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wolves-and-dragons · 12 days ago

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Rest and recover.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's wife feels that she doesn't belong in Winterfell. She works hard to prove herself-- until she falls ill.

Warnings: fever, talks of medieval medicine practices, cold ice baths, misunderstanding trope

A/n: Twas a request by the lovely @lunaritychuwolf !!

Masterlist

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When Cregan Stark placed his cloak on her shoulders, her fate was sealed.

Not only was she now tied through tradition, but the look in the Northerner's eyes stated he was not going to let her go.

She liked Cregan. He was kind enough. Certainly handsome. Strong and a perfect leader for what the North needed.

It was the North itself that truly drove her mad.

The people seemed too harsh and uninviting. There were no 'hello's when you passed someone on the streets. No smiles shared at various things. No, the people were just as cold as the air.

And the air was truly frigid. Cregan had sworn to her that this was spring for them. She had almost laughed in his face. There was still snow on the ground. That's far from spring.

She felt the need to prove her worth to her husband and her people. So she spent her days, nights, and all in between, buried in work.

…

"Where is my wife?" The Warden often asked.

There was always something she was doing. He chalked it up to enjoying her time. Perhaps she was loving the North so much that she had a million things she wished to do.

"I'm not sure, my lord," one of the servants answered. "I don't believe she has left your chamber since the morning."

He leaned forward in his seat. "No?"

"No, my lord. Shall I fetch her for you?"

He frowned and waved his hand, dismissing the servant completely.

It was odd. A little too odd. But before Cregan could question it more, another servant entered and he was once again surrounded in work.

…

"My Lady," her handmaiden called after her, "You truly should stay in. You're unwell."

Lady Stark's appearance showed as much. Her face seemed pale, her steps feeble. Far too delicate for the North.

Her hands were shaky as she reached for the wall to steady herself. "I am fine. I have too much to do."

"Perhaps I should get the Lord for y-"

"Do not!" She snapped with the only energy she had. She pushed off the wall with a heavy sigh. "Do not tell him, please," she added in a softer way.

…

Later, his steps pounded against the stone, each one resonating through the maze that was Winterfell. But his body knew exactly where it was going— straight to his lady.

Outside her room, he hesitated. What was his plan if she was under the weather? Or perhaps she wanted a simple day in? He would never be angry at her for that. He couldn't be angry at her at all.

A quick knock. Nothing. He waited another moment. When nothing came of it again, he pushed the door open.

His wife was not there. He frowned and peeked down both sides of the corridor as if he had just missed her.

He cursed under his breath and stomped his way back to his solar.

…

A few hours later, another servant came in. Cregan recognized her as his wife's handmaiden. He immediately stood up, trying to peek around her like his wife might be the next one through the door.

"Lord Stark," the woman hesitated. "I would not bother you if it was not an urgent matter."

"Speak," he immediately ordered. The thought of something happening to his wife caused a stir in his chest.

"Well… she's ill, my lord. I have tried to reason with her, but she refuses to rest."

He shifted his weight back and forth as he thought. Then, his arms stretched out over his chest, crossing one another. One hand quickly stroked his beard, then returned. "Why did she not tell me that this morning when I left her side? Fine. Ensure that she comes to supper."

…

His hand soothed over her forehead, brushing the hair away. Sweat had built up on her skin, gleaming in the light. "You should rest, my love. I can manage one meal without you."

"No," she reassured. "I feel fine."

She didn't feel fine. She hadn't felt fine for a few days now. She had waken up tired and had to focus on holding her head up at the table as they supped now.

"Wife," he softly reprimanded. "Your eyes are closing as we speak."

"'S just a chill. It will pass."

He sighed. He looked to the nearest servant. "Have this brought to our chambers, yes?"

She wanted to fight against his words but truthfully she was relieved.

"Get up," he chided. "C'mon." He offered his hands to her as he stepped around her chair.

…

That was yesterday, and now the morning had come. Cregan was worried.

She laid in their bed, in a deep sleep despite the sweat that was across her brow.

A fever.

He had tried to wake her once- to no avail. She only mumbled incoherent sentences. So, he let her continue to slumber. But he had called for the maester immediately.

It took a while, but the maester showed. Cregan nearly threw his chair backwards from standing so suddenly. "Thank you for coming so urgently."

"'Tis no issue, my Lord. I serve the House." He looked around Cregan to Y/n. His brows furrowed. "Oh, dear."

That worried the Northerner exceedingly. ""S only a fever, is it not?"

"Yes, yes, a fever," the old man hummed. "Could be a horrid one. Is she hot to the touch?"

"Um… I'm n-"

The maester had already wandered over to her bedside and taken a seat. He placed a hand on her forehead and immediately sighed. "She has no injury or outward infection?"

Cregan was panicking. "No-"

"-Very well. There are… a few options, Lord Stark."

Stark began to pace the room, awaiting his girl's fate.

"We can let out the ill blood in her body-"

"-Absolutely not. I'll not have her pretty blood stain your hands."

The maester huffed. "Alright. Let me see… I believe I have coriander in my study. But that is just something on the side to do. It alone will not cure such a thing." He thinks for a while. "We could always… force her to purge."

Cregan paused. "Force her to what?"

"To puke."

His face grew pale. "That sounds awful."

"You're not giving me many options, my lord."

He was battling with himself, and the sight of her slowly dying in front of him was not helping his decision making.

"Ah. Thoughts on perhaps… cold bathing? It would force her temperature down."

Cregan once had to do that as a child. He didn't remember it being a pleasant experience. "How long must she be in the water?"

"Only a few minutes. And, of course, sponge bathe her while doing so in the warmer areas to ensure its fall."

It wasn't ideal, but Cregan didn't know what else to do. "Fine. Have it drawn in her private chamber while I wake her."

"Very well."

As the maester left, Cregan couldn't fight off the absolute dread in his stomach. He didn't want to do this. He couldn't do this to her. But he was out of options, and her life mattered more to him than trying to bargain with death.

"My love?" He cooed, sitting at her side. His hand ran over her forehead, pulling back the hair that stuck to her forehead. "My love, wake up for me."

She groaned, shifting away from his cold hand.

His lips tilted up. He could imagine her commentary, as if she was well. "Please. You must wake."

When she gave him nothing, he had to grow more serious.

"I said, you must wake up," he uttered in a stricter tone. "Please don't make me do things I don't wanna do, my love."

It was too late for that anyway.

He reached down, cupping her head and forcing her body to sit up against him.

She immediately whined, but ultimately leaned against him, chasing his limited warmth.

He forced himself to remain calm, brushing through her greasy hair. He was just now realizing how sweaty she had grown. "I… I need you to do some things for me. Some things you might not like."

She mumbled something, tucking her face against his collarbone.

He sighed. "My love, I've spoken to the maester. We're going to help you, alright?"

"H-How?" She croaked.

His arms held her closer at the sound of her voice finally breaking through. "'S only a bath. To help your temperature."

Her grip on his shirt tightened. "No."

"A cold bath for a few minutes, Lovely. That's all."

"Cregan, no," she whined.

He sighed again, pulling her fully into his lap. "I want to expel this fever from you. And the pain. But I do not know how, and the other options were horrific. Trust that I'm doing what I can for you. Hm? Do you trust me?"

"Cregan-"

"-Trust me, please," he pleaded.

There was clear reluctance in her. An urge to fight everything that felt against her. But she knew Cregan. "I do."

He nodded. "Alright. Alright." He rubbed soothing circles onto her back. "And I promise I'm listening. Just like I listened to your handmaiden tell me you have been working yourself to death." He wanted to truly scold her, but he couldn't find the strength to when she was as ill as this.

"Forgive me," she croaked, clutching to his surcoat.

He gently pulled her weak grip away, holding both wrists in one hand. With the other, he pulled her sideways into his lap. Now, with easier access, he was able to pick her up. He cursed at how light she was.

The servants gave pitied looks as the Wolf of the North carried the fragile woman down the corridor.

Each step felt heavier. Each moment lost. He had to remind himself to breathe.

And when they reached her corridor, she curled more into him at the sight of the copper tub.

"Get the ice out of it," he growled.

The maester stepped forward. "Lord Stark-"

"Get. The ice out. This is supposed to soothe her, not torture her."

While the servants and maester re-prepared the bath, Cregan set his wife on the bed. He knelt down between her legs, rubbing his hands up and down her biceps to calm her worried heart.

"Take a deep breath. I do not plan to leave you. Can I take this off?" He gestured to her nightclothes.

He knew he wasn't going to get much of a response, so he slowly put his hands at her ankles and worked the dress up until it was pooling at her waist. "This alright? Gonna keep going, my love."

With some uncomfortable motions, Cregan got her dress off. Once able, he sat at her side, pulling her to him to keep her warm and block the others' views of her.

In waiting, she fell asleep against his shoulder. Cregan's worry skyrocketed.

But once it was prepared, he dismissed everyone but the maester.

Cregan picked up his wife once again, rousing her in the process. "'S time."

She clung to him, half asleep, half delirious.

He leaned over the tub, and when the cold water touched her, she shrieked. Her grip tightened on him, her heart racing.

He hesitated, pulling her back up and standing straight. "I cannot do this. Choose another way."

The maester began to fumble over his words. "M- this is- I- this is the only way you would allow."

"Leave."

"W-What?"

Cregan held the woman close to his chest. "I said leave."

The door shut, and Cregan knelt to the floor, pulling furs off the bed to set her on.

She wiped at her face with tired eyes, trying to calm herself.

It was just the two of them now. Cregan sighed. He reached over, hovering his hand over the cold water. When his finger dipped in, it felt like ice going through his veins. He cursed and pulled back.

"This was a foolish idea. 'M sorry, my love. I have a better one."

He stood, digging around the room for a while until he found a cloth. He dipped it in the cold water, cursing when he rang it out and his fingers burned. He held it in his hands for a moment to warm it slightly, then held it to her chest.

She groaned lightly but didn't fight against it. Her body couldn't even decide what to make of it. It was cold but almost soothing.

So Cregan proceeded to do that same thing again and again— on her neck, her back, her arms, any place that needed cooled.

He was careful each time, warming the cloth slightly and being as gentle as possible. He cradled her head each time and kept her upright.

"I'd rather you never work again than do something like this. I understand you are excited but… I cannot stand by the next time."

She almost felt like correcting him, and in her head, she did. But her body was still malfunctioning.

…

"My love," Cregan gawked and stood.

Only yesterday had she been so deathly ill. Now, she was standing in his solar.

"You should be resting." He covered the distance in no time, holding her waist between his hands like precious glass.

"I only wanted to talk to you."

He nodded, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Very well, but you must sit."

He led her to the chair he always had at the side of his desk for her.

"I've overworked myself."

He nods, as if that is obvious news.

"I must find better ways to do so. Perhaps I must… eat more, or… I'm unsure b-"

"Why is your day so full? I am beginning to believe that you don't enjoy such tasks. They seem… tiring to you."

"They are, bu-"

"Then why do them?"

She hesitated. "I… I am the Lady of Winterfell."

"That is not the question I asked."

She fidgeted with her skirt. "I… have a duty. I must do them."

His brows came together. "Did I ever say that to you?"

"Not directly."

He leaned over his desk. "Did I ever tell you of these impossible expectations?"

"No, Cregan but-"

He threw his hands up. "Then where did you get such standards?"

"They all talk, Cregan," she huffed. "All of them. The people. I… I don't belong here. But I am trying. Please, believe that. I want to prove that I am trustworthy."

Silence consumed the room as the gears in Cregan's head grinded to a halt.

"'Don't belong'?" He repeated in disgust. "When I put that cloak on your shoulders, I told everyone that you do."

She sighed. "It doesn't work like that."

"Doesn't it?" He stood and rubbed at his beard, beginning to pace. "Who do you believe decides these things? Of who belongs in the North?"

She was quiet.

"Me. I do. The Warden does. And when I took you as my wife, I acknowledged that not only do you now belong, but you will get to make these decisions alongside me. So, as of now, who is keeping you from belonging? It is not I. For where my heart beats, yours will also." He stopped. "No words from others changes that. You understand?"

Her eyes watered, heavy with exhaustion and grief.

He knelt beside her once again, cupping her chin. "You'll have no responsibilities for a fortnight. Only the things you wish. Tell me three things that you wish to do."

"Well," she sniffled. "The kitchen said they need-"

His grip on her chin tightened and he gave her a scolding look. "No needs. Only your own wants. Try again."

"Supper. With you."

He breathed out, giving her a slight grin that broke his tough exterior. "Alright. What else?"

"I want to study. In the library."

His eyes squinted, but when he saw the genuine interest in her own, he nodded. "One more."

"I want to attend your meetings."

He scoffed. "No, you don't. No one wants to willingly go to those. I'll do one better. I'll cut my meetings short for a daily walk. It'll get you some fresh air. How's that?"

She reached out for his other hand, holding it with both of hers.

"I do love you," he reassured. "Whether you work constantly or never again."

"I'd never be worth anything if I never got out of bed," she teased.

"Oh, you're worth much to me. In and out of bed." He kissed her gently before pulling her up to stand. "Now get out," he smiled. "You have too much resting and reading that needs done."

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