines of the Red Keep, a fortress said to be cursed, they drank, debauched, and drained the blood from the veins of their people. Pain was their sustenance, killing their sport. They were magnificent and cruel and terrifying as only the last remaining trace of the magic of Old Valyria could be. A blood-red relic of the glorious past, Fire and Ice. That was the real mark of the vampire, Cregan supposed. Not that he had ever seen one. There had not been a Targaryen in Winterfell in a century or more. The North chilled their cold-blooded bodies, or that was what his father had always said. They so rarely left Kings Landing, shut up in the decadence and misery of their gloomy castle walls, or defiling the night sky on dragonback. And better that way. They left the Starks alone, as intended, to guard the North in relative peace.

Or they had, at least, until today, seeing as there was a Targaryen in front of him at that very moment. Velaryon in name, the fledgeling prince Jacaerys didn't look much like a Targaryen. Or a Velaryon, for that matter. No gills. In fact, as unsettling as it was to Cregan, he looked very much like a Northman: brunette, dressed in thick furs, and unadorned by any sort of finery. Cregan admitted regrettably to himself that he was rather handsome. Or perhaps pretty was a better term, though he lacked the cold, statuesque beauty that Cregan had observed in portraits of his ancestors. Lean and muscled, he had a regal face, high cheekbones blanketed by warm brown curls, soulful eyes, and lips that curved into a slight smile. The only clue to his true nature, at least to Cregan’s eyes, was the dragon he arrived on the back of, and the narrow, serpentine pupils that could barely be seen in the middle of his brown irises. More subtle than he had expected, if one ignored the dragon.

“I am Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne.” The Prince announced with a flourish, voice playful and almost musical, as he dropped into a quick bow, short fangs visible in his mouth as he flashed a charming grin. The dragon behind him gave a roar and pushed itself into the air, great scaled wings flapping and kicking up the snowdrifts, disappearing into the grey morning.

Targaryens were not known to be particularly subtle, and he was quickly finding out that this extended to brown-haired, brown-eyed Targaryen Princes as well. And their dragons.

“Lord Stark, I have come to petition you on behalf of my Mother, the Queen.” The Prince continued, making Cregan bristle. The leech had come to call upon his men and his resources, as he had expected. Targaryens only appeared when they needed something. His brow lifted, hand straying to perch atop his sword hilt. “The Queen? As far as I know, one King Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne.”

The Prince straightened, eyes narrowing, his pupils thinning out like a cat's. Or a snake’s. The easy humor left his demeanor, though he was not yet openly hostile. Cregan waited. “Prince Aegon is a usurper and a traitor. My mother was named the rightful heir by her father, King Viserys. The throne is hers by birthright.”

“Who claims a chair in that accursed castle of yours is no concern of the North, and no concern of House Stark. You’ve come to ask for my men, and I need my men here.” Cregan gruffed. He had no time for this. It had been a hard winter, and his first concern would always be keeping his people warm and fed. That, and manning the wall. These vampire bastards could squabble themselves to death over the throne, for all he cared. As much as he disliked the Targaryens, the true enemy would always be outside the Seven Kingdoms. This was a truth every Stark Lord learned young.

“Forgive me, My Lord, but it is the concern of the North. War will soon rage across all Seven Kingdoms, and we cannot win it without the support of the North. Would you truly sit back and allow a Usurper King to govern the Seven Kingdoms? Does House Stark not believe in honor?” His eyes turned sly. “I am sure you have heard the reputation of Prince Aegon is… rather lackluster. You trust him to be a just and fair ruler? To Unite the realm?”

Cregan eyed the Prince, frowning, pushing down his rising temper. He refused to be riled by the question to his honor. The Starks were known for their tempers, but Targaryens were known for their cunning.

“Walk with me. I wish to show you something, My Prince.”

So Cregan took him to see the Wall.

The Wall was magnificent in the way Cregan had always imagined the Targaryens were magnificent. Massive, cold, and unforgiving, its creation was almost unfathomable. His ancestors had been spurred by a desperate need, and the seven hundred foot barricade of ice was the product of that desperation. No one but the Wolves of the North could have accomplished such a feat. The North was brutal to those who inhabited it.

“Quite a large wall.” Prince Jacaerys astutely observed, eyeing the grey nothingness before and below them with an unreadable look. Cregan grunted. On the way up, they had shared some small talk. Well, the prince had shared some small talk. Cregan had perhaps been a bit surly, but having this unfamiliar vampire in his home had him on edge. “Still,” the Prince continued, “you truly cannot spare men from the wall? It seems to be doing its job just fine, guarding from.. what? Snow and savages?”

Cregan leveled the Prince with a look. “D’you really think my ancestors spent the effort building a seven hundred foot wall of ice just to keep out snow and savages? Hundreds of years ago, your ancestors were brought to this very spot. They watched as their dragons, the greatest power on earth, greater even than vampires,” he emphasized, “refused to cross it.” Prince Jacaerys looked abashed. “Then what does the Wall keep out?” He asked, turning his gaze away from the impenetrable snows outside the wall for the first time, looking at Cregan.

“Death.” Cregan answered, serious.

“...Death?” The Prince’s face twitched. “Well, it seems to have missed a few.” He grinned.

Cregan shook his head. “Targaryens are not dead. Not truly. You breathe, and you eat, and you have children.” To Cregan, what made a person truly alive was their ability to love, but he couldn't speak on whether Targaryens truly loved or not. “You Targaryens may inflict death, but what's out there… is death. Winter is coming, My Prince, and the Starks must be here to defend the realm when it comes. The North must stand ready.”

“So you say.” The Prince nodded, though an amused light flickered in his eyes. Cregan was not bothered by his amusement. He knew that even in a world of vampires and wolves and merfolk and other strange things, the horror beyond the Wall was difficult to comprehend. The Starks took it seriously so everyone else did not have to. It was their duty.

“You must be cold.” Cregan said. Prince Jacaerys’ lips had taken on a blueish tinge over the course of their conversation. If it had given him some small amount of vindictive pleasure watching a Prince of the great House Targaryen shiver in the light summer snowfall, he kept it to himself. “I will have a room prepared for you while I think on my answer, and some food brought up.” He gestured to a passing man, sending him scurrying off to light the hearth in a spare room and prepare the bedding.

The Prince eyed him coyly. “Food?” He questioned, grinning and tapping a fang with his pointer finger. “You needn’t go to the trouble. I’ll find myself something later.”

Cregan whirled, growing suddenly cold. He had almost forgotten. “If you–”

“Sheep, if you can spare one.” He clarified quickly, hands lifted into a placating gesture. “A cat, or mice if you cannot. I do not drink from men, you needn't worry. Animals sate me just fine.” For a brief moment, he looked almost uncomfortable, but it was replaced with his usual humor quickly enough that Cregan almost thought he had imagined it. He nodded. “It has been a hard winter, but we can spare a sheep. Let me show you to your room, My Prince.”

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fic #jacaerys velaryon #cregan stark #jace x cregan #house stark #house of the dragon fic #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x cregan #vampires #werewolves #vampire au

33 notes · View notes