#cregan stark x reader

[venusbyline]

Hard to please — Cregan Stark.

— summary: Although the Faith of the Seven had never been a problem for him until then, your devout ways were irritating him. He respected the differences between the two of you, the main problem was your point of view on the meaning of sex. People all over Westeros talked about how Targaryen women were uninhibited, fiery and hungry for sexual fun. You did not fit that type.

— pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen!reader

— type: smut, dark

— word count: 6.5k

— tags/warnings: wife!reader, dark!Cregan, dubcon, breeding kink, corruption kink, rough vaginal sex, doggy style position, forced female masturbation, oral sex (male receiving & female receiving), handjob, blowjob, cunnilingus, rimming/anilingus, fingering, creampie, degradation, size kink, implied breastfeeding kink, gaslighting, possessive behaviour, jealously, sexual inexperience, light subspace, light sadism, reader is Alicent and Viserys' second daughter, hopeful ending, canon divergence (No The Dance of the Dragons). no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes: For a long time I've been wanting to write some dark!Cregan fic but I wasn't having any ideas, until I received that amazing ask 💕💕 tysmm sweetie, I loved writing this!!!

— tagging list: @targaryenprincess1 @sylasthegrim

❥ Cregan masterlist • HOTD masterlist

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • main masterlist

"She must be hard to please."

Lord Cregan Stark was with some friends at the Great Hall. Wine goblets filled to the brim in the hands of all those men who were sharing random stories to amuse themselves and to stay away from political matters for a few hours.

He was sitting in the largest chair, his back supported in a slouched position due to the effects of the alcohol.

"Who?" Cregan asked the older man, more focused on continuing to drink. He had already lost count of how many goblets he already had, the servants around them seeming a little surprised by his unusual behavior.

Cregan's men shared a unison laugh, gesturing to the corridor where you had passed a few hours before, using your typical good manners to greet them. "Your Lady Wife."

Absorbing those words, Cregan choked slightly on his wine, straightening in his chair and placing the goblet back on the table. His fist slammed into the chest twice, not too hard, to get rid of the choking sensation in his throat.

Had he heard that right?

"What was that supposed to mean?" Cregan asked, his voice turning kind of tense. He did not like talking about you with his friends, nor did he like you interacting with men who were not servants or guards of Winterfell.

Not because he felt embarrassed about the marriage, but because he felt... irritated.

Irritated by the possibility of other men thinking about you, regardless of the types of thoughts.

"You know what I mean. They say that southerners women are incredible in bed, especially those of House Targaryen."

The Great Hall filled with laughters again, his men giving unnecessary opinions and asking a lot of indecent questions, curious about such details involving the sexual routine between the Warden of the North and his sweet wife.

To be honest, Cregan was not having as good a married life as he imagined when he first laid eyes on you. That long silver hair, violet eyes, green silk dress... You looked delightful. Although his visit to King's Landing had been only to discuss political matters with Queen Rhaenyra, he was immediately attracted to you.

The third daughter of the late King Viserys, half-sister of the Queen and only four years younger than him. You were still untouchable, according to what Rhaenyra told him after noticing the northerner's sudden interest. Your mother, the Dowager Queen, was looking for a promising betrothal for you. Her eldest children, Aegon and Helaena, had been married for years. Aemond, the second son, was betrothed to one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters. Daeron was still single, as were you, though Alicent had considered betrothing her youngest child to some Lady Lannister.

Worst case scenario, if things did not work out so well, she would marry you with your younger brother.

Cregan spoke to Rhaenyra about the proposed betrothal to her half-sister. During the following morning, she had already informed Alicent. Obviously, the Dowager Queen did not take long to accept Cregan's idea, knowing very well how a marriage with the Lord of Winterfell was a unique and excellent opportunity. She did not even notice Cregan's urgency to take you to Winterfell as soon as possible, not wanting to postpone the inevitable for too long, claiming his need to have a first child.

However, a month had passed since the wedding ceremony and your womb remained empty, which frustrated him a little.

Cregan was not blaming you, of course. He was blaming your damn faith.

Although the Faith of the Seven had never been a problem for him until then, your devout ways were irritating him. He respected the differences between the two of you, the main problem was your point of view on the meaning of sex. People all over Westeros talked about how Targaryen women were uninhibited, fiery and hungry for sexual fun. You did not fit that type.

As much as he had not decided to marry you because of that possibility — after all, he was too jealous to like the idea of you wanting another man before him —, Cregan was stressed out by witnessing you treat your nights together as a mere duty to produce heirs.

Fucking you should not be treated as just a way to try to have children. He wanted to fuck you into oblivion, he wanted to teach you every possible position, fuck you in every corner of the castle. Fuck… He could even build a small Sept inside Winterfell if he could fuck you while you prayed to the Seven.

He just wanted you to want to be fucked.

“Did you request my presence here, husband?”

Cregan was sitting in an armchair in the corner of his private chambers, the back of the hand under his chin and pondering something. You were not usually called to that room this late at night, because the duties as a couple were always done earlier so like that both of you had enough time to sleep and prepare yourselves for the next day.

When your maid told you about Lord Stark's request, you thought something serious might have happened — which seemed to be the case, considering his stoic expression upon seeing you.

"Come in and close the door, wife."

Shoulders tensed at Cregan's command. He was not usually rude, at least not to you. Despite his cold exterior, Cregan was an excellent husband, better than you could have imagined. When you were informed by your mother and your half-sister about the sudden betrothal with the Lord of Winterfell, your first reaction was shock and concern was the second one. The northmen did not usually like southerners, especially Targaryens. In that entire century, there had never been any love union between a Stark and a Targaryen, and the thought of being the first in an entire family to experience something like that made you tense.

However, Cregan proved he could be a very kind husband, who respected you and seemed to like you in his own way. He was not romantic like girls read in fictional books, no roses or loving declarations. He showed his affection with subtle acts, like letting you help him with some political matters, walking with you, listening to you tell stories about your childhood.

You did not know if he loved you yet, but you knew he appreciated your existence at least. And that was already much more than most women received from their arranged alliances.

In all the time together, you had never seen him so harsh with you until now.

"Come closer." Cregan gave a second order after you closed the door and then gestured to where he was sitting. As you approached with slow steps, Cregan looked you up and down, observing the clothes you were wearing. In addition to the long-sleeved white woolen nightgown, there was a dark gray fur coat. That was not exactly a cold night for the North's standards, your body was still accustomed to the warmer temperatures of King's Landing. "Were you already asleep, wife?"

You shook the head. "Not yet. I was concentrating myself on the reading of a book."

"A book?" Cregan raised an eyebrow, not quite believing that explanation. "Your maid told me you were busy praying before bed."

Shifting uncomfortably in front of him, you bit the lower lip and took a deep breath. "Well, I did it... I stopped reading so I could pray, as I always do most nights."

Despite not liking that the fact his own woman dared to lie to him, no matter how harmless the lie might be, Cregan chose to focus on the main issue, the reason that made him demand your presence there. "I assume you know why I called you here."

You nodded, not hesitating in the slightest, knowing those responsibilities to him. "To fulfill our marital duties."

A frustrated grimace appeared on Cregan's face, hating how you insisted on treating the situation like this. Why the hells did you act like being married to him felt like a sacrifice?

"To fuck." The correction caught you off guard, wide eyes and cheeks flushed like a virgin little girl. Cregan took that reaction as a good sign, a part of him feeling amused at being able to corrupt a bit of your typical innocence. "You have not given me an heir yet."

Your heart skipped a beat. The pressure to provide an heir was high for any lady... But for a wife of a lord like Cregan Stark? The pressure on you was ten times higher.

You felt quite useless, since Cregan never pressured you about that until then. The shock over his crude words eventually subsided, now focused on asking for forgiveness. "I-I am sorry, husband. I do not know why this is taking so long, I know how much we need an heir and I apologize for disappointing you."

Cregan's heart sank, hearing your sadness and self-deprecation. It was obvious how much you blamed yourself for all of this, and he was not really proud of himself about taking advantage of that, acting as if he was angry with you for not getting pregnant yet — the birth of a male heir was something that could not take long to happen. However, Cregan was more excited about the process of making the heir. The two of you should be trying often... And if he had to lie about being angry so he could have you in bed with the wished intensity, mayhaps this would be worth it.

"Is this how you want to make your husband proud, make the North proud? Is this how you show respect to my people?" He stood up, towering over you and acting as if he were facing a scared lamb. “You are bringing shame upon me and yourself. To your House."

You did not want to act like a whiny, pathetic little girl, you knew how weak it would make you look. Any brave reaction was impossible to fake now, though. Your hands shook and your lower lip too. Was he so frustrated and disappointed that he could look so aggressive?

"I just..."

"You spend all your time praying to the Gods, praying to the Mother. Do you really think they would grace you with fertility if you do not even sleep with your own husband?"

"I sleep with you."

He snorted at the predictable defense. Yes, you slept with him... As a duty, not as a Lady Wife should do. Not as someone who felt true lust for him should do.

He moved a little closer to you, rising higher and higher until he was looking down at you with a jaw clenched. "You are sleeping with me, wife. And you do not fuck with me, you do not act like a woman should with her wife."

That word again. Fuck. Why the hells did he want to fuck you? Why the hells was he acting like you were a mere whore from the Street of Silk, a mere woman whose only concerns were their sexual performances?

You were a wife... You were supposed to bear children for him, just as your mother Alicent had done for your father Viserys, just as Helaena had done for Aegon. That was what your mother had taught you about marriage. What happened in bed was supposed to benefit the men. To give them what they wished the most: many heirs.

"My duty is–"

"Yes, I know that your duty is to be a perfect wife and to bear me children. And yet, that duty should also be repeated more often than we are doing it. This should be... Intense, enjoyed by both of us. Pleasurable."

That was not something you heard so much in your upbringing. There was no connection between duty and pleasure, as far as you knew. Alicent never talked about enjoying what she had to do with your father, they had sex only when more children were needed — Daeron was an exception, since his birth had not been planned—. Helaena had slept with Aegon very few times throughout their marriage, and neither of them were very enthusiastic about it.

Rhaenyra, your half-sister and the Queen, was one of the few exceptions. Her sexual experiences were a controversial topic for the entire Kingdom.

In any case, sex was not seen as something pleasurable and carnal in the Faith of the Seven.

"I do not know if I like this, Cregan."

His name slipped out before you could control your tongue, and the man immediately narrowed his eyes, incredulous at that sudden lack of manners. "Cregan?"

If this were a normal day, he would not mind hearing you say his first name so intimately — especially if you were moaning it —. Hearing you call him by name during a scolding was a different thing. It was almost an affront, a way of showing that you did not agree with what he was saying.

"Cregan?" He repeated, continuing to tower over you, continuing to act as if he was about to hunt you down like a big wolf.

Your heart skipped a beat and the body froze, not knowing what to say, understanding that there were not many good explanations to excuse what you had just done. "I just... the Faith of the Seven says–"

"I do not care what your Faith says, wife." His large hand closed around your neck with such absurd speed, not giving you the slightest chance to react in advance. The gasp you let out brought him a dark satisfaction that was unusual, never felt until now. "Do you want to kneel before the Gods and beg them to grant you a decent fertility? Great... Then kneel before your husband and suck my cock first. Show the Seven how willing you are to receive my seed inside your cunt."

Cregan took his hand from your throat and brought it to the back of your neck, pulling you to the ground right in front of him. His eyes darkened, seeing you so scared, just like a small animal about to be captured and devoured, your face so pale it looked like you wanted to cry and run away.

And you really wanted to be able to do that... Cry in panic, get up and run far away from your own husband, far away from whatever impure thing he was about to do.

"H-Husband..."

"No, no... Do not give me that sad puppy look. You were so insulting saying you did not agree with what I said before, calling me Cregan..." He mocked, patting his wife's head. "Come on, princess. You are already on your knees, just undo the ties of my pants. You can do that, cannot you?"

This was not right, you thought. This was not what you were taught, this was not what your mother told you about what the life of a worthy wife should be. This was something that happened in the brothels, the dirty and depraved places where your older brother spent most of his time drinking and having fun.

It seemed so wrong.

And yet, what else could you do? One of a woman's duties was to obey her husband, no matter the circumstances. There was no alternative of this situation. The husband gave the orders and the wife was expected to obey without hesitation or complaint.

With trembling arms, you broke the eye contact with Cregan and began to fiddle the ties — the ones that were a little bit harder to undo when you were so nervous.

Cregan watched you with a slight smirk on his face, enjoying the sight of his sweet, innocent woman about to see his cock. You had seen it during the times you had sex, of course, but nothing this intimate. Most of the time, you immediately turned the face away as soon as he pulled down his pants, being too embarrassed to admire how big he was down there.

But now, you were finally going to see it up close to your face, feel it inside your throat...

"That's it, very good..." He whispered the mocking compliment as you pulled down his clothes, coming face to face with his thick member. It looked even more intimidating than the other times you had seen it. "Use your hands right now. Wrap them around it."

Taking a deep breath, your heart racing so fast it made you feel nauseous. Nodding hesitantly, you placed a hand there, staring at Cregan with wide eyes when he throbbed. He was not all hard, just enough to worry you and make you want to beg the Seven for mercy.

Your other palm also closed around Cregan's cock, listening to the instruction he gave right after about making slow movements.

It was not exactly the most arousing thing he had felt in the entire life, so he sighed a little frustrated; ever since he had heard those stupid words from his friends, questioning what you were like in bed... That had made his blood boil.

The lack of patience was clear in Cregan's expression and he cleared his throat, giving you a light push to keep you away from him — at least it should have been a light push, which did not work very well due to Cregan's natural strength.

He stared at you with guilt when he saw your eyes fill with tears as your ass hit the floor, the humiliation saddening you more than the sharp pain. "Get up. And take off those clothes to lie on my bed while I undress too." He struggled to keep the severity of his voice.

Nodding and pouting, you got up from the ground and did not turn around, already understanding that he did not want you to hide anymore. You took off the fur coat, exposing the white nightgown that highlighted your form, not too tight and not too loose — just the right amount of perfect.

Taking a quick glance at your husband, you immediately caught your breath. He was already naked, his broad, strong shoulders catching your attention... You were always too shy to admit even to yourself that you felt aroused when Cregan was on top of you, when his large body covered yours during his thrusts...

"Do you need help?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, not even hiding the sideways smirk, noticing how hypnotized you were.

"W-What? Oh, yes..." You stumbled over the words, flushed cheeks and heart racing. "I mean... I would love that, please"

Letting out a soft chuckle, Cregan shook his head and gestured to the bed. "The rule is clear, princess. Take off all your clothes on your own and lie down there then."

You had to control the urge to whimper, undoing the tie of your nightgown and feeling the woolen fabric fall to your feet. The windows were closed and the flames in the fireplace were still burning high... And somehow your nipples perked, a chill running down your spine and sending goosebumps up your arms.

Before you could lay your head back on the pillow, Cregan stopped you with one more order. "Stand closer to the edge of the bed and spread your legs."

"H-Husband..." Your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest, the tear ducts of your eyes starting to get wet.

Cregan did not change his mind, staring at you with such an explicit severity until you forced yourself to nod reluctantly. Your spread legs revealed the most precious treasure to him, a pretty and cute cunt, all plump, waiting to be truly appreciated, to be worshipped...

There were not many signs of arousal other than a few glistening drops on the golden pubic hairs. Either way, it made Cregan's mouth water. Fuck, he wanted to kneel on the floor and start devouring you like a starving man.

That desire would have to wait a few days, though. First he would make you crave it... Beg for a good fuck.

"Take a hand to your little bud." He chose not to tell you to spit first, knowing he would enjoy watching you feel a little uncomfortable at first. "Hmm, that's it, wife..." The praise warmed your cheeks as you moved the palm closer to your own core, close to the spot right where you would find the expected pleasure. “Now rub two fingers on it, slowly for a while.”

With gentle movements, you brushed your index and middle fingers right on that spot, frowning at the familiar sensation. The memory of Cregan doing the same thing on you during the consummations remained fresh in your mind... He always rubbed that bud to make your entrance wetter and easier to thrust there.

Doing that to yourself was not so good, though. The sensation was dry, as if you were rubbing yourself on some thing that would cause you discomfort in a few minutes if you kept doing it.

But Cregan did not minimize your suffering. You had been so devoted to the Faith, and so devoted to the Gods that you did not even know how to fingering. No knowledge about your own body. That was an absurd to him, it was an absurd to realize that his sweet wife was so naive to that point. "Harder, wife. Rub your fingers harder and faster."

"It hurts..."

"Do not you want to please your husband? Do not you want to be blessed with our future baby?" His tone was so serious that your movements speeded up out of reflex to prevent his frustration from increasing. "This will help your womb prepare itself even more to be filled with my seed."

Whether that was true or not, you did not ask anymore, closing eyelids at the feeling of your dry fingers against the bundle of nerves. It was kind of uncomfortable and embarrassing. It made your lower abdomen twist in a strange, different way...

"O-Oh!" Your moan echoed through the chambers, the mix of new sensations and confused thoughts making you take the hand away from between your legs. That was different, it was not as good as when Cregan did it, but it was something else, something interesting. "H-Husband..."

"You can do better than that." Cregan sat back in the armchair, pleasuring himself. He massaged his balls before closing a hand around his shaft, which was getting harder and harder by the second as your cunt started to get all wet. The soft noises of your arousal could be heard by both of you, and you went back to the rubbing just like you should, harder and faster.

You tried to remember what it was like when he did that to you, trying to remember the pace he used. The focus of those thoughts lost all meaning a few seconds later, your mind focused on how Cregan always looked so gorgeous while he took you. Even though you tried hard not to revel in those memories, it was almost impossible. All you could remember was about his lips on yours, his tongue circling your nipples, his cock inside you...

All you could think about and desire was Cregan.

"S-Seven hells..." You arched your head back, barely noticing how your body writhed and the moisture dripped down your inner thighs.

Cregan had to hold back an amused scoff at the silly curse that escaped your lips — even at the haze of pleasure, those good manners remained intact. Which was not a bad thing for him, the idea of corrupting you little by little set him on fire.

He stopped following your pace as the pleasure consumed you and you began to lose yourself in that haze. Slowing his fist until he stopped jerking off, Cregan hummed hoarsely, "Enough."

No. No, no, no... This could not be true.

Your eyes widened in panic, lifting your head to look at him, searching for some justification for that unexpected command. The moment you started to feel good about what you were doing, he forced you to stop, without further ado. The discomfort in your stomach had diminished, so had the pleasure that was building there. All your efforts to adapt to that situation had been in vain...

With a stern face, Cregan gestured to the floor, right in front of the armchair where he was resting. The meaning behind that gesture was no longer difficult to understand. You stood up, legs trembling and sticky thighs touching each other.

There were several brown hairs on Cregan's chest that matched the color of the ones he had on his groin. He did not bother to trim them, and now he assumed you would be a little bothered by the next task.

"What now, husband?" Kneeling naked in front of him and with your cheeks so flushed, you were as beautiful as a goddess.

"You are going to suck on my cock. Open wide your pretty mouth and let me fuck it until I am satisfied."

Watching you swallow hard and prepare yourself, Cregan grabbed the base of his fat cock and waited for you to part your lips wide so he could insert it inside, after whispering to you to be careful with the teeth.

Your mouth was warm, tight and velvety just the way he liked it, but so much better than the whores or naughty ladies who entertained him with a good fuck when he was still a single man. Oh, he had experienced many women over the years, and none of them made him feel so horny, so hungry to devour you whole, to breed you...

Pushing his free arm away from the chair, Lord Stark led it to your long hair. At first, he dedicated himself to just stroking the silver strands, a silent encouragement about how good you were being. When you choked the first time and your throat tightened around him, his self-control dissipated. The sound of gagging, the tears wetting your cheeks, the vibration it caused in his shaft...

Without thinking twice, he grabbed your scalp, keeping your head in that position and began to fuck your mouth, as if he were fucking the most luscious cunt. Low groans and the jaw clenching with each deep thrust.

You felt like a low-value whore, as dirty as those Aegon frequently visited on the streets. In addition to the thick cock inside your mouth, your senses were confused by the mix of other stimuli together: the grip on your hair, the sounds of contained pleasure your husband made, the tears blurring your vision, drool dripping down to the floor...

"F-Fuck... This is much better than praying to your Gods, is not it? Using your brain and your pretty mouth for something actually useful, making your husband feel so fucking good..." He said between loud sighs, hips tilting forward until he reached the bottom of your throat, withdrawing just enough to give you a chance to breathe. "This is what you were made for, princess. This is why you became my wife. To feel pleasure with me. Also to be my little whore, not just to be the mother of my children."

Increasing the roughness of his grip, Cregan held your head still, making you swallow every inch of that shaft, its veins vibrating on your tongue before he pulled it out, not willing to waste a single drop until he was deep inside your cunt.

"So fucking good..." He did not care about giving you a second of rest or let you catch the breath. Cregan got up from the chair and grabbed you under both of his arms, catching you off guard and lifting you up, holding your back from behind while you wrapped the legs around his waist, your body acting on pure instinct.

Grabbing your waist with one hand and the other still on your back, Cregan walked to the bed, placing you on the mattress and climbing on top of you. His mouth soon found its way to your neck, licking and nibbling the soft skin, leaving marks that would need to be hidden by fur coats the next day, to avoid the curious and amused gazes of the servants.

Your whines were soft, but trembling. Each time Cregan sank his teeth into random parts of your neck, he also ran his tongue over the sore spot, hands running over the bare curves of your figure, going up to your breasts and then going down to your folds. "Do you feel that? Do you feel how wet that pretty little cunt is? Dripping for me..."

"I do... I do." You gripped his shoulders, burying your head in the crook of his neck, feeling his fingertips tease the outer lips of your core.

Stopping biting your skin, Cregan grabbed your chin, focusing on caressing you with his other palm. "Do you want this? Tell me, wife. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need."

You wanted to be obedient, you wanted to do your duty, to be a good wife. Wanted to make your family proud, to honor your mother's religious teachings, to be a good Lady of Winterfell...

No. That was not what you wanted anymore — at least not only those things.

You needed more. You needed to feel. You longed to feel all that and more.

That was exactly what you had needed all that long time, that was what Cregan had waited for... You wanting. You desiring.

No longer out of duty, it was not out of blind obedience... It was out of desire. Out of lust. You wanted to feel Cregan's cock stretching you. You wanted him to teach you everything. You wanted to see stars when he finally spilled the cum that would breed you very soon.

You desired Cregan fucking you so good, like Viserys never fucked Alicent and like Aegon never fucked Helaena.

"I need your cock, Cregan..." You whispered with wide eyes, begging like a puppy, pupils dilated and eyelashes fluttering. "I want you to fuck me. I need this."

A small, dark smile appeared on Cregan's face, his cock throbbing at hearing those words spoken with such submission and intensity at the same time. He did not wait a second longer, pulling your chin closer to his, crashing his lips against yours.

The taste of your spit was still strong during the kiss, tongues wet and tangling with each other without any exact coordination, as sloppy as your blowjob had been — not that Cregan really minded that...

"Mmm, Gods..." You pulled away from his mouth so you could whimper in pain mixed with pleasure when Cregan shoved two fingers inside you at once. Luckily, your folds were wet enough to make the stretching less painful than it might have been if you had not been well prepared.

“Did you like that?” Cregan whispered softly, arching his fingers upward to hit the right spot inside your walls, those thick fingers pressing and prodding it with their tips. “So soft inside… And all mine."

You just bit your lower lip and nodded, the typical innocent face now looking so naughty. It was quite a sight, the way you were melting for him made him feel even more hot.

The sound of your startled little cry when he suddenly turned you around was like music to his ears. You had been caught off guard, heart skipping a beat as he placed a hand under your stomach to try to put you in a position that could be similar to that of some four-legged animal. "Get on all fours."

In terms of real practices, that was new to you. During all the nights of sex the two of you had together, Cregan was the one who got on top while you faced him, legs open to accommodate him there without either of you having to put any more effort than necessary.

In theoretical terms, though, that was not unknown. The countless tapestries of the Red Keep sometimes contained inappropriate embroidery, showing intense acts between men and women. In some of those tapestries, you had already seen some different sexual positions, which at the time did not cause you interesting reactions other than a simple frown.

However, at this point, you were more than willing to experience whatever was coming your way, lust already speaking louder than your shame and prudishness.

Straightening up into the position, you held a breath as Cregan positioned himself behind your back, both large palms cupping your ass cheeks to spread them and expose both of your holes.

Your cunt clenched around nothing, all wet and dripping onto the bedsheets. He focused on licking it first, sticking his tongue out and running it from your clit to your entrance. The sweet juices wet his entire face while he grabbed the ass cheeks wide open, caressing and bouncing them, delighting listening to your loud moans.

The feeling of his tongue was perfect, licks so sloppy and delicious, teasing your swollen clit and then bringing his face closer to your puckered hole, spitting on it and licking it with great delicacy and concentration.

As you were already becoming a whiny mess and your arousal began to drip down your thighs, Cregan lifted his upper body, getting on his knees on the mattress and rubbing his own cock. You did not need more stimulations, already finding yourself wet enough, although Cregan did not mind spitting on your ass, the saliva running from there until it reached your clit and getting your skin sticky.

Sighing in anticipation and gripping the bedsheets tightly while Cregan lined himself up at your entrance. His fat cock brushed there a few times, teasing it before pushing inside and hitting you hard.

"C-Cregan!" The violent intrusion hurt more than expected, your knuckles now white from gripping the fabric of the sheets.

Meanwhile, Cregan rolled his eyes back in his head, growling lowly and gripping your hips. Your tight cunt tightening around him felt so overwhelming, turning his brain almost into a mess. It was so warm, so tight, so wonderful...

His grip on your waist tightened as he began the thrusts. They were deep and rough, hitting the bottom non stop. "Fuck... That little cunt feels so good. You take me so well, princess."

The guilty conscience you carried every time you even caught yourself thinking about your husband was completely gone. Gone for good in the moment Cregan's movements intensified, hard and slow just the way he liked it. Just the way he knew you would like it too and that would make you feel like you were in the Heavens.

If you wanted so badly to beg for the mercy of the Seven, to beg them to grant you the gift of pregnancy... Then he would prove to you that there was nothing better than spending most of the free time fucking with him, letting him fill your womb with his seed until you got pregnant — and even when you were already carrying his heir.

"Gods, Cregan..." You pressed your face into the pillow and moaned loudly, your cries matching Cregan's groans and the sounds of his balls slapping against your thighs. "It is s-so g-good..."

Cregan's grip loosened for a moment so he could give you a hard slap to your ass followed by more two, a small smirk on his lips as you cried out louder, your ass bouncing with the impacts. Your cunt tighten and clenching, practically sucking on his cock and driving him crazy, consumed by lust and possessive thoughts.

Those damn friends of his would soon know that you were pregnant with his child, they would see your hips get wider and your tits get heavier. Damn, imagining them bigger and full of breast milk was such a temptation... He could not wait to see you riding on his lap, your breasts right next to his mouth. He could suck their milk and squeeze them, drops splashing on his face...

And your belly swelling, living proof that you had received a great amount of his cum very well.

"You will be fucked by me every night. I will cum inside that pretty cunt until my cum is dripping down your legs and dirtying the castle corridors." Cregan leaned his own body down until your back was against his chest, the intense pace of his thrusts not wavering for a second. "Is that what you want, princess? To be fucked by me all the time? To be your husband's little whore?"

Although the question was rhetorical and he did not expect a concrete answer, you moaned desperately, your core starting to spasm when Cregan pulled your hair and slapped your ass again. "Yeah! Please, Cregan!"

Reaching down to the swollen bud and rubbing his rough fingers against it, Cregan pushed you over the edge, your loud, shaky moan echoing through the room and startling the servants who were passing by in that hallway.

Tears streamed down your face and your mind turned empty of any real thoughts, already in disarray and focused only on cumming on him.

It did not take so long for Cregan to reach his climax as well, keeping stroking your clit and moaning, his hips stuttering until he finally filled you with thick loads of the white liquid. "Fuck..." He sighed, giving three final thrusts and only stopping after the overstimulation.

Pulling out of your hole, Cregan lifted himself up enough to see your ass sticking up in the air. He spread both of its cheeks, just like he had done earlier, licking his lips at your cunt, all swollen and sticky with his cum. Using two fingers and thrusting them inside you, he pushed his own seed deeper, wanting to make sure none of it went to waste.

Your whimper caught him off guard, a pang of guilt aching in his heart at seeing you all trembling and weak. You looked a beautiful little thing, but he also knew that you were not used to such intensity.

"Hey... it's alright, princess." Cregan assured, laying down next to you and carefully turning you over. As soon as he snuggled you against his large chest, he left a kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the natural scent mixed with the smell of sweat and the one of the after sex. "You were so good, sweet wife. So good for me..."

You nodded, not knowing what else to say. Your body was too trembling to even try to ask your husband any questions. Despite the fact that you saw yourself very dirty and unworthy in the eyes of the Seven right now, all you wanted to do was get some rest, cuddling in Cregan's strong arms and wondering how your mother would feel if she knew about the depravities that had happened during that night.

Anyway, anything about that was a concern for the next morning. At that moment, you just wanted to sleep and pray in silence for the Gods to postpone the future pregnancy a little bit longer, a part of you wishing to fuck like that with Cregan over and over again before you were bred.

[sins-of-the-dragons]

Okay but imagine dark!Cregan Stark and the reader is the daughter of Viserys and Alicent. You look like the younger innocent version of your mother, no targaryen hair or eyes or even a dragon.

Imagine Cregan capturing you during the war, maybe from the house you were betrothed to, and take you back to winterfell. This mad possessive wolf has no wish of ever letting you go.

Imagine you are scared, terrified of your situation and he is bringing food to you. Softly gently telling you if you finish the plate he will let you out in the courtyard. Imagine him wiping your tears, whispering in your ears everything is going to be okay and he will not let anyone hurt you

Imagine he catch you trying to send a letter home. He is not going to punish you, instead he will tell you it's not your fault and he forgives you and then kills everyone involved in helping you, even the guards who didn't keep a good eye on you

Imagine one night you sneak into his room to kill him, a dagger in your hand. Finding him shirtless, just out of his warm bath after a day of battle. He just smiles and even steps closer, he knows you don't have it in you to hurt anyone, especially him. He even presses himself against the dagger and as soon as a drop of blood comes out you pull away. Just when he thought he couldn't fall more in love with you or be more obsessed with you.

Imagine him kissing you, taking the dagger from your hand. Imagine him claiming you, dagger to your throat, your leg over his shoulder. He is not going to hurt you but that dagger you wanted to kill him with being part of when he claims you seems right to him. Imagine him telling you this is what you needed all this time

[fourthcrow]

── CREGAN STARK x PREGNANT!READER HCS

pairing: cregan stark x pregnant!wife!reader

notes: sooo i finally had a moment where i am not in excruciating pain and this is where my brain went to. (as i said in a previous post, i will finish my requests once i feel well enough) i just love the idea of cregan showing off his pregnant wife :( this is kind of short but i wanted to get a little something out.

warnings: pregnancy (duh), childbirth, tiny mention of labor difficulties, i think that's it? lmk if i missed anything

it could be your first pregnancy or even your fourth, but Cregan is always there. you could be chatting with and gossiping with your ladies-in-waiting, visiting the maester for another check-up on how you're progressing, anything at all and he's there. he constantly needs to have you in his line of sight whilst you're carrying his babe ─ and not in a possessive or stalker-ish way, he simply needs to make sure you and the growing child are safe at all times. at least, that's what he tells you. a bigger reason would be the fact that he is near obsessed with seeing you round and heavy with his babe. it does bring a smile to his face, especially later on in your pregnancy when it really becomes noticeable, as he watches you waddle around with a hand resting over the swell of your stomach. we all know Cregan loves his wife, and the sight of her carrying the life they made together only makes that love soar.

Cregan loves to show you off. he won't flaunt you in some flashy way, or declare to the whole of Westeros that you're with child, he is more subtle. in court meetings or when bannermen and lords come to visit Winterfell, he has to make sure you're right there by his side. he'll have a strong arm wrapped around the small of your back, hand reaching to rest on your hip, and fingers softly brushing over your belly. he won't mention the fact that you're with child (mostly because it is quite clear depending on how far along you are) but he loves to have you by his side, silently showing his vassal houses exactly how much he loves you. he isn't ashamed of his wife's pregnancy and certainly doesn't shy away from anything that comes with it, as other highborn lords tend to do.

speaking of not shying away from anything, Cregan is probably one of the most supportive husbands you could have during pregnancy. early on, he's right by your side whenever you experience morning sickness. Cregan will hold your hair out of your face if it's long enough while rubbing a hand up and down your back until the nausea subsides. he will take you into his arms without hesitation and wipe away your tears, and make sure you drink enough water to rehydrate. if you suddenly start hating a certain smell, like any of the soaps or oils used in your baths, he'll make sure it's gone by the end of the day and help you pick out new ones ─ that both you and the babe seem to agree on. food. food might be another issue, as I feel like most of the Northern diet consists of meat and meat doesn't always go well with pregnancy. if there is anything your are particularly experiencing an aversion to, he'll make sure the kitchen staff knows. if it's the smell of cooking that bothers you, even though the keep is vast, he might take you out for a little walk if the weather allows it, just to make sure it won't bother you.

Cregan is there for all of your children's births. no matter what day or what time your labors start, he is there from the very beginning. it could be the middle of the night, during a council meeting, any time at all, and he will drop everything. it does go against tradition, but the maester and midwives alike knew better than to bring it up. (during your first birth, he gave a very stern look to the maester when he advised against his presence. Cregan didn't need to say anything before he scurried out of the way and let him in) he knows it's a very trying and vulnerable time for you, so he'll speak up without hesitation. something really doesn't feel right? he's telling the maester. you want to try a different position? he's telling the maester. some of the help is making you uncomfortable? he's ordering them to leave himself.

Cregan would hold your hand through it all. claw at his skin, curse him out, he will let his wife do whatever she needs during childbirth. if it comes down to it, which he had been praying to the old gods and the new for it to never be so dire, he would always choose the life of his wife over the child. it's a horrible decision, one he never wants to be faced with, but he only has one wife. he wouldn't ever put you in the face of danger.

he always likes to be the one to catch the babe when it comes out. he's seen enough blood, so it hardly bothers him. he'll quickly, but carefully, hold the babe to your chest as the maester and midwives continue to tend to both you and the child. all through the end, he'll whisper words of how proud he is, how strong you were, how healthy the babe is, as he brushes sweat-slick hair off your forehead and kiss your temple.

[snow-blower]

Speaking of Stark men railing you.... Stark men having you on their lap at dinner or in council, and secretly having you cockwarm them?🫣

YES YES YES THANK YOU HOLY SHIT OH MY GODS THROTHING AT THE MOUTH RN

Okay. I'm calm. I'm chill. I am but a woman whose calm and collected.

Secretly cock warming them during dinner or in council?? Yes please. Immediately. No one would ever know. Hopefully. Your skirts cover it soooo. And, ugh, your mans resting their hand against your stomach? Like they know exactly how deep they're nestled into you?? Biting back a groan and burying their face in your neck when your squirm or roll you hips ever so slightly to tease?? Honestly surprising how much restraint they have. Rest assured you will be bent over the table once the room is cleared of people though 🤭🤭

[oldtowrs]

𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒' 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 cregan stark / afab!reader

summary—the hour of the wolf has ended, and cregan stark marches north again. upon his return to winterfell, he wants nothing more than to see you, his wife. when he finds you in the godswood, he could not be more pleased to see you and how you've changed in his absence. he's so pleased in fact, that he decides he must thank the gods for blessing him so.

word count—8.8k (i will not apologize)

tags & warnings—canon divergence (meaning i fuck with the details and timelines. read the author's note for exactly what i mean), pregnant!reader, afab!reader, reader prays to the old gods, SMUT (mdni), oral sex (f receiving), heavy pregnancy kink on cregan's part, breeding/pregnancy kink (its baked into those stark genes, i don't make the rules), flashback containing smut (missionary, vanilla-y type sex with cregan and his wife, p-in-v, unprotected sex, breeding), mentions of death and canon-typical violence, porn with minimal plot, porn with feelings, cregan loves his lady wife more than life itself, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns used for reader, no detailed description of reader other than afab!/fem!, private public sex (they have sex in the godswood, but no one catches them). let me know if i missed something.

author's note—this was barely proof read towards the end. let me know if i missed something. anyway, so detail-wise, it technically takes 5.5 months to travel from winterfell to king's landing, and technically, cregan is gone for closer to a year than 9 months, but for the sake of the plot and for cregan smut, pretend that his march to king's landing, the hour of the wolf and his return all takes place in a little less than 9 months. besides, the show condenses the dance by ~10 years anyway, so just pretend. please. for cregan's sake, your sake, my sake, etc.

special thanks to @dipperscavern @eldrith @aesteries @cassieopeiia and @swordgrace. this fic would not have made it out of my drafts if it weren't for you all and the kind words you offer and your encouragement and the inspiration of your beautiful works. this one is for you <3.

also if you like to listen to mood playlists while your read, may I suggest the one that I used to write this: listen to me here !

FEEDBACK & COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE EXTREMELY WELCOMED, PLEASE SUPPORT YOUR CONTENT CREATORS ! 18+ CONTENT AHEAD, MDNI ! YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME !

a storm was brewing over winterfell, if the ever-darkening clouds that seemed to amass in the sky above the keep were any herald. there was a metallic chill in the air that cloyed at one’s skin, chilling any and all to the very bone — even the most hardy of northern warriors succumbing to it. cregan stark took it as both welcome and warning. 

the hour of the wolf, though named after his short control over king’s landing, had felt longer than cregan wanted to, filling his senses with enough southern pleasantry to last a lifetime. the roads were rough, and the days of marching along the kingsroads were long — the groaning of his men growing louder with every day, and every mile that brought them closer to winterfell, to home. the dust from the road covered every inch of him, clinging to his furs and the sweat along his brow, collecting in the strands of his hair and in the beard he had grown while on the road. 

but mostly, cregan stark, lord of winterfell and warden of the north, held a deep longing in his heart — an ache that only seemed to grow in his absence from winterfell, from you. the roads were rough and the days were long, but nothing compared to the ache that had torn his heart asunder in the days that he had parted from you, his ladywife. 

you had only just been married when duty had summoned cregan south, only three turns of the moon before he was called from the marital bed to the battlefield. and while cregan was an honorable man, a man bound by obligation and noble responsibility, and so he went willingly. but he could not deny the image of you in his mind’s eye the night before the whole of the north marched south in the name of the rightful queen — queen rhaenyra targaryen.  

⋆.*･⋅𖥔⋅

“by the gods, cregan!” 

your moans echoed against the stones of your marital chambers, high and sweet and filled with the evidence of your husband’s amorous devotion. sonorous whines and lewd sighs fell from your reddened, swollen lips with every deep roll of cregan’s hips into your dripping heat. the sweet sounds mingled in the late summer’s air like a song, a murmur of cregan’s deep snarls and heaving grunts and the soft smack of his heavy stones against the softness of your core as a result of his relentless pursuit adding to it, a swelling symphony rising from the coupling of your pleasure to his own, from his sinful devotion and your heavenly desire.

your hands, which were so dainty compared to his own, maneuvered their way to his chest, your fingertips running over the thatches of brown curls that covered the warmth of his skin and swirled over the hardness of the thickly-corded muscles that lay beneath, grounding him to you. 

“oh, my love!” you cried, a testament to the depths to which cregan had buried his cock, the tip — which was undoubtedly weeping and swollen with arousal — kissing the inner most wall of your core with each impassioned thrust. 

cregan groaned roughly, allowing his hand — which was wide-of-palm and calloused by years of northern frigidity and the trials of the sword — to trail its way up your torso, from the plush curve of your hip, past your navel, between your tits that bounced with every thrust of his hips, to engulf the curve of your cheek as he cupped it with his palm. his weight shifted to the arm which had found purchase in the furs beside your head, forcing more of the weight and bulk of himself to bear down upon you, opening you wider to make room for him, your warden of the north, your lord husband…your love. 

“c’mon, take it for me, love. just a little longer,” cregan rambled, allowing the tenderness that filled every last frontier of his soul to seep into his voice as he praised you.“i know you can, my sweet wife.”

“oh, cregan, i can’t! i’m going to—” 

and with that, cregan felt you spill over the edge — your heat becoming impossibly tighter as you met your peak, walls fluttering around his length with every wave of pleasure that tore you beneath its tide and consumed you wholly. cregan’s every thrust grew easier with the slick of your peak and he groaned, his hips stuttering as you sighed and arched your back, forcing him even deeper into your sweet heat. 

your legs, which had settled about his hips ages ago, tightened around his torso in your pleasure and fought against the wide expanse of his torso to no avail — the thickness of him kept you entirely spread for him. cregan felt his release building in the base of his spine, a winding coil of fire that begged for absolution. and you would be the one to give it to him. his sweet girl. his lovely wife. the heavenly lady stark. 

some part of him, deep within the confines of his mind, imagined his seed taking root within you, imagined the sight of you swollen and glowing with his child. gods, it drove him mad. his mind wandered the imagined view you would make — tits heavy and amassing against your neckline and the corset beneath, the swell of your stomach protruding from your dresses, the glow that would overtake you like the warmth of a thousand summers after the long winer. and ti would be because of him. you would be pregnant — with his child. 

and that’s when the coil within him finally snapped and a blinding wave of pleasure had his hips stuttering, and his head drooping, forehead coming to rest upon the your sternum — just above your thundering heart.. cregan’s incessant attention, which he paid in bruising kisses and laving tongue, was broken as a moan ripped through him — the sound a near growl that originated somewhere deep within that he had not known existed until you pulled it from him. 

“my wolf, my king of the north,” your voice echoed from somewhere deep in is memory, the titles given to him so freely behind closed doors, would the world was quiet and the snow fell, and it was no one but him and you. 

softly, cregan’s lips found your skin, as a weary wanderer finds himself at the mercy of the gods. 

but the pulsing of your heartbeat against his swollen lips was addicting, and so kiss after kiss was laid to your skin, as cregan filled you with rope after rope of his thick cum, until he swore that you had drained him entirely.  he wasn’t sure when it had happened, but the fingers of his right hand had tangled with your own haphazardly against the plush down of the pillow beside your head, and he took the hazy moment in the aftermath of his release, when every inch of him was warm with the tingling of his frayed nerves to ground himself to you and squeeze your hand lightly — a silent testament to how wholly he relied on you, how wholly he loved you. the heady scent of arousal cloyed sweetly at his nose, something so distinctly you hidden beneath it that it drove cregan wild — even as he dropped his head to your sternum in exhaustion. 

and when he finally raised his head, he was delighted to see your glossy gaze brighten and a hint of your radiant smile shining through the haze of your own pleasure — pleasure he gave you. and by the gods, were you a sight. 

“gods, woman,” cregan teased as a hint of his own smile broke through his normally roughened exterior, his timbre thick and the harsh syllables of his hardy, northern accent honeyed with his love. “you’ll be the death of me.”

your laughter echoed through your marital chambers. and cregan swore there was not a more beautiful song in all of westeros. 

.*･⋅𖥔⋅

the remembrance of you, angelic and soft in his arms, glowing with the warmth of a thousand suns and flushed in the most heavenly manner from your peak, had cregan blushing even now — months later — as he lead his men through the gates of winterfell and into the keep. grey, stormy eyes scanned the parapets and walkways that lined the courtyard and found only servants rushing about the keep, preparing for a welcome feast or returning the horses to their stables, carrying luggage from the tired, dispersing men back to their chambers. 

you were nowhere to be seen. in fact, it was only until maester kennet found his way to his side, did cregan learn of your whereabouts. 

“she has taken to godswood, my lord,” the maester whispered in hushed tones, intonation speaking volumes of information left unsaid. it sent something akin to a deep-seated worry wriggling through his veins, as he slung the straps of his longsword and scabbard over his shoulder and unloaded his luggage from his sturdy black stallion. 

“thank you, maester,” cregan said, voice rougher than he meant for it to sound, as he passed the reigns to a nearby stable boy, who lead his horse away dutifully. 

“she insisted, sir,” the maester continued. “i tried to warn her about the storm, that she need take precaution, especially in her state — but she would not heed my council.”

her state? i leave her in your care for nine cycles of the moon, what is amiss with her state? cregan thought, a hint of annoyance seeping into the edges of his fatigued mind.

with a heavy sigh, he pushed the thought away and reminded himself that the journey had likely unraveled his last nerve, and his faithful maester was not deserving of such treatment. cregan clapped a hand over the maester’s shoulder then, a show of good faith, as he passed the older man his belongings.“i shall see to it she makes her way back to the keep safely. take this to my chambers will you?” 

“of course, my lord.” 

and with that and a heaving of his sword, and the stark legacy, more securely over his shoulder, cregan stark departed for the godswood with a determination only love could place in his step and in his devoted heart. 

*･⋅𖥔⋅ 

may the frost be kind to the remainder of the summer’s harvests. may every man, woman, and child have the facilities to feed themselves heartily so that they may last the winter. may the winter be kind, even if it is long, you prayed quietly, as your gaze flitted between the blood red leaves that hung in a canopy above you and the snowflakes that softly perfused through. 

the godswood was your refuge, when your husband couldn’t be. it was quiet and it had a constancy, a calm steadiness similar to that of your husband — enough so to turn the ache and yearning to a moment of lovesick reprieve. even if it was only a moment and especially in times like this, when the impending storm sent the birds to their nests, and the snow blanketed all sound in its cold grasp, turning the small forest into the most peaceful sanctuary you had ever known. these were wartimes, and in wartimes, only the gods truly knew the path that lay ahead. 

may the north’s soldiers return home safely and with little fuss.  

the past nine months had been strenuous, what with your husband’s campaign south as had been demanded by the late queen rhaenyra targaryen. it had left the people of the north tense, the absence of those who had marched south and those who would never return north again felt in every absence from small council and feast alike. one of those absences that weighed heavily on your heart was that of your husband, cregan stark.

but the troops were set to return any day now, what with word of their journey up the kingsroad having arrived to winterfell and to you on the dark wings of cregan’s raven nearly a fortnight ago.

may my husband return with haste. i pray that you all have taken care of him in his absence from me, and may you return him to me healthy and happy and warm. may the burdens of war not wear too heavily on him. he’s been through enough, after all. 

you missed the steadiness of his presence, the way he knew exactly when to pull you close and where to place his kisses to placate even your most tiresome worries. you missed his warmth, especially now that the nights grew colder and darker and his absence from your bed was more thoroughly felt. you missed his hugs, when he would bury you in his wide, burly chest, surrounding you with his arms and all of their thick corded muscle. there was nowhere you would rather be, nor anywhere you felt safer than in the arms of your husband. 

you had found peace beneath the blood red leaves, cried with the gods as the sap from the tree soaked its many faces. when he couldn’t soothe your fears, the gods did. and now, as the little flakes of ice settled in your hair and in the furs that were bunched about your neck and which kept you warm, the silence was more of a comfort than anything else could be in your husband's absence.

and yet, the reminder of the peace which had failed to meet you every night for the past nine months crept into your thoughts, sending them spiraling. gods, you missed your husband — terribly so. and while the gods and the silence could offer you comfort in your most trying times, it was only cregan who could offer you what you truly yearned for — companionship, his sweet tenderness, the gentleness with which he loved you. 

you missed cregan’s tender devotion and steady heart which you knew only beat for you, and for his people. you missed the gentleness with which he held your face between his thumb and forefingers and tilted your head back to place a tender kiss upon your lips. you missed the careful way with which he tucked your arm into the crook of his elbow as you walked about the keep, and held a steady hand upon the small of your back as he talked extensively with visiting lords or members of his council — a way in which to remind you where his attentions truly lied. all were wordless reminders of the love that burned hotter than the greatest hearths in his heart and in his soul — for you. 

you missed his nobility — how he tended to winterfell with a sense of duty that ran deeper than that of flesh and blood. you missed how he cared for all of his people, whether they be from as far away as the wall or widow’s watch, or as close as castle cerwyn. you missed his stiff upper lip and his forceful hand, his intelligence, his compassion, his loving heart. 

some selfish part of you missed how he would fuck you with a heady, passionate fervor, and how gently he would hold you in the aftermath, as if you were the most precious of treasures that the gods had given him to protect. you missed his kisses in the quiet of the mornings, where only the fire crackled steadily in the hearth and the gruffness of his northern accent turned soft and honeyed as he murmured praise after affectionate praise in your ear until you were burying your face in his large chest and he was rearranging the furs to swaddle you in to hide the flush that covered you from head to toe from any gaze but his own.

a similar flush covered you now at the thought, a slight guilt nagging at your heart. this was a holy place and here you were kneeling at the foot of the gods and reminiscing about your husband’s… physique. 

you shook your head, and placed a hand over the swell of your stomach, remembering your task at hand. yes, the burden of your yearning weighed heavy upon your heart, as you sat beneath the weirwood tree, but you would ask this last favor of the gods. you had to.  

may you return my husband to me before our child makes their way into the world, for i do not know if i can go through the birth alone. i cannot do it without him.

a tiny pulse against your hand was felt through your heavy furs and woolen dress, as if the child that you carried — his child, consummated the night before his southern departure — wished for their father almost as much as you missed your husband, your cregan.  

“i know, little one,” you whispered, wishing not to disrupt the peaceful quiet that had settled over the godswood as the storm rolled in and the sky grew dark. “i miss him too. but he’ll back soon, i’m sure.”

another glance upwards at the tree struck a chord of hope in your heart —  sap, viscous and red as freshly spilled blood slowly pooled in the eye of one of the tree’s many faces and began to drip slowly downward over the pale bark. 

perhaps the gods had listened. 

.*･⋅𖥔⋅

cregan’s footfalls were heavy upon the icy ground, the soft crunch of his boots in the frosted grass and icy patches of snow left by storms past broke the silence that had fallen over the wood. it was a quiet kind of moment, one that echoed reminiscent of a fragile peace the lingered before the storm, daunting and heavy, in the static air. 

the small trek was a familiar one, as the gods were almost as close to cregan’s heart as you, his lovely lady wife. he felt blasphemous at times for the thought, but you were dearer to his heart than anything or anyone else could be — old god or not — despite bringing you beneath his family crest in marriage only a short while before his departure south. you were soft and sweet, and a kinder sight than any other cregan had known — and he loved you dearly, and deeply, and more than words could ever truly say. 

and so, when cregan finally approached the weirwood and saw you sitting on the small wooden bench beneath its blood red leaves and stark white branches, it felt as if his heart had finally found its way back to him, thundering to life in his chest after the gruelling nine months he had been apart from you. you were a breath of fresh air in his tired lungs, and he found his pace slowing to a halt as he admired you, with your face upturned ever so slightly, with your eyelashes kissing the curve of your cheek, your hair and cloak alike catching the small flurries that had begun to fall through the trees above you. you were beautiful — angelic, in every sense of the word. you were peace — his peace.  

he caught sight of your guards a few yards away. a soft nod had them approaching their lord, and with a wave of his gloved hand he dismissed them. 

“i shall see to it that my lady returns to the castle safely,” he murmured gruffly, laying his hand on the shoulder of one of them — a show of his good graces. “thank you.”

it was only when the sound of the snow and the ice and the frost beneath his boot sounded did you resurface from your thoughts, your attention drawing to him with a gentle turn of your head and a straightening of your back. a small smile found its way to his lips as he basked in the tenderness of your gaze. he always had liked being the center of your affections. 

“cregan?” his name was somewhere between a murmur of hesitant disbelief and almost child-like excitement on your tongue as you realized who it was that had come to disturb your peace. tears had begun to sting at the corner of your eyes, burning in the frigid air.  

but the sting was short lived: a few quick strides and cregan was before you in an instant, large hands casting both sword and leather riding gloves into the dark earth in favor of holding your face within their warmth. the towering figure of your husband soon became a kneeling mass before you — in all of his wool and leather-bound, fur-wrapped glory. 

it was then that cregan’s thundering heart truly allowed him to observe you. your face had grown slightly more full in the past months, cregan realized with calculating grey eyes that seemed to soften to something more akin to molten silver as they beheld you. indeed, the curves, which had become heated and flushed from the chill, had grown ever plump, bunching at their heights as you smiled ever sweetly at your lord husband. an angel indeed. 

“cregan,” you repeated, voice somewhere between a sob and a burst of long-awaited laughter, delicate hands leaving their place in your lap to cover his own, as his thick thumbs pet at the curve of your well-rounded cheeks, exploring just how soft they had become with a heart which had undoubtedly melted like a freshly fallen dusting of snow in the springtime. 

cregan allowed his eyes to drift ever downward, deliberate in the way his eyes dragged longingly about your features, committing every detail to memory, with the aim of taking in the whole of you — a sight he had so dearly missed and so desperately clung to in his absence. your cleavage was on full display, even through the modest neckline of your dress and the heavy fur cloak that hung about your shoulders and tickled at the bare skin of your neck in the shifting air of the godswood. 

had her tits always been that full? cregan thought bashfully, a lick of shame running up his spine — you hadn’t seen your husband, the lord of winterfell and all of the north in months, and here he was looking at you like a green lad who had never laid a hand upon a woman. a hot flush rose to his cheeks, even through the cold of the impending storm. 

it wasn’t until the lord of winterfell allowed his yearning for you to pool in his gaze, allowing it to wander ever downward that cregan realized the heavy protrusion of your stomach. the curve of it was great enough to show through the heavy cotton and wool of your dress— and finally, the realization fell into place.

your state. 

“you’re—”

“i didn’t know how to tell you,” you murmured as a delicate frown gathered upon your lips. your voice quickly became an uneasy, fleeting thing that interrupted both him and the quiet of the wood in no more than a mere moment. yet, it was enough for cregan’s breath to catch in his throat, the word slamming to a halt on his tongue. 

you were pregnant. 

“i didn’t wish to worry you,” you went on. cregan’s heart clenched in his chest, a blade — born of love and fidelity — driving itself into his very core. cloudy grey eyes flitted back up to your own and caught sight of the tears that gathered there, in the corners of your beautiful, downcast eyes. unsurety and anxiety radiated off of you, as if you were unsure of cregan in that moment, of how he would respond. and with the crease of your brow, and the sweet way that you looked at him, as if pleading for the understanding that was already unequivocally your own, he knew without a doubt that you had spent the entirety of the past nine months missing your husband desperately, just as he had you. and yet, cregan stark, lord and warden of the north, couldn’t imagine how much weight this must’ve added. and you — you sweet, sweet thing —  you didn’t wish to worry him?

“you already had so much to worry about,” you tried to explain, tears overflowing in two heavy droplets that caressed the curve of your cheeks as it careened down them. eventually, the two droplets wet the careworn palms of his hands as he gently swiped his thumbs beneath your tired eyes and the plump curve of your cheek, tuning your every nerve to his touch. 

“i didn’t wish to burden you.”

guilt, a heavier burden than even that of the sword on his back or the weight of his title and honorable duties, weighed on his heart as he beheld you then. in that moment —  in the quiet of the godswood, beneath the bloody leaves and the gaze of the old gods, as he knelt before you — cregan stark swore a vow. he would never part from your side. never again. not when you had given him more than he could’ve ever thought possible, and not when the gods had cursed him with a distance that had rendered him unable to show his utter gratitude. 

“what with the wa—”

cregan’s lips were warm and slightly chapped as they covered yours completely, swallowing your protests as he did so. the wide bridge of his nose was sturdy against your own, the tip of it kind as it graced your skin, his teeth and tongue clashing and roving against your own in a storm of tender frivolity as if he was reclaiming your mouth from the months apart. smoked pine and musk mixed together into a heady scent that was so undeniably cregan that it had your heart aching as his lips worked to consume your own, and so too your fears with it. the shape was familiar, a kind reprieve, as they molded to yours so perfectly — oh, how had you forgotten how well the gods had made him for you, and you for him. 

the kiss was only broken when his lungs burned for air, his forehead finding yours as a hand dropped to the swell of your stomach — to where you harbored his child. 

“i swear to you. with the eyes of these gods, both old and new, as my witness, that i will never, ever leave your side again. from this day, until my last day,” cregan murmured, northern accent thickening in his vigor and sure with steely resolve. your name was a soft sigh that left his lips only moments later. 

“i should have never left in the first place.”

tears continued to fall from your eyes, which had fluttered shut in total contentment the moment the frosted cloud of cregan’s breath had fanned across your face and his lips had found yours. a soft, mirthful chime of your laughter fell from your lips. . 

“it was your duty, my love. the realm needed you.”

“damn, the fucking realm,” cregan was quick to huff, reinvigorated conviction swallowing his composure whole, the hint of a smile dissolving into that firm northern resolve you so admired, basked in honor and commanded with steady strength. “no duty means more to me than you…and our child.” 

he should’ve been here, with you, ensuring that you were taken care of as you grew so round and swollen and beautiful with his pup. a need came over cregan then, his hands itching to hold you, to press himself so close that his soul might merge with yours forever — a need to feel your warmth and the promise of life that lingered within you. the need to show you how grateful he was of your effortless sacrifice and selfless devotion overcame him then, as if it were a searing flame that lingered just beneath the surface of his skin and you were the only cure for his every ailment. 

wandering hands brushed a stray lock of heavy brown tresses from his face before your fingertips buried themselves in the short beard cregan had taken to styling himself with in the months spent apart from you. a soft smile broke out across your pretty lips, a sign of your approval. 

“you did not sport this when last i saw you,” you hummed, pulling cregan from his thoughts. you smiled with the light of a thousand suns, ever the light of his life, as your gaze roved every detail of his face, a far-off look gleaming in them. what cregan wouldn’t give to see it grace your pretty lips for the rest of his days — for all the time the gods would allow him to remain by your side to witness it. and gods, had they grown fuller since he had left? pregnancy truly had treated you well. 

“you always pestered me to grow it out, did you not?” cregan laughed quietly in a moment of recollection, his hand covering yours as it cupped his bearded jaw. a twinkle of your laughter filled the cold air, soaking into the trees like sunshine after a long winter’s night. it was the most beautiful sound cregan had ever heard. 

“i will admit, it was a way to feel closer to you on the road,” he hummed softly, voice turning softer with the weight of his confession — as if, should he speak too loudly or too forthright, the sound of his voice may dampen the shimmer that seemed to remain in the air in the wake of your laughter. and cregan simply did not have the heart to overshadow such beauty. 

“it reminded me of you, you know,” cregan murmured, a soft fluttering thing as he gently gathered your hands into the warmth of his grasp. 

“it’s a welcomed change,” you sighed wistfully, a girlish admiration twinkling in your eyes, the radiance of your smile soaking into the soft lines of your face, burying the evidence of your joy such that it would never evade you again. 

“you’re even more beautiful than the day i left you,” cregan sighed in awe, a smile of his own working its way onto his face for the first time in months. he stroked a thumb over the back of your hands, over the little band of wrought silver that encircled your finger — a promise, a testament, a reminder. 

confusion was quick to set in however, as the compliment caused you to quickly avert your gaze as your allowed your hands to slips from with swath of his beard and the clutch of his large hands, and fall to your lap. there had been a time before the war that such a compliment would’ve had you beaming up at your lord husband with a smile brighter than the long summer’s sun. but now, it was received with what seemed to be shame. 

“oh, please, cregan,” you huffed gently. it was a quick dismissal, a thing that came too easily for cregan’s liking, if the drawing of his dark brows downward into a contemplative frown was any judgeable evidence. “i’m not the same as when you left. i’ve become—”

a wide thumb tugging at your bottom lip was your interruption, a fleeting press of rough calluses and warm skin halting whatever blasphemy cregan knew would come pouring out in your moment of insecurity. and as his other hand buried its finger tips in the roots of your hair and cradled the back of your head, you could feel the devout tenderness that lingered within him still. it was a small comfort to be sure, but you couldn’t ignore the sinking of your heart as the weight of the months apart began to feel apparent.

you had changed. some little inkling of doubt wriggled its evil way deep into your heart, even though you knew it was your duty as his wife to give him children, to give yourself up to continue the stark bloodline, to ensure that the north would be guarded by the family who had acted as its warden since before the conquering of the this land by the old targaryen kings from old valyria — likely as early as the days of the first men. your marriage was still young after all, and the few months you had had with cregan before the war had been overshadowed by the very thing that tore him away from you. for when dragons fight dragons and the realm cleaves itself in two and armies march to an ensured doom, there is little time to discuss future wants and familial aspirations — especially, given cregan’s position, his duty to his people, to the rightful queen, to the realm. 

and despite your best efforts, cregan could almost see the manifestation of your doubts — in the way you hung your head and allowed your hair, which was beautifully unburdened by plaits or decoration, to obstruct your features. in the way your hands wandered up your skirts to cover your swollen stomach — a poor attempt to hide your newly changed form from his observations, as if it would halt the criticisms that would never come to fruition from forming upon his tongue. cregan could see how deeply his absence had affected you, how going through pregnancy alone had instilled a hesitancy in love that you had once given so freely. 

 “oh, sweet girl,” cregan sighed, when his lips finally did part from yours and the guilt had wormed into some deep darkened pit of his very soul as he watched you whither before him. his voice was heavy with a longing that filled the space where your silence sat. the thought that you were anything less than beautiful was abhorrent to cregan’s heart, even if it remained unspoken. “i regret that i have given leave for this thought to flourish in my absence.”

“but it is true, cregan, i —”

“hush, my love,” cregan interrupted once more, a gentle swipe of his thumb along your lower lip silencing you in a moment. with the other, he covered your hand that still laid over the swell of your stomach and leaned closer to press a wary kiss to the plump curve of your cheek.

“you, my darling, have brought a light back to winterfell — one that i had thought was long extinguished. you breathe the promise of life back into her very walls. you are my light. you were when the war tore me from you,” cregan murmured, his voice growing huskier with each word, “and even now you shine ever brighter in my eyes.” 

cregan’s blood ran hot through his veins as he pressed another kiss to your flushed skin — his time to your temple, your hair soft against his cheek as it fluttered about you in the wind. your eyes caught his as he pulled away, hand still lingering to where it had drifted —  at the base of your neck — and it was then that cregan caught the glossiness that lingered in your eyes, tears inevitably building up within them at his words. a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lip, a soft huff settling into the quiet of the moment, weighing it down even more than his words already had. you always had been such a sweet-hearted thing — soft and loving, and always his to honor, to defend, to protect, to guard, to love. oh, how could you not see?

“how could i shame the most divine beauty when she stares back at me so sweetly, hmm?” he murmured. his touch was gentle as it trailed from where he held your chin, fingers spanning the expanse of your face, thumb tugging lovingly at your lip, downward along the line of your neck, skimming your sensitive skin and pulse point alike, and up again, until finally his hand settled at the base of your pretty skull, fingers tangling in the loose roots. a delicate pressure built there as he gently tugged, pulling your head back and exposing your most sensual points to lips that immediately graced their surface. his breath was a delicious repose from the chill that had begun to work its way down your spine, replacing it with warmth as it fanned your neck. 

“must i show you how beautiful you’ve become in my absence?” cregan murmured, a certain mirthful insolence snuck its way into his tone in between the kisses he placed to your skin. “must i show you what lengths your beauty drives me too, my darling? especially now?” 

“cregan stark!” you gasped quietly. it was then that cregan realized you had abandoned your tears and instead fixed him with an incredulous gaze as you laid your hand to the sigil inlaid into the leather of his doublet, just above his heart, and gave a soft shove to his chest. “this is a holy place — you of all should know!”

“all the better,” cregan murmured, voice fully lowered an octave, the salacious syllables rolling like warm honey off his tongue — easy and saccharine. “perhaps then the gods will take those sweet little moans of yours as my sacrifice.”

a whimper nearly tore itself from your throat as cregan dragged his teeth along the skin of your neck playfully before suckling at the same spot, nursing the reddish hue to a deep purple as it bloomed on your skin.  

“come now, my love, let’s give them a show of thanks for their mercy. for the gift of my dear lady wife.” 

“cregan.” 

his name was a whisper of a moan, a song so high and breathy, a sweet manipulation of your normally steady voice. it was a sweet thing that almost left cregan dizzy with the amount of blood that eddied out of his head the moment it left your lips, the distance from you leaving him so depraved that his heart had no choice but to redirect his blood flow… lower.

“they can’t hear you, my love,” cregan smirked as he withdrew from your neck, normally ice grey eyes turned dark like the brewing storm above — heavy and alight with a terrifying energy that set your heart beating furiously in your chest. 

there had always been stories of the stark’s icy stoicism, of their stubbornness, their steady-handed rule and the silent ways in which they commanded respect — stories of their… fury. here, beneath the blood red leaves and the gods’ ever-watchful eyes, under the command of your lord husband and the way in which he seemed to hold you in the palm of his thick, warm, calloused hand, you thought that, perhaps, the stories rang true. 

“you’ll have to be louder if you wish for their ear, darling,” cregan hummed as he leaned back on his haunches, allowing him room to find the hem of your heavy skirts. the simple caress of his fingertips was a welcomed sensation as they sent warmth radiating through your wool stockings as they roved your thighs, the back of your knee where your leg bent so prettily, anywhere his fingers could reach. 

a glint of surprise flickered in his darkening gaze as he realized how much softer your legs had grown, how he could feel how wide they had become as they overwhelmed his grasp — even as large as his hands were. cregan felt the familiar ache of his heart clenching in his chest, the thought of your body unknowingly changing to better accommodate the life you fostered within it settling in, and the realization of just how strong you had grown under the added weight of your child… well, the thought drove cregan to madness. 

cregan’s fingertips, as calloused and rough as they were, found the sumptuous splendor of your thighs, and the softness of them which pooled over the rippling cuff of your heavy stocking and the silken grey ribbon that struggled to hold them up. it was then, as cregan’s wartorn hands found the plush undersides of them and tugged until you rested on the edge of the wooden bench upon which you sat, that cregan made a note to fully explore the extent to which your heavenly body had changed later, away from prying eyes and without the furs and the wool and the loosened corsets and the heavy cotton hiding you from his hungry view. yes, he would ravage you later, of that he was sure. he had, after all, been taken from you for longer than he would’ve liked. but for the moment at hand, you were his to thank, to praise, to show how utterly sorry he was, to make up for time stolen by forces greater than himself. 

“oh, gods, cregan!” 

the warden of the north’s thumb was warm as it found your pearl, the rough callous providing a delicious friction which you had so dearly missed. your hands flew to grasp at his forearms for some semblance of stability, only to find the solid mass of bulging, corded muscle that was only softened by the weather worn leather and the heavy pelts that kept the pale, sculpted planes of cregan’s physique from your gaze. 

perhaps, you were not the only one who had changed as a result of the months passed apart, you thought then, a blush collecting against the bridge of your nose and the tips of your ears. perhaps, the trials of sword and cold, the months of grueling battle and tedious marches, the dirt and the blood, had roughened your husband around the edges. perhaps, the months apart had not only softened you, but also hardened him into what now stood before you: your husband, an insatiable wolf whose grey eyes had gone soft as the dense fog that so often rolled over the mountains surrounding winterfell, as they beheld you at long last, whose warmth set your nerves ablaze, who’s love was so great it threatened to consume you whole as he hiked up your skirts and buried his head between your thighs. 

the first swipe of his tongue was fire as it licked its way up between your swollen folds. the sensation was in direct opposition with the frigid chill of the air and the snow that began to gather in the soft strands of your hair like the southron crowns cregan had fought to place upon the brows of those who now seemed so utterly undeserving of them given the sight you now made.

“cregan!” you gasped again, utterly taken aback that he would choose to do this — this heinous act of lovely sin — here beneath the eyes of his gods, but too overwhelmed with the feel of his tongue and the heat of his mouth to form proper protest. 

“i am right here,” cregan hummed deeply, his mouth leaving your core for a merely a moment, his words muffled by the heavy velvet, wool and cotton of your skirts. the reprieve was only momentary however, before your husband continued the waltz of his tongue through your folds and the assault of his kisses that had your core pulsing in protest to its emptiness, driving you mad with each beat of your heart. 

and alas, there he was: between your thighs which he caressed with hands so diligent and kind. it was there that he knelt, with his knees in the blackened dirt and lips dripping with a nectar more sweet than any the gods could think to procure, with his shoulders bearing the weight of your calves, with his hands bared along the swell of your hip, that his tongue worked a song more beautiful than any lyre could hum from the beautiful column on your throat. it was there that he turned your body — in all its heavenly-wrought splendor and indulgent softness, with its every swell and curve and valley — into an altar of his own worship. there, beneath the crimson leaves, and the maroon sap which leaked slowly from its ivory bark, beneath icy flurry and darkening storm, beneath the eyes of the god’s which had brought you into his arms and beneath the cloak of the dire wolf and the fields of white and sage that cregan stark prayed. 

cregan stark could live the rest of his life and be known by none other than the softness of your gaze, the heat of your lips and the honey of your mouth on his tongue, and the familiarity of your heart and still die a happy man. there was no better future than the one in which he was your husband, when he got to kneel before you, his lovely wife, and worship at the cradle of your thighs and the altar of your hips.

yes, cregan would die the happiest man in westeros. and he showed you just that. with every tug of restraint at your skirts, every swipe of his loving tongue, every reverent turn in the never-ending circles his thumbs to reverently traced into the softness of your flesh. and as he knelt and as his tongue set every fiber of your being alight with the pleasure he worked so diligently to pull from you, cregan pulled forth a sensation that had every ounce of sense eddying from your mind and a high, keening whine working its way from your throat. 

frustration soon began to bleed into the pleasure as your hands searched for purchase in cregan’s tawny hair, only for the swell of your stomach to impede your desperate attempt to ground you to this — to him.

as if sensing the frustration that worked your fingers into a fist buried around the fabric of your skirts, cregan’s strong hand fully enveloped yours, guiding it to his shoulder, allowing you to feel the hulking mass of him, even through the thick furs donned in spite of the oncoming winter. 

“i’m right here, my darling.” 

it was such a minute gesture, to be sure — yet it was a gesture made all the more sincere as his tongue fixated its pursuit upon your hooded pearl and began to circle it in wet, tantalizing circles as the pads of his calloused fingers found your entrance. 

“so wet for me, my girl.” 

the mumbled hum of prideful admiration, though mostly lost in time with the electrifying pursuit he waged against your core, ensured that all remnants of the winter chill be driven from your mind and memory, grounding you to him. to him. only him. 

“i’m right here, my darling.” 

it was with those last final words, the heat of his mouth, the diligence of his tongue, and the deft precision of his fingers that you found your peak, pleasure a pleasant burn that engulfed you entirely and left your heavy bosom heaving for ragged gasps of cold winter air. 

“oh good gods in heaven above! cregan!”

a warm chuckle was barely audible beneath your skirts and through the blur of your high, but its reverberations against your core were enough to have you lurching forward, fingers delving into the worn leather , thick wool and cotton, and the corded muscle of his shoulders alike. 

soothing kisses were the next sensation that registered through the pulsing bliss that had yet to subside and which sent you reeling, grasping for any ounce of your husband to ground you to the present, to this albeit lovely moment with him beneath the weirwood tree. each one was a delicate bloom of warmth against your plush thighs. when had he pulled your stockings down? truthfully, you believed in that moment that you would never know. 

“that’s my girl,” cregan murmured, voice low and husky. he had somehow resurfaced from the depths of your skirts, large calloused hands coming up to brush your wetness that still lingered in his beard, pink tongue peaking out to lap up whatever remained of his now shiny lips as he eyed you — with some lovesick reverence lingering in his gaze that fought with the greedy mischief that had dominated their icy gray depths only a moment ago.

through the ebbing haze of your pleasure and fluttering eyelashes alike you gazed back at him, nearly melted into his hand as he reached up to cup your cheek, its warmth all encompassing against the flushed surface of them — winter chill and burning pleasure making themselves both known. 

“there she is. there’s my girl,” cregan hummed, his other hand beginning to draw circles along your backside where his hand still lingered, his thick arms still supporting the majority of your weight in tandem with the little wooden bench. he lowered his head as though he were making a vow to the king of westeros himself, neck craning to allow him to place a gentle kiss upon the swell of your stomach. “hello, love.”

“hello,” you swooned sweetly, voice pitched and breathless under his affections. a wide smile spread across your lips, open mouthed and pliant. it was a smile which cregan returned, in his own subtle and lopsided way. 

“you know,” cregan mused, the mischief returning to his smile tenfold, snapping you out of your trance, your laughter ringing clear in the crisp air. “i believe they finally heard you, darling.”

“cregan stark!” you yelped, your hands gently pushing away from his shoulders in disbelief. though it did nothing to move the brawny, war-honed mass of thick, corded muscle that was your husband. “you are a scornful, greedy bastard!”

his laughter, a rare noise that seemed to rattle the very branches of the quiet forest with its deep radiant joy, echoed alongside yours. and when it quieted, his eyes found yours once more, his large hand cradling your own as he brought it from his shoulder to his lips. 

a million or more men resided in westeros, but none loved more fully than cregan stark. he was the stuff of legend, the type of lord little girls read about with their septas in their fairytales and folklore and dreamed of for the rest of their days. perhaps, there was something to thank the gods for — the devotion, the nobility, the honor of your lord husband and the love that he harbored in his heart for all things, but especially you. 

his hands were gentle as reached back beneath your skirts to pull your stockings back up over the swell of your thighs, tying the silken gray ribbons into bows with leisurely precision. and then he shifted his weight to place your feet fully on the ground once more, and grasped your hands to help you upwards with him as he stood.

“now, let’s get you inside, my love,” cregan hummed, now-gloved hands finding the collar of your cloak, hoisting it gently upwards to secure it about your shoulders, the long furs coating the collar tickling your jawline as he did so. “the storm is rolling in.” 

“if that mattered to you, husband, you would not have taken me in the godswood,” you teased sweetly, with a purse of your lips and a setting of your jaw in faux protest to his obvious excuse to overwhelm you with his love, to herd you inside to the warmth of the fire and the comfort of a good meal. you would let him utterly consume you, you were sure, if only to feel the press of his warm lips against your skin, to watch his eyes catch ablaze when he beheld you, to feel the evidence of his love move within you, to know he loved you as clearly as you beheld him now — a stoic mass of warmth wholly attuned to you as the snow gathered in his hair and the blood red leaves rustled in the wind above. 

“i believe the gods will be pleased with my tribute,” cregan teased, his hand trailing down, over your widened hips to settle upon the curve of your lower back, the light pressure he laid there enough to gather you against the thick wall of his leather-covered chest. “if i remember properly, sweet wife, you too were quite pleased with it as well.”

a warm chuckle sounded somewhere deep in his chest, as he watched you rest your forehead against the cool leather of his doublet sheepishly. cregan knew full well a wide, toothy grin bloomed on your face as well as his, despite your best efforts to hide it in leather and wolf’s fur and the wall of muscle that was your husband, knew it pulled at features he so dearly admired — the ever-so-faint lines that had begun to form in the corners of your eyes when you smiled, your eyes that no doubt shown with mirth, the sweet pull of your lips. 

“you shouldn’t speak like that, my love,” you murmured, though any ounce of scolding tone that lingered in your voice was swallow by him as he encompassed you whole. 

“aye, i shouldn’t,” cregan smiled warmly, voice even and subtle joy unshakeable. “but if done in pursuit of your heavenly smile, perhaps the gods can find it in their hearts to forgive a humble lord like me.” 

the warmth of the cregan’s gloves was warm and soft against your skin as cregan placed itself beneath your chin and lifted until he could behold your smile in its truest form — the one that you reserved for him and him alone. foggy grey eyes darkened to a hazy storm of lust then as his true motives shone through, despite his best efforts.

“now, will you continue to be stubborn, my darling, or will you, at long last, allow me to take you to our chambers to show you the true extent of my utter gratitude?”

©𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐒 2025— do not steal, copy, repost or expand upon my works without my explicit permission. i do not give permission for any of my works to be fed to any sort of ai generator or otherwise.

[idksmtms]

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.

[honeybeeisblog]

ཻུ۪۪♡꧁. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼 ✬꧂ ཻུ۪۪♡

, small little imagine lmk if you want me to keep writing and any pairings you would like to see!!

(hotd x reader / platonic- give ships ideas!)

Reader is described with typical velaryon/ Targaryen features. Brown skin- white hair- lavender eyes!

Word count: idk

Imagine being Rhaenyra Targaryen’s eldest daughter.

The firstborn and the only true child of her first marriage, a girl with golden brown skin, luminous lavender eyes, and that unmistakable curly silvery gold hair.

You grew up alongside Aegon and Helaena, and soon Aemond followed. You were cherished by all, especially by your mother and father. To Laenor, you were a miracle, the sweet child he had long hoped for after nights of tears and frustration. You were the only child he would ever truly sire, a bond that could never be replicated.

With Rhaenyra, the bond was different still. You were her first child, her first daughter. Her first and truest love. After long hours of agony and fear, you came into the world healthy and strong, a happy babe that seemed to glow from within.

But that golden glow would one day be extinguished. When the war came and Lucerys was lost, your light waned, blushed crimson by grief and loss.

Then came Jacaerys, and soon after, more brothers. But their appearances were… different. No lavender eyes, no silvery hair. Instead, olive skin, deep brown locks, the color of earth and soil. They were beautiful, yes but they weren’t like you. Not like the dragon blood you bore.

At first, no one thought much of it. After all, Rhaenys herself possessed dark hair perhaps this was just a quirk of heritage. Just a coincidence.. until it happened again, and again. Whispers began to rise in the court. questions meant to sting. The freshest of gossip, that involved the female heir.

But you, too young to understand the implications, loved your brothers nonetheless. No matter the color of their hair or the shade of their skin, no matter the whispers that passed like a blade through the court, you remained golden

I hope you guys enjoyed! Let me know if you would Like me to continue this.

[tabathastan]

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Valeryon/Targaryen Reader

Summary: where Rhaenyra married her daughter off to Cregan Stark when her brother Jacaryes goes to Winter fell to also get their help.

Rhaenyra had always envisioned a different path for her daughter, longing for her to form an alliance through marriage that did not intertwine with the offspring of Alicent. To fortify her family’s standing and ensure a more favorable future, she took the decisive step of betrothing her daughter to Cregan Stark, the noble heir of Winterfell. This union promised not only a strategic alliance with the powerful Stark family but also the potential for strengthening their claim and influence in the realm. Rhaenyra believed that this match would better serve her daughter's interests and the future of their house.

The two of you first crossed paths during a chilly winter’s day at Winterfell, where Jacaryes brought you along as his esteemed guest. The ancient castle, with its towering walls draped in snow and the scent of pine hanging in the air, provided a picturesque backdrop for your initial meeting. Your purpose in coming there was significant: you and Jacaryes had embarked on a mission to forge an alliance with House Stark, a powerful family known for their unwavering loyalty and strength in the North. As you navigated the stone corridors of Winterfell, surrounded by flickering torches and the echoes of history, you began to understand the weight of the task at hand—unifying two houses under a common goal.

And you all certainly did, but it was a moment like no other when Cregan first laid his eyes on you. The way your hair cascaded down your shoulders, shimmering like spun gold in the sunlight, perfectly complemented the striking color of your eyes, which mirrored the vibrant hue of your mother’s. In that instant, he felt an undeniable pull, a spark of something deeper than mere attraction. It was as if time stood still, and in the depths of his heart, he realized he had fallen hopelessly in love with you right then and there.

[houseofthedragonn]

SEND ME MODERN JACE AND CREGAN ASKS PLEASE got writers block for non modern stuff sorry

now it's time to forget the soft modern!Jacaerys for a while

new obsession: modern!Jacaerys being a frat boy, partying, smoking weed, drinking a lot and fucking many girls

[fromdove]

seeing my man with his canonical love interest 💔💔💔💔

[snow-blower]

Dumbification with the Starks but it's them loving on you so well that you forget about all your stresses and worries. Head empty, no thoughts other than how they feel on top of you and inside of you. Just staring up at them wide eyed whilst the fuck and make love to you. Better yet when they know exactly what they're doing. Teasing and touching just enough that any bad thoughts float from your mind

[k1tk4ttt]

when you just finished one of the most beautiful fics ever written and you see that the author has a masterlist full of other fics

[venusbyline]

husband!Cregan always got me blushing, giggling and kicking my feet

Hiems et illa

Cregan Stark x wife reader

Genre: fluff

A/n: reader race is not mentioned but it implied they are Targaryen/Velaryon

You shivered and struggled through the thick winter snow. The other Stark men were a few feet ahead of you, but Cregan stayed only inches away, intentionally walking slowly, yet not quite at your pace. The grey stone walls of Winterfell grew smaller and smaller in the distance as you all trudged the long, wide path to the hunting grounds. Your fingers felt as though they might break off at any second, your dress stiff and frozen. It felt like boulders were shackled to your feet with how hard it was to move through the snow and the sack over you shoulder didn’t help at all. You dared not complain, however for it had been you who begged, over and over, to be allowed on the trip.

Cregan had hesitated to let you come, not because you were a woman, of course. It was common enough for women to join the hunt. No, it was because you were a Southerner. Unused to long stretches of cold, he hadn’t believed you could endure it. He was right, of course hells, the very first day you’d arrived in Winterfell, you hadn’t believed you’d survive the night with how cold it was. You were still indoors, right in front of a roaring fire, when you’d said it, but still you wanted this.

It had only been a few weeks since you became Lady of Winterfell, but you quickly noticed how the North was vastly different from the South in many ways, but one difference stood out was the drama. Back home, there was always some issue, daily squabbles and quarrels among highborns, a mixture of petty or grand. The North, while not free from politics, didn’t seem consumed by them, rather their focus on much larger matters.

Since marrying Cregan, your days had gone from endless council meetings to far more peaceful, tranquil ones. Although you adored your new home and appreciated the quiet... gods, you couldn’t stand another full day with your ladies-in-waiting holding up tapestries and then asking which should be used for the next guest.

As you continued trudging through the snow, your knees finally gave out. You landed face-first with a soft oof. Cregan stopped immediately, the men ahead paused as well, but he waved them off and came over, offering you a hand.

“You ought to be more careful, or I’ll be inclined to carry you the whole way.”

You frowned at his comment.

“You need not treat me like a basket case, I am fine,” you declared, declining his hand and getting up on your own.

Reckless and ambitious… what a dangerous combination, he thought. It was hard to take your defiance seriously with your front and hair completely covered in snow.

“Well, at least you're becoming better acquainted with the snow” he said, reaching out to brush it off you, his touch tender and careful. “There.” His calloused hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away the last of the flakes clinging to your skin.

Though it had been some time since you became man and wife, moments like this still had your face heating like a blushing girl.

“Oi!” One of his men Davos calls from the distance, bringing you back to reality.

You feel a major weight lifted off of your shoulders when Cregan takes you sack, swinging it over his shoulder alongside his own.

“Walk in front of me” he says, his tone not commanding but at the same time leaving no room for debate. “I would appreciate still having a wife when we return home.”

Camp had now been set up for the night. The Stark men could have easily gone for a few more hours, but Cregan called for a stop for the sake of you. Though you wouldn’t admit it, he knew how badly you wished to rest.

Everyone gathered around the campfire as food was passed out. When your share reached you, you blinked down at the plate. Two pieces of dried meat and half a loaf of coarse bread. You lifted the meat, eyeing it curiously, you’d never seen anything like it before. It was thin, thinner than your fingers, and smelled like, well nothing at all.

“Doesn’t it need to be cooked?” you asked, innocently.

The men paused and stared at you for a beat before they burst into laughter. A few muttered “Southerners” under their breath. Even Cregan chuckled, shaking his head with a smirk.

“No, love. We’re in the middle of the forest, cooking is a luxury. This is quick and efficient.”

You nodded choosing to eat the bread first since it was more familiar. You soon brought the meat to your mouth. You thought you might pull a tooth out with how tough it was. It tasted like wood and was hard swallow. Your face twisted in discomfort and their laughter grew louder. You looked down, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Cregan noticed, his gaze swept over the men like a blade and they went quiet under it.

“Ignore them,” he said in his low, gruff tone. “They’d eat a rotten carcass if there was good ale to go with it.”

You laughed softly, and the sound warmed his chest. Finally, he thought a smile. Your laughter was a welcome softness in the harsh winter.

“Here,” he said, handing you his piece of bread.

“Oh, no—I couldn’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“You will.” He places the bread into your hands. “I’m not that hungry tonight anyway.”

It was a lie he could feel hunger gnawing at his gut, but the thought of you going without pained him more.

You took the bread, eyeing it with regret, cursing yourself for not finishing your porridge that morning. You took one bite, then another, then another… before you realized the whole thing was gone. When you looked up, Cregan wore an amused grin.

“You know, here in the North, it’s customary to chew your food,” he teases.

You’re about to fire back when a sudden burp escapes your lips. You gasp, instantly covering your mouth.

He smiles at that, a soft unguarded smile. His eyes hold something tender, full of quiet love and care, a gentleness he showed only to you.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he murmurs. “There’s no need for manners out here.”

He watches you for a moment and notices the weariness in your eyes.

“Come now,” he says gently. “It’s getting late, we’ve got an early start the morrow.”

Everyone begins settling in around the fire. Some of the men are already fast asleep, while others shift into more comfortable positions. Now that the sun has set, the cold bites sharper, and the frost in the air promises to deepen as the night wears on.

Cregan glances over at you, curled up on your makeshift bed. You look exhausted, knees pulled to your chest, blowing hot air into your hands. He knows you’ve been trying not to show weakness this entire trip. It’s admirable… but he won’t have it.

You suddenly feel something heavy drape over your shoulders and look up to see it’s his cloak. Thick and fur-lined, it swallows you whole. You open your mouth to protest, but he lifts a finger, silencing you.

“I’m a man of the North. I’ll manage.” He crouches down to tie it securely around you. “Besides, how am I supposed to explain to your family that their dear Y/n turned into a princessicle during the night?”

You mumble out a quiet thank you, praying he won’t change his mind—gods, it was warm. You lay down, cocooned in his cloak, and the combination of his scent and the lingering warmth lulls you into sleep.

Cregan is woken by the sound of rustling. He turns to his side and feels his heart drop when he sees your spot empty. Instantly alert, he scans the area until he catches sight of you….walking alone into the dark forest.

Gods, this woman.

Without hesitation, he rises and follows. You don’t even realize he’s there until a branch snaps behind you. You whirl around, about to scream but Cregan is already there, grabbing you from behind, one strong hand clamping gently over your mouth.

“Gods be damned, woman,” he growls. “Are you trying to wake the whole forest?”

You freeze, back still pressed against his chest, his arm firm around your middle and his other hand gently silencing you. You can only shake your head helplessly, he slowly spins you around to face him, his hand settling around your forearm not harshly, but with the kind of grip that betrays just how scared he’d been.

His eyes meet yours, those storm-grey eyes filled with both anger and fear. You shrink a little under the intensity of his gaze.

“What in the seven hells are you doing out here?” His voice is rough, but there’s a crack in it, not from anger but worry.

You falter, voice barely a whisper. “I… I had to relieve myself.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares. His jaw tightens.

“So you thought it wise to go off alone?” His grip on you still firm “You could’ve gotten lost. Taken. Frozen. Killed-“ he stops himself, thinking of the hundreds of ways you could have killed yourself which didn’t help ease with his anger. He exhales sharply, then realizes his grip is still firm on you. He lets go, dragging a hand down his face then pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to calm a storm in his chest.

...

“Cregan?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“What?” he replies harsher than he intended to.

“I… I still have to go.”

He groans something under his breath, inaudible, before walking with you deeper into the forest, a bit farther from camp. Once you reach a far enough spot, though he clearly doesn’t want you out of his sight again, he turns his back to give you privacy.

When you return to his side, he wordlessly starts walking again. The quiet between you is heavy, the only sound is the snow crunching under your boots. You steal a glance at him, he doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed straight ahead, jaw set. You wish to say something but nothing passes your lips, of course you’ve seen him angry but it was never directed towards you so you have no idea how to react.

A sudden distant howl slices through the silence. You freeze. Your eyes dart toward the trees, heart racing. You’re not accustom to the sound, not even at Winterfell. For they won’t dare wonder that close to civilization, but you were in their home now. You look over at Cregan and his eyes are still set forward, you begin to nervously wring your hands together trying to ease your nerves.

He notices. “Don’t worry,” he says, voice still gruff but with a hint of softness now. “Just a lonesome wolf calling for its pack, sounds far off.”

He keeps walking. You don’t.

He stops when he realizes, turning back to you with a slight frown.

“I’m sorry…”

His eyebrows crease, confused. “For what?”

“For being such a burden,” you say quietly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I begged to come… sorry you are now stuck watching over me.”

He just looks at you for a moment guilt and regret stirs within him, mayhaps he should not have snapped at you like that.

“You are not a burden,” he says gently. “Annoying, yes but never a burden.”

You give a weak laugh, but the words don't quite reach your heart.

He steps closer and cradles your face in both hands, making you look at him.

“Listen to me,” he says softly, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You are my wife. It’s my duty to protect you, to care for you…” He pauses, eyes searching yours. “And it is something I want to do. Gladly. Every day. Until my last breath.”

You blink up at him. In the silver glow of the moonlight, his pale skin lit softly, his dark hair tousled by the wind, his features relaxed once more and softness in his eyes only reserved for you return.

“Understood?”

You nod. “Understood.”

He bends down to press a long, warm kiss to your forehead. The chill in the air turns to heat in your chest. When he pulls away, he takes your hand, his large calloused one enveloping your smaller one and together, the two of you walk slowly back toward the firelight.

[jiimeniita]

[scftangl]

Me, getting distracted for a moment in just in smut and now I don't know what position they are in:

[uramakimochi]

me for the past week and i'm so fucking maddd

STOP👏TAGGING👏XREADER👏IF👏YOU👏USE👏AN👏OC👏NOBODY👏 FUCKING👏ASKED👏FOR👏THAT👏OKAY???

The wrong thing is not the fact that you write a story with an oc, no, that's not the real problem, really.

IT'S JUST THE FACT THAT YOU USE THE WRONG TAG SO YOU HOPE MORE PEOPLE READ YOUR STORY. BUT BELIEVE ME IT'S JUST FUCKING ANNOYING 'CAUSE WE AREN'T ABLE TO FIND THE RIGHT FICS IF YOU KEEP DOING THIS!!!

There are people who like to read more stories with ocs than reader inserts, so use the fucking right tag go reach that community and stop spamming your stories among ours.

I don't think you get it but, you know, the purpose of fanfics with reader insert is to make the reader imagine her/himself as the mc of the story. The best part of these fics is the fact that EVERYONE can be included in them.

SO WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN THEM BY MAKING THE MC A PERSON THAT LOOKS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE READER AND EVEN HAS A NAME THAT IS NOT THEIRS?

Not to be dramatic but i hate y'all.

And the fact that it's always the same fandoms and we all know who we're talking about...