The Winter Wolf

by welcometothejungle

Summary:

Visenya Velaryon knew many things to be true. She was Harwin Strong's daughter. She was a Targaryen Princess regardless. And she was not going to marry for love.

With a war looming, Rhaenyra Targaryen must do everything in her power to strengthen her line and her claim. She must have the support of as many prominent houses as possible, including the North. And everyone knows that with House Stark the North will follow.

And Lord Cregan Stark only wants one thing. Rhaenyra's daughter.

Chapter 1: I

Betrothal Contract of Visenya Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, firstborn daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon and Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, son of Lord Rickon Stark and his lady wife, Lady Alyssa Stark formerly of House Manderly.

I, Cregan Stark make an oath to Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne to support her claim to the throne. I pledge fealty to her, as my father pledged fealty to King Viserys Targaryen, First of his name and to his named heir. I too pledge fealty to her and to her named heir, Prince Jacaerys Targaryen. I shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit or be named oathbreaker.

I pledge my loyalty, my men and my house to the House Targaryen as I take, Princess Visenya Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, second of her name, as my betrothed wife and bind our families by blood. I will wed her promptly should this agreement be enacted by House Targaryen. I swear this by the old Gods and the new.

Signed,

Cregan Stark

Signed,

Daemon Targaryen

Chapter 2: II

I heard that he’s as tall as a giant and can crush a man’s head between his two hands.’

‘My septa told me that nobody here would have ever seen him because he doesn’t come South to keep the fact he’s a dwarf hidden!”

‘Oh don’t be stupid, of course he’s not a dwarf!’

'Well I heard he’s half wild, like a beast from the story books. Half man, half dire wolf who changes every full moon’

‘Well from what Madelaine Manderley said in her last letter, he’s more of a beast when it comes to women rather than the wild.”

Visenya was quite sick of it, the rumours and the whispers that people now shared with her because they were sure it was helpful or somehow a kindness to know more about the man she was signed away to.

And they brought her no comfort. Although it was perhaps for the best as she was quickly realising that the North was not a place of comfort and she had better get used to it.

Visenya could thank the Gods for one small mercy.

‘Dragons should not be left alone... not so far from home.”

Her mother had responded when Visenya had begged for her dragon to be allowed accompany her North.

Visenya did not want to be the only dragon forced to endure it. And Grey Ghost was the closest thing to her own family she would have at Winterfell.

That is, until she would become Lady Stark and both inherited a family and was forced to build her own, she remembered bitterly with a shudder.

“Daemon and I have allies across the Seven Kingdoms but those in the North are more loyal to the North than they are to anyone else.”

Her mother had told her, as if Visenya needed it explained.

“There has never lived a Stark who has forgotten an oath, Visenya and with House Stark the North will follow”

Daemon reminded her, one hand on Dark Sister and the other on Visenya’s mother.

Visenya understood why, she had accepted it and dealt with it quite reasonably she had thought except for the two breakfast trays she hurled at the wall, the cup she had thrown when Jace made a joke about being Lady Stark and the woodshed she and Grey Ghost had burnt to ash at the edge of Dragonmount the morning it was agreed. She had been the one to agree to it. No one had forced her or begged her. Especially her mother. Visenya would never be forced to marry someone if she did not want to. But conflict seemed inevitable.

The childish squabbling had climaxed and Aemond had lost an eye after claiming Vaghar. After that, relations were tense and fraught and after retreating to Dragonstone, Visenya knew that her mother’s ascencion to the throne was not a done deal.

When her grandsire would die, there would be whispers. They hoped they would only be whispers and not war but Daemon and her mother were preparing as if war was inevitable.

It had been Daemon’s idea. Visenya had always been unsure about what Daemon felt for her and her brothers, if anything at all apart from loyalty to their mother and a sense of duty to their family but she did not take it personal. It was not as much of an exile as it seemed.

It was her duty. It was the most she could do apart from fight on dragonback when and if the time came.

She had been summoned and greeted by Daemon, Rhaenyra who stood in front of Jace. Visenya knew from the way Jace couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes that Rhaenyra’s advisors and Daemon had come to a decision.

A done deal. A signed betrothal only leaving space for Visenya’s patron to sign.

Rhaenyra couldn’t do it. Visenya knew that it felt too close to signing away her daughter’s life and she froze, quill in hand and the other hand resting across her stomach.

Senya nodded to her mother, urging her to sign, determined not to let the few tears that gathered in her eyes fall.

She would marry Otto Hightower if her family needed it and perhaps that was an even worse scenario than what she was dealing with.

Daemon watched the women battle in their gazes. Eventually, Daemon took the quill and signed it.

She would marry Cregan Stark, he would be an official, blood bound ally of Rhaenyra Targaryen when she ascended the Iron Throne as Queen and her daughter would be Lady Stark, wife to the Warden of the North whose children would be heirs to Winterfell.

All of it, signed by a man. Signing her over to another man who discussed her with men and traded her like livestock. A princess, reduced to a barter.

“Cregan Stark is young and fresh, he won’t be battle shy. But he will keep his oath to your mother so long as he is...appeased.”

Daemon had seemed slightly lost for a word but chose it delicately even if his lady wife still rolled her eyes.

“You won’t have to marry him straight away... but you must go North. And you must stay there... at least until we know more.”

Visenya knew her mother wanted to keep her safe but the more she thought about her voyage North, the more it felt like a banishment.

“But, mother I should be here. With Jace and Luke, we have Vermax, Arrax and Grey Ghost. Joff and Aegon are too young to ride Tyraxes and Stormcloud. You need me here!”

She had cried as an embarrassing last minute attempt to appeal to her mother’s emotions.

Rhaenyra had sighed, stroking back her only daughter’s hair and kissing her temple.

“I need you exactly where you will be, my sweet girl.”

“You need to strengthen your mother’s claim, give her heirs and show that good matches are being made for the Targaryen throne in her name... strong matches, with good families.”

Rhaenys had consoled her, knowing the Targaryen princess was not her granddaughter by blood but wanting to help her anyway.

“But that is for Jace? Whatever children born to me will not be in line to inherit unless Jace and Baela have no children of their own...Even then the throne would be inherited by Luke, then Joff, then Viserys or even Aegon. Never me...”

Rhaenys and Rhaenyra shared a knowing look. It felt wrong to both of them, to send Visenya North like a brood mare when they had both already lost Rhaenyra’s mother and Laena to the birthing bed. Rhaenyra shuddered at the thought of her only daughter alone and frightened, as she had been many times in agony and terror.

“I’m not making heirs or kings, I’m being sent North to lie on my back between the maritial bed and the birthing bed like a fucking slave.”

Daemon made a mocking tilt of his cup at her

“Don’t always be on your back, Senya you’ll bore him to tears.”

Rhaenyra cut him a scathing look but it was the first joke that had made Visenya laugh in days. While she doubted whether Daemon liked her or not, she never doubted if he loved her family. They both did and after Laenor died and Rhaenyra wed Daemon, it seemed to be enough for them to make a sort of alliance if not a friendship.

And that was that.

Ser Jarrald Dustin was sent North with a tiara for her wedding and a signed betrothal agreement. And Visenya was allowed to exercise her last days of freedom with her brothers before following on dragon back.

And yet it still felt like she was being thrown to the wolves, even if she was a dragon.

Aegon and Viserys would hardly remember her. She tried not think about it to avoid making a scene but when she said goodbye to them and they clung to her, babbling ‘Senya’ and playing with fists of her dark hair she let a few tears slip. The boys didn’t cry, they were too young to realise what was happening and Visenya was envious.

“Lady Stark” Jace joked, with a mocking bow although he didn’t smile or laugh.

And she wasn’t sure who moved first but she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed.

“Don’t kill Baela with your fat-headed babies.”

She’d muttered but she’d lacked any venom or humour in the realisation that her big brother would become a husband and a father before she saw him again.

“Don’t become a sheep amongst the wolves, Senya... you’re a dragon... I don’t care what people say, we’re dragons.”

He’d said into her ear, squeezing her once more before letting Luke try to keep a dry eye and letting Joffrey fling himself at her.

“In a few years, you’ll be old enough and big enough to ride Tyraxes with Jace and Luke... you can come visit me up North and see snow!”

She tried to sound upbeat, to not sound like a woman about to be fed to a direwolf. But it was almost impossible when she looked in Joff’s big brown eyes lined with tears.

“You’ll be gone for years?” Joff exclaimed in disbelief, his head spinning to his brothers who avoided his eyes.

Visenya felt it like a slap. She wouldn’t be gone for years. She would be gone forever.

Families like the Starks stayed married until they died. And then they were buried together in the crpyt, in the same tomb and all. It sounded like hell to Visenya.

Her mother stayed still and silent, but her eyes were the real display of her pain of losing her daughter like a cow sold at market.

“But...” Joff looked up at his mother “I can visit, can’t I?”

Visenya was about to reassure him, even if it was with lies. Joff was too young to learn that the war would mean they would see less and less of eachother. But Daemon interjected.

“Visenya will have a family of her own in the North to look after”

Senya cut him a scathing look. Daemon was never soft with his words, she should never have expected him to be.

She hated the very words he said and the thought of being bred like a brood mare made her sick to her stomach. If it wasn’t bad enough she was being sent North with only a dragon and her name, she was going to be married off to a man who was half beast and then forced to bear his children or risk being labelled a dishonourable lady wife.

Their mother noticed the palor of her daughter’s skin and intervened, taking Joffrey’s hand in hers.

“And you will have nephews and nieces who will need dragon eggs for their cradle and someone to teach them how to ride on dragon back!”

Joff seemed pleased with this, excited even. And Senya knew he was too young to understand why his sister couldn’t speak about it anymore without flinching or feeling ill.

“My sweet girl” her mother whispered, forehead against her own and hands clutching hers.

“Mother”

Senya’s hand rested atop her mother’s before letting her mother lead their hands to the swell under her dress where Senya’s newest sibling rested.

“Your sister will need you to return, if only to be her ally among her brothers”

Visenya nodded, her eyes clouded with tears she wouldn’t let fall. They needed her to be strong. She was strong. She always had been. She was her father’s daughter.

“Be careful, wolves are like dragons, fierce but they look after their own. Become one of them, wolves survive in packs.”

Birthing beds, long Winters with only wolves for company and a flurry of women who didn’t know her nor like her but blamed her for being from a family that their husbands went to war for.

None of it made her feel safe or secure as she climbed onto Grey Ghost to make her journey north.

Grey Ghost rumbled to life, legs extended out to stretch and a slight growl to clear the throat.

“Sōvēs”

 

Grey Ghost listened to her, shaking his head and stretching his neck out. His silver and grey scales glimmered under the sun but as soon as he flew them up past the clouds, he would become almost invisible, hence his name.

Leaving her brothers and mother behind, knowing that the next time she saw any of them she wouldn’t just be the Princess, she would be Lady Stark. A thought more horrifying than any birthing bed.

*

 

Cregan was beautiful, although Visenya was quite sure no one had ever been brave enough to say this to his face. Perhaps because the vicious scar that ran in a crescent shape from above his right eyebrow to below his cheekbone, only just missing his eye was one of the most vicious things Visenya had ever seen. And she was a Targaryen, step-daughter to who everyone believed to be the next Maegor. She had seen many vicious and gruesome things.

If it wasn’t his scar that put people off, or his aloof and cold manner it had to be his eyes. His eyes were cold and dark, barely seemed to even have a colour. He was already bored of her it seemed, since he did nothing but look her from head to toe and back up again, lingering on the Valerian steel around her neck.

“Princess Visenya Targaryen, second of her name, Princess of Dragonstone.”

They bowed.

The reception was not as cold as Visenya had expected even if she, herself was cold to her very marrow. But there were those in the crowd who smiled and whose eyes glowed when they saw their queen’s only daughter. Winterfell’s hall had been filled with long tables and Lords and Ladies of the North in a welcoming feast for their Queen’s daughter who was to be wed to their Lord Stark, Warden of the North.

Visenya heard their hushed tones and whispers about her clothes and her hair, the long black cloak that was clearly not made by someone who had experienced a real Northern Winter and the long, dark hair braided back in Targaryen braids. If her lilac eyes and the dragon that had flown her North were not enough proof of her Targaryen blood, the attention she gathered was.

Whispers about her and her brother’s parentage were hissed and circulated around King’s Landing but the arrival of Visenya was enough to quell some of those who spoke against them. She knew the truth but she was a Targaryen, being a Velaryon or a Strong was not what was important anymore. And she would be a Stark before long.

The people of the North knew that Visenya’s mother was the rightful heir to the throne and should be Queen. And so they bowed. But he didn’t.

He stood straight and tall, menacing and powerful. Visenya knew that should she stand beside him he would tower over her, loom over her like a storm that threatened to ruin her. But it was his smirk that infuriated her. That kind of all-knowing, all-seeing, cocky smirk that made her realise that Cregan Stark didn’t just see himself as Lord of the North, he saw himself as Lord of everything, now that included her too.

Visenya’s guards watched on slightly unnerved. Those who wouldn’t bow in King’s Landing lost their head or their hands to Dark Sister but those who didn’t bow here? They weren’t sure. Especially to the man who would be their charge’s Lord and husband.

He was dressed for war, heavy furs and breastplate made from what looked like leather and black steel, a wolf woven across his chest. He had a dagger strapped to his chest and a sword against his hip, his hand never moving too far so that he would be without a weapon. Even if all that stood before him were four of the Queen’s guards who came with the princess and the princess herself who seemed to be more of a girl than a woman. That is until she opened her mouth.

“Lord Stark, when introduced to the Princess of Dragonstone and of the realm, blood of the dragon and of the rightful heir to the throne, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, you bow.”

Her voice was louder than he had expected from her smaller than average size and her accent was so different, it grated on him as though his ears had to strain to hear her. Her sharp consonants and crisp vowels.

But Cregan Stark still didn’t bow. The closest Visenya got to a bow from her betrothed was a tilt of his head so the light slipped across his intimidating features and made her nervous to step closer.

“Lord Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North”

His predatory gaze stayed on her, amused and anticipatory. As if he was waiting for her do something so he could deduce her further.

People didn’t often watch her like that. People gawked, they stared, they avoided her gaze as though her lilac eyes could burn through their minds or scorch their skin. But no one dared to watch her as if she was something to play with, as if she were a worthy opponent.

She glowered back at him, feeling that fire inside of her brewing. She would not bow to him nor any man who would not bow for her.

He might go to war, march his men South and litter King’s Landing with dead members of the Greens for her mother. But he wouldn’t bow to her. And why should he? Visenya had never wanted him, nor he her. Visenya didn’t even know why he had accepted Daemon’s offer of allying their families through marriage.

Cregan Stark was a young Lord in a newly interited title and position. He had many brothers and sisters, all of whom kept their line safe and secure and yet, the North had been keen on the match.

The people in the hall seemed to hold their breath, her guards included. Until Cregan Stark’s face rippled into a wolfish grin and those around him started laughing and speaking again, as if a princess had not just entered their midst.

But his smile didn’t settle her nerves it unnerved her more than his sullen gaze. As if he just wanted to show his sharp teeth in case someone decided to see for themself if the Wolf of the North had teeth.

And although he turned to sweep a goblet into his giant paw of a hand and swig its contents back, he caught her eye again and watched her. So intently that she failed to notice the women approaching.

“You’re most welcome, Princess”

Lady Stark was small in stature and height but she seemed sturdy and strong, much stronger than the wispy, slight women that surrounded Visenya back in King’s Landing.

Cregan’s mother was not yet fifty, a young age to be widowed but her youngest child was almost twelve and despite being married to the warden of the North since she was sixteen, she was a daughter of House Mandeley.

Lady Stark even bowed to Visenya, something that did not go unnoticed by the fearsome watch of her son.

“I trust your journey was without trouble” Lady Stark extended a hand, as if to put an arm out behind the girl. Visenya took it as her cue to walk with her.

Lady Stark was kind, Visenya knew this from her eyes and the letter she had sent to Visenya when they had agreed to betroth her and Cregan. It had been short and didn’t discuss details for fear of interception or spies but it was kind and had promised to give her a home.

“Yes, thank you... The winds were kind..” Visenya was nervous, knowing very few in Winterfell had been keen to learn she would be bringing her dragon.

It had been a part of her betrothal that Daemon and her mother fought for her. They did not relent until the Northmen had permitted that Grey Ghost could come North with her and stay North so long as she wanted.

“My boys are so looking forward to seeing your dragon, Princess”

Lady Stark smiled, turning her head towards two younger boys who sat at a table adjacent to their brother and Lord.

They were similar ages to Luke and Joffrey, both dark of hair with eyes that seemed just as dark. Both boys laughed as they watched Maester Fagan put his elbow into the dish of peas they had placed right in the line of fire.

“Boys!” Lady Stark scolded, her kind eyes freezing over as she glared at them until they relented, both with heads dipped and a murmur of “sorry mother.”

“May I present my youngest sons, Edric and Harrin”

The boys stood, straight backed and chests puffed out like real soldiers. Just like her brothers.

Senya opened her mouth to speak but found herself being interrputed before her words found the air.

“Is it true your dragon can eat an entire horse in one bite?”

The younger boy’s question had clearly been burning on his mind from the moment she had arrived. And he wasted no time plucking up the courage to ask it.

Senya found herself smiling. Despite herself, she found them endearing.

“Harrin!” His mother scolded, eyes alight with embarrassment.

She turned to apologise or make excuses but Senya had already leaned forward to speak in a hushed voice.

“Yes, although Grey Ghost prefers Northmen, especially little boys.”

The boys eyes lit with awe and wonder, thrilled by the fact a dragon who now lived in the North could swallow him whole even if Visenya was joking.

Edric scoffed, shoving his little brother in the chest and grinning at who would be his newest sister

“I heard he only likes the ones who ask stupid questions, Harr so you’re a dead man walking”

Their mother moved along, guiding Visenya towards the boys’ sisters hoping to be less embarrassed although Senya enjoyed them.

“These are my younger daughters, Arrina and Torra. My eldest daughter, Freeda is in Harrenhal, your grace she sends her apologies she couldn’t come to greet you but she has only a few moons left before she takes to the birthing bed and the journey would be too strenuous”

Visenya nodded, knowing about the eldest daughter and her current plight. The eldest Stark girl was married to Ser Urwin Strong, youngest brother of Ser Harwin. Visenya was not blind nor stupid therefore she knew that the eldest Stark girl’s baby would be her own blood.

“I understand, of course my own mother will face the same trials soon enough for the sixth time.”

Senya turned to her soon to be sisters, knowing that they were the closest things to sisters that she had. Brothers were plentiful in her life already but Senya had always wanted a sister.

Arrina and Torra were just as beautiful as Visenya’s brothers had told her with heads of shining dark hair braided back and deep dark eyes. Torra nodded politely, with a perfect curtesy while Arrina struggled a little but made up for it with a soft and gentle smile.

“Princess... it’s an honour” Torra nodded, although Visenya would like to know how genuine her words were.

Torra didn’t seem very enthused at meeting her but Senya took no offence. A new sister was nothing exciting to a girl who had two already, especially not one with a Targaryen name and a war promise.

“Your dress is beautiful” Arrina gushed, her hand reaching out almost subconsciously to touch the expensive woven fabric from down South.

Torra snatched her hand away before it made contact. She clearly believed the rumours that dragons bite and she watched Visenya carefully, watching as if Visenya’s lilac eyes would turn against them.

“Thank you although I’m not sure I prepared myself for such cold weather.”

She admitted, looking down at her dress and cape around her shoulders. They were red and black, just as she had insisted but they felt as thin as paper.

Lady Stark smiled kindly.

“Not to worry, I’ll have my maid see to it, my eldest daughter Freeda didn’t take all of her cloaks with her to Harrenhal.”

Visenya was greatful. She had been sent with a tiara and dress for the wedding, her favourite books and her best dresses all in her family colours. But she was quite sure she would never be warm in this godsforsaken land unless she buried herself under every dress and coat she owned. She had been warned about the cold and bitter North but she was slowly coming to realise it was just as bitter and cold as its Lord appeared to be.

Lord Stark. Cregan. The Wolf of the North.

Her husband and her mother’s ally.

And yet he didn’t even look at her. As if she had bored him already.

And Senya didn’t like it. She was no narcissist, she knew she had flaws in her short temper and impatience but she was not boring. He would know this for himself before long.

Chapter 3: III

Winterfell was cold. Everybody knew that the North's temperatures were as unforgiving as their people. But Visenya had not experienced cold like this in all her life.

She cut that first evening short after being introduced to many Northmen and their lady wives, to Lord Stark's sisters and brothers who introduced her to Maester Fagan and their Septas. Arrina, Edric and Harrin were much younger than their brother and Lord but they had the same dark eyes and hair. Although it was his sister, Torra who had the same aloof and coldness to her gaze and aura.

Arrina told her of her studies, showed her some of her best needlework and even promised to introduce her to their horses and her favoured horse that was her very own. Harrin asked dozens of questions about Grey Ghost, what the beast ate and drank, how far it could fly and if Visenya had ever been almost eaten or burned alive. Edric, the older of the two was quieter and more pensive however his wicked sense of humour and wit was second to none that Visenya had seen.

Torra stayed at a distance, sitting at the top table alongside her mother and her mother's ladies. Visenya knew better than to stare back but she could feel Torra watching her, perhaps just curious or perhaps waiting for Visenya to do something she could be judged for. But Visenya was quite sure that Torra had been a vote against the alliance of Cregan Stark and the Blacks.

Visenya thought about her family as she lay in bed, trying to rub some warmth into her arms and legs. She thought about the lines that were being drawn, dividing the Greens and the Blacks more harshly than they had ever felt them.

Jace and Luke had always bickered and argued with Aemond and Aegon. They sniped at each other, goaded each other and constantly fought to be the better swordsman or bowman or dragon rider. They always wanted to be the best.

Haelena and Visenya were practically forgotten about as girls. Queen Alicent had always been rather vocal about their education being important but limited to needlework, history and etiquette. Visenya's mother would not allow for her only daughter to be pushed aside and so, Ser Harwin taught her just as he taught her brothers albeit in private when they had the time.

But Ser Harwin was gone. Whatever peace her family had come to for the sake of their King and Grandsire had vanished after their Grandsire had gone to bed and Aemond insinuated Visenya and her brothers were bastards.

Whatever was happening in King's Landing and Dragonstone now, Visenya didn't know. She just hoped any raven that was sent, came swiftly and brought only good news.

It was a foolish wish, a child's wish. But alone, curled in on herself in bed in a frozen land where no one had vowed to do anything but keep her alive so she could be wedded and bedded, Visenya felt more vulnerable than she ever had. And she would not stand for it.

Lying still was not helping her frozen bones, so she slid from under the mountain of blankets she had asked for and pulled the lid of her trunk open. She shoved aside the red dress that immediately caught her eye, she didn't want to lay eyes on her wedding dress until she was forced to, no matter how lovely it had been made.

Her riding leathers were worn in, soft and supple leather that she pulled on and molded to her shape exactly. When Grey Ghost had been newly trained, the Dragon keepers had made sure she wore protective clothing but now that she was bonded to Grey Ghost there was no fear he would hurt her. And nothing in the skies up North would hurt her either.

Her guards were surprised to see her except for Ser Jarrald who had always learned to expect the unexpected with Princess Visenya.

"Princess" He nodded, turning to face her.

Ser Jarrald was less than ten years her senior but he had fought in the Stepstones with Daemon who had then appointed him to be a part of Visenya's guard.

He was tall, broad and strong and of a serious disposition. He was a perfect knight by all accounts although Visenya had learnt his quirks and as long as he knew where she was at all times, he didn't seem to mind trailing after her at all hours. He was a self-diagnosed insomniac who was always the first to accompany her everywhere.

"Ser Jarrald, I'm having trouble sleeping. I'm going for a walk."

She told him. She learnt that Ser Jarrald never expected her to ask permission. Princesses didn't ask for permission he had told her and she quickly had learnt to stop asking and start telling.

"Very good, Princess" he nodded, stepping back and allowing her to lead the way. He would walk a few paces behind her.

Visenya tried to remember her way as best she could and although she wished she knew another route so she could avoid the great hall, she did not so she could not.

The doors were slightly ajar with golden light spilling out and music still streaming out into the cold and quiet courtyard. Visenya heard laughter and singing, much more of both than had been there while she was there for sure.

Perhaps the North were more nervous of their princess than they had shown.

Visenya had left Grey Ghost near the Godswood, not wanting to land into the middle of the courtyard of Winterfell and make a name for herself as a conqueror even if it had been Jace's suggestion so as to assert dominance immediately.

Visenya and Ser Jarrald made it as far as the courtyard gate before meeting anyone in their path. They were being watched, she had felt it from when she left her quarters and she was quite sure her movements were not only being monitored but reported on. She just didn't know to whom.

"What business have you?"

The Northmen guarding the gates were tall, dark haired and sullen looking. Visenya was beginning to see the shared features of almost all Northmen.

"The Princess is going for a walk."

Ser Jarrald spoke for her, stepping forward subconsciously. He would stand between her and any man who held a weapon until they were deemed as friends not foes and he would take his place once again behind her.

The men in Stark armour looked between exchanged a glance.

"Permission has not been granted to leave Winterfell's walls at present, your grace it is a matter of safety."

Ser Jararld bristled. He glanced at Visenya over his shoulder, catching her eye for a moment.

"The Princess does not need permission to take a walk." his voice was crisp and sure "and I will accompany her, her safety is guarenteed."

Ser Jarrald ran a hand across the pommel of his sword, a sword that Prince Daemon had gifted him after the Stepstones and a sword that had taken the lives of any man or beast who had come too close to the Princess in the years of his service.

The men did not seem convinced. Their nervous gazes avoided Visenya and although she knew she unnernved them, she had not realised she outright intimidated them.

"It is not a matter of her safety, Ser"

Visenya knew instantly what their gripe was. They didn't like her dragon. The Winter Wolves were frightened of her dragon and what she could do with it.

They had clearly seen her riding leathers under her cloak and known where she was going. Grey Ghost was being kept in the Godswood where Visenya could visit as often as she felt like it. And since arriving, Visenya had felt her dragon's anxiety and distress deep in her psyche.

The North was new and different. Grey Ghost was far from home and without the other dragons in the dragon pit things did not feel right, especially as Visenya had been forced to leave her. Visenya's own anxiety and unnease was not helping the situation as Grey Ghost had always been able to sense it even if it was not as connected and intimate bond as her brothers had with Arrax and Vermax it was strong.

"Perhaps it is best to take the night to rest and it can be discussed with Lord Stark in the morning."

The smaller and quiter of the two guards suggested, his nervous disposition obvious. He clearly did not want to refuse a Targaryen princess nor be accused of insolence.

"Is that an order?" Ser Jarrald snapped, not used to being given orders by anyone but Lord Commander of the Guard or the Princess.

The taller and more obnoxious guard took a step closer, almost breast plate to breast plate with Ser Jarrald.

"That's an order from Lord Stark regarding the safety and security of knowing where his Princess is."

It was an order. But she was not 'his' Princess and she never would be if she had anything to do with it. The idea made her sick.

Ser Jarrald seemed ready to speak up, to defend her and push past the men and make for the Godswood with the Princess because that was where she wanted to go. But Visenya had spent enough time with her mother to have learnt that men wanted reactions from women. They wanted them to stomp their little feet and complain or act like feeble creatures so they could be further discounted from discussions and agreements. She would not give them the satisfaction.

"If Lord Stark wants half of the Godswood razed to ash, then by all means he may keep me from my dragon." She was her most diplomatic self, she even almost smiled. "Because my dragon will come find me before too long and burn any fortress or boy that stands in the way."

She saw the pallor of their face pale slightly at the mention of the dragon. And as if Grey could hear or sense her, Visenya heard a cry far away but close enough she could still hear her. Wherever Grey Ghost was, she wasn't happy. Neither was Visenya.

"I will speak with the Commander in the morning, your grace. There will not be a repeat of what just transpired."

Ser Jarrald promised her with a stern and solemn expression. He liked the way the guards had spoken to him very little but he liked the way they spoke to Visenya even less.

Visenya wanted to believe him but a voice at the back of her mind hissed that they were not in Dragonstone nor in King's Landing. It was the North. It was Winterfell. And Lord Stark was the law, he had the final say. And from how unimpressed he had looked at her at the feast, Visenya was not overly optimistic.

*

Visenya woke shivering. She was still tired and from the bare glimpse of the sunrise she could see through the windows, she had plenty of time left for sleep before breakfast. But she couldn't sleep any more, not when she was so cold.

Two girls were sent with tea and a type of bread and eggs for breakfast as well as jugs of hot water to help her bathe and dress. They had a jar of what they said was soap but it looked more like green pitch to Visenya. It smelled strong, like forests after rain or fresh river water. It wasn't overly unpleasant but Visenya preferred the bottles she had packed in her trunk. Bottles sealed with wax that smelled of honey and lavender, the pale yellow one that smelled of citrus fruits. And of course, her Septa ensured she brought a salve for burns.

Freshly bathed and dressed, one of the girls picked up a brush and ran it through her long dark hair. They had introduced themselves as sisters, Corrina and Ingrid, daughters of Ser Darron, the Master of Arms.

"Our father works very closely with Cregan, he is one of his advisors."

Corrina had said, an easy and innocent smile on her face. She couldn't have been more than seventeen and she had an easy, soft type of beauty in her small, sloping nose and soft brown eyes.

"Corrina!" Ingrid had hissed, shushing her sister from what ever else was going to say.

Corrina stayed quiet but her cheeks were slightly pink and her sister was pointedly avoiding Visenya's gaze.

Visenya pondered it as she walked to take the air with Ser Jarrald. Ingrid had tried to shush her sister but it was clear to Visenya that Corrina had some sort of personal relationshhip with Lord Stark. Nobody else called him Cregan.

She had always known men were fickle creatures and being married did not rule anything out however she had not imagined that Lord Stark would not just seek company outside their marriage but that he already had it arranged before they had even wed.

Her dislike for the man who seemed bored of her and uninterested only grew. She would be Lady Stark, forced into motherhood and to spend her days surrounded by children named Snow who he had fathered through women who pretended to be her friend.

He would not let her see her dragon, he would not even bother himself to look at her and after being the person who suggested a marriage and alliance, he was the person who deigned himself unhappy with the match.

Visenya was well-read and educated, she was from the purest and most powerful family in Westeros and she was not hideous to look at. If Lord Stark decided himself humble enough to even speak with her she was quite sure he would find that she was good-humoured and polite when she wanted to be and that her famous Targaryen temper was not all she had to offer.

And she was quite sure she had more to offer him than he had to her. With his sullen stare and bored expression. She'd never even heard him speak.

"I sent a raven this morning to tell of your safe arrival, Princess" Ser Jarrald told her as they walked

"Thank you, Ser Jarrald. I'm sure we will hear word from my mother quite soon."

Visenya hoped to hear from them, from anyone soon. All she knew was that once returning home from King's Landing where Visenya and her brothers had fought with Aemond and Aegon, they had not heard from any of the Greens. Nor had Visenya heard from her own family after the Council had deemed it best for her to go North and await further instructions.

Visenya prayed night and day to the Gods that the dress and tiara sent with her would never be used. She prayed that the Greens would make their peace with her family and the line of succession would not be questioned or argued. Eventually, her grandsire would die and her mother would become queen. Jace would marry Baela and one day become King with his Queen and their many children. Luke would marry Rhaena and become Lord of the Tides. And perhaps this madness could end and Visenya could go home, cease the marriage alliance of her and Lord Stark and move home to Driftmark.

"This afternoon, we will do our best to get you to your dragon Princess."

He promised, a watchful look in his eye as they passed through the halls and were greeted by several servants who bowed and nodded.

"Will we be stopped again?" She asked, taking in the new faces of those she passed and trying to stay calm. This might be her home, she should not be frightened.

"No, your grace. We will not." He promised, looking around for any eavesdropping ears "Because we will not be seen."

Her dress was warmer than that which she had worn yesterday and she was grateful. Although it was still not warm enough. It was long and draped over her shoulders like a cloak too for extra warmth. It was black with lilac spun through it in a pattern that was reminiscent of waves and made her think of home. The sleeves were long and wide from elbows to wrists reaching down almost to her knees in a point.

In the wide and open courtyard, people were bustling around busy. Women washed clothes and mended hunting traps. Children ran around laughing and playing while men moved about their work making bows, forging swords, feeding animals.

Winterfell reminded her of a cold and quieter King's Landing but people either bowed and looked reverntly at her or else they shrank away from her, frightened.

It was lonely. And she hated to admit homesickness so quickly but being without her family and now without her dragon, Visenya felt incredibly alone.

*

Ser Jarrald was a lot cleverer than he looked. And after a day of reading in her chambers and attending Arrina's lessons with her Septa, Visenya was sick of waiting. With a cloak that covered her head and a few covert and light footed pathways, they made their way out of the fortress' boundaires and into the Godswood.

It was cold, as everything was in the North but Visenya felt her instincts pulling her towards the higher peaks that edged North. Ser Jarrald and her walked until her thighs were burning and her breaths were coming in pants and they had to stop walking and start climbing.

"Princess, I wonder if we should turn back before it gets too late" He voiced, clearly not realising it would take them so long to find the dragon that had been kept away.

"We're getting closer, Ser Jarrald." She could feel it in her bones "I'm sure I shan't be missed in Winterfell anyway"

She couldn't imagine anyone would care if she missed her supper or didn't appear until she was needed for a wedding. Out where the wind was rough and the slopes were steep, she felt more at ease than she had in days.

"māzīs "

She called out, trying not to raise her voice too loud in case some of Lord Stark's men would hear her although they were sure to hear her dragon any moment now.

Ser Jarrald paused a few metres back from her knowing to give her space. It was an empty clearing at a foothold in the mountain.

The wind bit at her face, the only part of her left uncovered and her braid whipped around her, smacking into her arms and back.

"māzīs Ghost" She called again, knowing that the rumbling and shaking of the ground beneath her was not thunder but her dragon.

Grey Ghost was aptly named, espeically in the North as he seemed to appear from the storm clouds as if by magic. He squalled loudly, shaking his head as he set himself down far enough away from Visenya that he would not hurt her but close enough that he could instantly push his head against his rider.

"I've missed you too" She sighed, her hands instantly reaching to hold onto Ghost's head and stroke his neck.

A deep rumbling came from his chest, almost akin to a cat purring.

Visenya had only planned to see him, make sure he was eating and confirm that he was well. But Ghost lowered his front legs, pushing himself down and readying himself to be mounted.

"Princess" Ser Jarrald warned her, knowing what she was thinking.

Visenya wasn't dressed to go riding, nor did they have time before it got dark. But ten men couldn't have held her back from the strength she found in herself to pull herself onto Ghost's back and hold on.

"Princess, we must return to-"

Ser Jarrald almost begged of her but she did not want to hear that she had to return to what felt like a prison. She was a dragonrider and the sky was hers for now. She didn't hear what he said over the sound of Ghost's wings beating and she preferred it.

A ride on dragon back had been exactly what Visenya needed. The headache-inducing relationship or lack thereof with Lord Stark, the strange and cold encounters with Torra as well as the lack of ravens from Dragonstone were becoming too much for her to process silently.

Being among the clouds, soaring and diving, and being at one with her dragon was better than any headache tonic Maestar Fagan had tried to give her.

By the time Visenya needed a break, Grey Ghost was hungry and Visenya happily waited on the cliff's edge while Grey Ghost chose a deer to make a meal of. The lead huntsman in Winterfell had been bringing him fresh kills to keep him satisfied but Visenya didn't want him to get lazy.

Watching her dragon happily chew and swallow the remnants of the corpse, Visenya thought about her brother's dragons and the egg that would be placed in her sister's cradle.

Her own egg had been such a heartbreak that Visenya knew people had the sensitivity not to ask about it. Losing a dragon was akin to losing a child, especially one bonded so closely as the Targayens did with their own dragons.

Ser Jarrald was waiting for her, exactly where he had watched her an hour previously take to the skies with Grey Ghost.

Grey wasn't a particularly amenable dragon like Arrax nor was he bloodthirsty and volatile like Caraxes. But he was older and he had a preferred list of people albeit Visenya was the only person allowed close enough to stroke him.

"gevī , Ghost"

She hummed running her hand along the silver and grey scales along his neck. Ghost was still growing, as all dragons did but Visenya liked having a bigger dragon than her brothers. It reminded people that she was just as much a warrior, just as strong, just as Targaryen.

Ghost nudged his head against Visenya's chest as he always did when she dismounted. Like a cat nudging its owner to be petted, he stuck his head out so Visenya could reach under his chin. The noise that rumbled from his throat was more of a purr than a growl and Visenya smiled back.

"You indulge him too much, Princess – the dragon keepers tell that he prefers not to obey commands unless they come from your lips"

Ser Jarrald was correct although Visenya didn't care. Ghost was hers. And she would do what she liked with her dragon.

"You're not spoiled, you're loyal." Visenya heard herself saying, looking into the lilac eye of her dragon that was nearest her. It blinked back at her lazily, content to warm herself in the rare evening sun before it dimmed for night.

Ghost growled softly, as if in agreement.

He didn't like being left again and when Senya stepped back, Ghost left out a noise that could only be described as a whine. Maybe he was a little spoiled.

"lykirī Grey... dohaerās"

She reminded him, calmed him and reminded him to obey and that obedience meant staying in the Godswood and not following her back into Winterfell. Although Visenya would love to see Lord Stark's stupid, bored expression shatter when Ghost landed into the middle of his courtyard, screeching for his rider.

"Princess" Ser Jarrald reminded her, his anxiety to return getting the better of him.

Once Grey had pushed off from his strong back legs and launched himself into the sky with a beat of his wings and a squall in salute to his rider, Visenya was happy to leave.

"Thank you" Visenya sighed to her protector, knowing that he had been worried for her the entire time but grateful he had managed to sneak her out for this.

She had needed it so desperately. To feel like herself again, the dragon she was and not the sheep amongst the wolves.

It was dark by the time they arrived back to Winterfell and they snuck in the way they had snuck out. Visenya looked forward to a hot bath and her bed as Ser Jarrald escorted her through the cloisters back towards her quarters but the great hulking lump of her betrothed intruded upon her happy daydream.

He was flanked as always by Ser Darron and his brother, Edric who looked slightly frightened. Although it was the movement behind Edric that Visenya was distracted by.

A direwolf.

Big and dark, shades of grey and black mottled together in a rippling coat of night and shadows. It had blue eyes that were the only light thing about it apart from its white and sharp teeth that snapped in his jaw as he growled at her.

But Visenya was a dragon rider. She was not scared of a dog. Even if it growled and bared its teeth at her.

"Where have you been?" Lord Stark roared, his voice deep and strong and hearing it for the first time, she was not surprised to find his voice matched his appearance. Like a wolf.

"Good evening my lord" She hissed in response, seeing as though she was the only person who had remembered her manners.

"I am well, thank you! It grieves me too that we haven't had time to speak until now" she sniped, delighting in the irritation that flashed in his eyes at her as he stared down at her, stopping before he collided into her.

"I will not repeat myself." He growled, keeping only a few feet between them, his chest heaving under his layers of fur and cloak.

He looked her up and down, taking in her state of appearance and knowing she had been outside the castle walls. Her dress and cloak were muddy and stained with soot and ash, her face had a streak of black soot down her forehead and cheek and her long, braided hair was unruly and curling around her face and neck.

Not for the first time and she would wager not for the last time, she was caught staring at his eyes, dark and hard but endless. And she had never seen any like them.

"Ser Jarrald escorted me to my dragon, under my orders."

She did not want to get ser Jarrald into trouble because he was hers to command, not his.

"And why is it you think you have the right to disobey orders given by Lord Stark?" Ser Darron questioned, chiming in as if to come to his Lord's defence.

Visenya narrowed her eyes at their lord, not bothering to look at Ser Darron. This was not his fight.

"My men prepare for war, they do not have time to search for little girls who do not know their place."

She seethed. Little girls. Who did he think he was speaking to.

"I have the right to order my men and the right to see my dragon. If there is a misunderstanding, perhaps you should reconsider the conditions of our agreement."

She arched an eyebrow at him, knowing that though she was outsized, outmanned and outweighed she was not outsmarted.

"The conditions of our agreement rely on the fulfillment of a betrothal – all of your conditions may be considered once you are Lady Stark and then the King's law dictates you are mine to command anyway."

He replied, clearly having studied their contract to a fine art.

"I went to see my dragon. I promise you would not like to bear the consequences of keeping us apart."

She warned him as subtly as she could. Threatening Lord of Winterfell in his own home was ill-advised regardless of who her mother was or what size her dragon was.

"You will obey commands or you will be sent back to Dragonstone to fight this war without the North and my bannermen do I make myself clear?"

He hissed, clearly not used to an opponent as small or female as she.

He was leaning forward, as if craning his neck down to her level. A perfect height for her to smack her forehead into his as Ser Harwin had taught her about fighting in close quarters. She wondered how satisfying it might be to break the Lord of Winterfell's nose. To have him bear the injury and have everyone know 'a little girl' had done it.

"Your grace" she bit back, fists clenched at her sides.

His head tilted, eyes lighting with something quite boyish and addictive when he saw her temper. Lord Stark was a man who loved fighting, loved a battle and loved the heat in your blood when someone was pissing you off. She was driving him insane and it was hatefully perfect.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I am Visenya Velaryon of House Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone. When speaking to a princess, daughter of the heir to the throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, you address her as 'your grace'."

She snapped, pushing up on the balls of her feet. He was so close she could smell him, like woodsmoke and fresh air he assaulted and invaded her senses. The worst of it was how warmth radiated off him and if she had not such strong self-control she would have wrapped herself around him to warm herself. The thought jolted her and shocked her. She did not want to be that close to him. Beastly creature.

He was clearly taken aback by her daringness. But he just grinned, that cocky, vicious grin that she hated already. His scar moved with the dimple that formed on his left cheek, two features so contrasting it was hard not to notice.

"You will be Lady Stark before long, and then I will call you whatever I like, princess." he grinned, leaning towards her so that she could feel his warmth pushing towards her.

Princess. The way he said with a grin and a rise of his eyebrow as if he was mocking her, as if it was some pet name or moniker. As if she was no real royal, as if it meant nothing to be Princess of Dragonstone.

She seethed. She hated him. And that was before he sent his killing blow at her.

"The Targaryen princess... So Strong for a Targaryen, isn't she boys?" He laughed, looking back at his men who laughed with him.

It was nothing that hadn't been thrown at her before but it still stung. Rattled against her metpahorical armour and threatened her as it always had. Her dark hair, her father's preference to spend his time with young squires and knights. Ser Harwin's devotion to her mother's protection and her and her brother's lives.

She stepped forward, encroaching into his space and his warmth. Lord Stark did not expect it, his eyes watching her closely for her next move.

"Only Targaryens ride dragons, boy" she hissed, pushing forward until he stepped back to stop her from colliding with him "Call me Strong, call me a bastard, call me a Southerner. I come from fire and blood. I ride a dragon and that is something only a Targaryen can do."

Cregan Stark seemed almost excited by her anger, pleased with such fierceness. He grinned, wicked and vicious but beautiful in its danger not that Visenya would admit it. She was a Targaryen, she was born to acknowledge beauty in danger.

Cregan Stark was a wolf as much as she was a dragon. But they were in his world now, his woods. They were not in the skies or the dragon pit, and she was a dragon without fire, without a family or anyone who would fight with her should she decide to burn their stupid fort of a home to the ground.

"Take her to her rooms" he dismissed her, leaning forward, in close to her and breathing her in deeply.

His nose wrinkled with displeasure, eyes casting down on her dress and cloak stained in mud and soot from Grey Ghost.

"And be sure she has a bath before dinner"

Chapter 4: IV

Days passed and Visenya waited. She waited for ravens, for good news of the Blacks and of her mother giving birth but nothing came. She went for walks with Lord Stark's mother, a kind and strong woman who was a daughter of Lord Manderley. She married her children's father when she was sixteen and although she didn't explicitly say it, it was clear that their marriage had been a marriage of duty and companionship rather than love and passion. Visenya accepted Arrina's invitations to do needlework together in the afternoons and practice with a bow with Harrin in the evenings.

But Lord Stark kept his distance, shaking his head sullenly at her when she laughed at something Edric said at dinner or let Arrina hold her hand as they walked from the hall. He did not speak with her but he didn't ignore her anymore, he watched her and Visenya knew she couldn't afford to put a foot wrong or he would enjoy it immensely.

She wondered if he ever did anything alone, constantly shadowed by Edric or Ser Darron, Maester Fagan or any number of his men. Even his direwolf seemed to shadow him. Perhaps never finding a moment alone with each other was just what their lives would consist of.

She was wondering about how long she could prolong their engagement when a voice yelling pulled her from her thoughts.

"Your Grace!"

Someone yelled out. Ser Jarrald turned first, hand at the ready by his sword. Although it was clearly unwarranted. It was one of the stable boys, dressed in Winter clothes and clearly panting from his exertions. In his hand, he bore a scroll.

"A raven just arrived!" he panted, looking his Princess in the eye for the first time and becoming nervous "It comes from King's Landing, Your Grace."

Visenya grabbed the message from his hand, noticing the sigil stamp and freezing.

Sea green mixed with red. A sea horse.

"But there are no Velaryons in King's Landing?" she whispered to herself, not sure who could be writing to her.

Her father, Ser Laenor was dead. Her grandsire, Corlys was away fighting in the Stepstones. Her cousins Baela and Rhaena were on Dragonstone with her mother and brothers.

It could only be one.

Visenya ripped the sigil apart, and flattened the short message in her hands.

"Visenya, A new dragon has been hatched – gold.Dragons and Wolves are to be friends from this day forward. Arrangements should swiftly be made."

She could hear Ser Jarrald dismiss the Squire and ask her something. She did not respond.

Rhaenys was in King's Landing and had likely risked her life to send this raven before she hopefully fled.

She crumpled the note in her hand. She did not need to read it again nor try to decipher the message Rhaenys had clearly tried to keep private should it fall into the wrong hands.

All Visenya was sure of was that her prayers would not be answered. War was coming and she would marry Cregan Stark. Gods have mercy.

*

Visenya had been in only a handful of her grandsire's small council meetings however she had been in several of her mother's meetings on Dragonstone. Daemon would stand over her mother's shoulder, Jace and Luke would be her cupbearer and her shadow. And Visenya would watch and listen. She was not particularly noticed, nor asked opinions of but she listened and she learned much. And she told herself that one day she would be at the table and they would listen.

But she had never expected to find herself at the long table in the small chamber of Winterfell.

"Princess!" Maester Fagan almost gasped, bordering on shock to see her present so prompt and so sudden.

She had forced the doors open quite abruptly, having come with haste after receiving the raven. She hadn't knocked but princesses didn't knock and Targaryens certainly didn't.

"Your grace, we were not expecting you this morning"

Ser Darron voiced from his side of the table. She heard it for what he really wanted to say 'we were not expecting you because we did not invite nor want you here."

It was a long, wooden table that had high-backed chairs placed around it much like that of the meetings in King's Landing. However, the faces were more strangers.

Ser Darron, Master of Arms and Maester Fagan were recognisable immediately. Young Edric Stark stood a few steps behind the table as his brother's cupbearer. The other man, strong and tall was undoubtedly a Stark although Visenya could not remember his name.

Lord Stark sat at the head of the table, his furs and cloak making him look even bigger and more frightening. He did not stand as the other men did when she arrrived, he did however look at her.

And Visenya felt his stare, hot on her face.

"I apologise for my abrupt arrival, my Lords but a raven has arrived from King's Landing. My grandsire's cousin, the Princess Rhaenys sent word..."

She explained, realising for the first time what she was about to say.

"The King is dead." she dropped the message onto the table, where Maester Fagan took it up into his hands and pressed it out flat for them to read.

Lord Stark craned his neck to read it, his eyes narrowing.

It wasn't just her king, it was her grandsire. Her grandsire was dead. Viserys who had always been kind and gentle, who had been delighted at her arrival as his first granddaughter. He had never paid any notice to the rumours of how different she looked to Ser Laenor nor the hisses before her mother had Luke and Joff, that one son and one daughter were not enough to secure a line.

"A real Targaryen" He had called her every time he looked into her violet eyes, holding her head in his hands before he would press a kiss to her forehead.

She remembered how he had said it to her on her worst days and how he had beamed when she arrived into the throne room, bruised and covered in black soot and ash on her fourteenth name day grinning.

"He's mine, your Grace Grey Ghost is mine." She had exclaimed, her teeth white against her sooty face. The smell of burnt clothes and flesh wafted off her but she didn't flinch. She batted away her mother's frantic hands that tried to inspect her injuries.

He had made a sound she could only describe as a whoop in glee, clenching his fist in victory and pushing the Maesters tending him aside to heartily congratulate her in her triumph. 'A real Targaryen' rides Grey Ghost.

And he was dead.

"What does any of this have to do with the King?"

Ser Darron questioned, pushing the paper aside in confusion. Gods he was thick.

"My Lords, my grandmother the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen took great risk in getting this raven to me, I would ask that her risk not be treated with the flippancy it is currently being shown."

Visenya sniped, trying her best to stop herself from snapping but her temper could only be quelled not ever quenched.

Their bored expressions when she had entered and their faces, as though she had interrupted them just as she had done with her arrival the day before.

"Your Grace, we do not mean any disrespect." Maester Fagan leaned forward as he spoke, his hand resting on the broken seal to see for himself the red and blue wax.

Velaryons and Targaryens.

"The King is dead."

She said it aloud, feeling cold all over. And for the first time since arriving in Winterfell she was glad for the numbness.

All eyes were on hers. Although one pair burned that bit stronger.

Lord Stark looked across the table at her where she stood at the opposite head of the table.

"My mother's throne has been usurped, the Greens have made their move."

She provided although it seemed to provide little clarity. Ser Darron and Maester Fagan stared back at her, Edric looked around as if to gather enough expressions to realise what one to paint on his own face. Only one person knew what the note meant, the person who it would effect just as much as it would her.

"Another dragon has hatched – gold"

She repeated.

"They have crowned Aegon king, Aegon a dragon, gold a crown" She stated, as if it was obvious because to her it very clearly was.

"The wolf and the dragon..."

She trailed off, not sure she could say the words out loud, especially to a man who stared at her as intensely as Lord Stark did.

She watched him back. His tongue poked between his teeth for a second before pushing against the inside of his cheek. His jaw tensed, looking sharp enough to cut her fingers if she ever got close enough. His wicked smile that seemed so forced and frightening, like an animal before its prey.

War was ahead. Greens versus Blacks, Hightowers versus Targaryens. Dragons would fight dragons, cousins against cousins, old friends against each other.

And he looked like a child told that he would get a white pony for his name day.

And he looked at her, catching her lilac eyes with his, and what he did next did not frighten her nor ease her.

He winked. Before his wicked smile faded and he addressed the room again with a voice she had been wondering about since he first spoke to her.

It was deep and strong, accented heavily by his Northern upbringing but smoother than others.

"The Dragon Princess and I will be wed before the changing of the moon."

He stood, staying at his end of the table while Visenya stayed at her end. Face to face, head to head.

"And we will go to war. And we will fight for the dragon queen."

*

A raven came that evening, presenting itself to Maester Fagan around dinnertime. Visenya was sat beside Arrina, listening to her retelling of the conquering and providing comments of 'how interesting' and 'how clever' when it was required of her. Although her attentions were divided. Torra watched her like a hawk although her mother distracted her with topics of polite conversation but Visenya did not need to ask around to know that Torra did not approve of the match. However it wasn't just Torra who watched her, Corrina did too. She sat beside Torra, smiling and looking up at her Lord but she watched Visenya when she thought the velaryon wasn't looking. And there was something more than just disapproval in her eyes.

"Aegon married both of his own sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys because the Targaryens wanted to keep their bloodlines pure"

Arrina rattled on until Harrin took his eyes off his potatoes to jab his sister with his fork

"Shut up Rina, do you think she wants to listen to you tell her about her own family?" he said with a jerk of his head in Visenya's direction. Although he was quieter than his younger sister, he was starting to warm to Visenya who promised to bring him to see Ghost as soon as she was allowed.

"It's alright, Harrin I like to hear of it." She reassured Arrina with a placating smile.

In truth Visenya had heard the stories of her namesake more times than she could possibly count but the way Arrina rambled and distracted her did her good. It felt like she was sitting on the roof of the dragonpit with Joff, listening to his longwinded and tiresome stories.

"Your Grace, pardon me for interrupting – it came from Dragonstone"

The voice of Maester Fagan interrupted Arrina just as she got to the War in the Riverlands with a gentle touch to her shoulder and a message passed into her hand. She felt eyes on her from the other table, knowing that Torra watched her every move but the more intense and darker stare came from Lord Stark himself.

It was sealed, with a Velaryon seal in both red and blue wax. It came from home, with more news. She hoped for better news.

Ripping it open, she recognised Jace's handwriting immediately and her eyes panicked to read the words.

"Dearest sister,

Word should have reached you of our grandsire, we are all in mourning and now we continue it for our sister, Alysanne. Mother was brave but there was nothing that could be done.
Winter is coming, Luke and I do our part as we wish you could have done with us. You must stay where you are and do what you must to be safe.

Gods be good we will see each other before too long.

Jace "

Visenya would not cry, she was sure of it until she saw the added message at the end in Luke's distinctive scrawl

"Mother says not to worry, Arrax is ready and I will be too I am sure. I hope its not too cold. L"

And tears welled in her eyes. Refusing to be seen crying, she stood.

"I'm afraid I have a terrible headache, will you excuse me" She spoke quickly, moving away from the table and sure that Ser Jarrald was right behind her, she left the hall. She waited until she was out in the courtyard, somewhere free of staring and watchful glares when the first tear dropped.

Ser Jarrald walked behind her, knowing his place to stay quiet until they reached her quarter's door.

"Princess." He nodded, once he had checked the room for intruders and she had waited by the doorway for him.

Desperate for comfort, she considered asking him to sit with her for a while or even just to reach out and take his arm. But she would not do it to a man who was sworn to protect her, not to comfort her. She was the blood of the dragon and they burned everything they touched that was not a dragon too. She would ruin everything like she always had. He didn't deserve that. Nobody did.

So she burned alone in her icy prison.

*

The next morning, Visenya could not find the energy within herself to rise. And she was glad that neither Corrina nor Ingrid came to help her dress or bathe. She could not bear to have Corrina see her red and puffy eyes or for them to undoubtedly run back to Torra and tell her of her weakness. She grieved for her grandfather, her sister and she ached to see her family.

A knock on the door, Ser Jarrald's knock startled her.

"Princess"

She ignored him.

"Lady Stark, to see you Princess"

Visenya jumped up, hearing the push of the door and scrambling to stand.

"Good morning, your grace"

Lady Stark smiled in her curtesy. Visenya was relieved. Of all the Starks who could be in her chambers, Lady Stark was definitely her preference.

"Good morning, Lady Stark I apologise I'm not feeling very well this morning."

Visenya shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"I assumed so, your grace. I apologise, I've come before Corrina and Ingrid, I asked them to let me come instead... I wanted to come and offer you some tea, or perhaps to suggest a walk?"

Visenya stood up straighter, hoping she didn't look like a complete wreck standing there barefoot, in her nightgown.

"Thank you, Lady Stark but I'm quite alright."

She was apparently not convincing as Lady Stark had what Visenya didn't see as pity but saw as something very similar. Yet not at all condescending.

"Your grace, the last thing I wish to be is impertinent" she spoke, stepping forward and offering Visenya her robe that was lying at the foot of her bed.

Visenya let her place her robe on her shoulders and the touch of Lady Stark's as she pulled her long hair free from under the collar was so soft and mother-like it almost made her want to weep.

Visenya looked over her shoulder and nodded, knowing that Lady Stark wanted to say more.

"I would guess that some news was brought last night by raven... sad news."

Visenya nodded, feeling the sadness in her bones as if she couldn't be rid of it.

"My brother wrote of our grandsire and his passing... but he also told me that our mother had taken to the birthing bed and while she is in good health, the baby, my sister did not survive."

Lady Stark's face fell in sympathy.

"I am very sorry, your grace."

Visenya nodded, there was nothing she could say. She had feared her mother dying on the birthing bed every time she took to it. After Laena died, it seemed that her mother's chances of surviving would decrease over time and after Joffrey, and then Aegon and then Viserys, Visenya prayed that her mother would stop.

And now Visenya was to face the birthing bed herself in the much nearer future than she had ever hoped. To the maritial bed, to the birthing bed and back and forth and back and forth until Lord Stark deemed their heirs plentiful enough and she could retreat to her own quarters every night and leave him to Corrina or Ingrid or whoever he fancied.

Visenya felt the weight of it on her shoulders and took a seat in front of her mirror. She looked as tired as she felt.

"The birthing bed is a frightening position for any woman... I know it well and I have every sympathy for those who suffer on it more than just the pain of the process."

Lady Stark sighed, knowing the position all too well. With six of her own children, she knew the process all too well and if Visenya remembered correctly, her first baby had been before her sixteenth nameday.

"Arrina and Harrin were born during the long summer, Edric just as it began so they have lived all their years with full bellies and blue skies... they were easy"

She smiled quite fondly, coming up behind her and holding her gaze in the mirror.

"May I, your grace?" she gestured towards the hairbrush that sat beside Visenya's hands.

She nodded, not sure why the Lady Stark of Winterfell would volunteer to brush her hair but she let her.

"I used to love brushing my Freeda's hair... She has red hair, long and shining, almost like fire that glowed."

She smiled fondly and her hands were gentle and soft.

Visenya had been told that Freeda was the eldest Stark girl, twin sister to Cregan.

"My eldest girl, Freeda she came so quickly but Torra was dreadful..." she laughed breathily, shaking her head "It began in the morning and went right through until the following evening, hours upon hours of screaming and panting and Gods the pain..."

Visenya listened carefully, her arms folding around herself.

"After marrying the former Lord Stark, we tried for months. I did everything the Maester told me, I drank root teas and burned these gods awful smelling candles in my chambers... And finally, it happened. And it was twins... a blessing"

"Freeda came so quickly and without fuss but Cregan was so quiet when he came, they thought he was dead..."

Visenya could only imagine the terror and quiet, Maesters and midwives silent as the night as they waited for the heir of Winterfell to show signs of life.

"He didn't cry out or make a sound, he just opened his eyes..."

Those dark and intimidating eyes Visenya was becoming more and more familiar with. So dissimilar to the blue eyes that stared back at her in the mirror from his mother.

She was beautiful and yet hard, unyielding like winter's ice. And yet her hands so soft, her ministrations so comforting.

She was there for her, helping and lightening the load without asking. And she didn't burn. Visenya didn't burn her with her fire.

"Cregan is a hard and trying man, but he is not without his redeeming qualities... He has many of them, I promise you."

Her soothing brushing motions stopped and Visenya looked up at her. She seemed less sentimental now, more serious.

"He wanted this match, Princess... perhaps you should remember that it was he who wanted you, not the reverse."

Lady Stark's grip was tight on the brush but gentle on Visenya's hair but the way she stared at her made Visenya realise that perhaps Lord Stark had his own reasons for wanting her, not just honour and oaths. Because from what Visenya had learnt of Lord Stark, there was more than honour to him. Much more, and she wanted to know about it.

*

Lady Stark gave her much to think about however Ser Jarrald waiting outside her door once she had washed and dressed gave her even more to think about.

"Good morning, princess. Lord Stark asked me to give you this message"

He passed her a note, rolled up in a scroll.

She began walking to the courtyard where she usually met with Arrina, Harrin and Maester Fagan.

"How are you finding the North, Ser Jarrald?" she asked as she heard him fall into step beside her as she unfurled the paper.

"Quite well, your grace."

His reply went unheard to the princess who halted and whose hands shook as she read the paper.

"You are not to leave Winterfell until you are given permission, princess. That includes the Godswood and the mountain where you're stowing your she-dragon. Lord Stark"

Her hands shook with fury. His stupid voice practically rang in her ears. Ignorant, stupid boy who she hated. With his stupid smirk and addictive scent, his stupid big head and larger than imaginable hands and shoulders.

"Ser Jarrald" she snapped, turning on her heel and walking furiously back towards her chambers.

"Yes, your grace?"

"I'm changing into my riding leathers. Prepare to leave immediately, I'm going to see my dragon."

She snapped, her voice lethal and crisp as she threw open her bedroom doors.

"Yes, your grace."

He nodded, standing guard at her door again.

Cregan Stark had no authority over her. She was a princess and she was not going to be bossed around by some wildling lord who fancied himself as a king and as her captor. He would never tell her what to do, not in their whole life married ahead of them. She was quite sure of it. And she wanted him to know it too.

Ghost must have sensed her anger and urgency as she pushed far ahead of Ser Jarrald scaling the mountain. Ser Jarrald lagged behind her for what seemed like the first time and she could hear his pants and protests for her to slow down and wait but fury fueled every step. And Daemon had always cursed that the seven kingdoms knew no fury like a Targaryen woman angered.

Ghost found her easily, not even needing to be called although he roared furiously when they took to the skies as if he could burn her fury out for her.

She thought about turning Ghost towards Winterfell and landing him in the middle of the courtyard, inches from Lord Stark and scaring that stupid smirk off his face.

The daydream sustained her on her hike back down the mountain and back to the courtyard with Ser Jarrald and her mood was considerably better as they walked. She was looking forward to a bath and to continue her book when her path was rudely interrupted by her great big hulking lump of a betrothed with a face like thunder.

He was flanked by Ser Darron, Master of Arms as well as squires, both who had the grace and wisdom to avoid her eyes and act as if they were not listening. Although there was something extra about their avoidance of her. They wouldn't even look near her or pretend to be looking in her direction.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, my Lord"

Her politeness did not hide the disdain and sarcasm of her tone and neither went unnoticed by Lord Stark.

His eyes were dark and furious, as they always seemed to be. He poked his cheek with his tongue, rolling and clenching his jaw before speaking. He was furious. And it was exactly how she wanted him.

"My men tell me you continue to disobey me, roaming the Godswood whenever you like and allowing your beast to feed whenever it likes."

Visenya seethed.

"And do your men tell you at what hour I bathe and what ink I write with?" Her temper was one of her admitted faults although she had never seen anyone who looked as angry as Lord Stark did so often.

His breathing was laboured and his tone impatient already. It did not improve with her remark.

"They inform me of your actions, your comings and goings just as I order them to. They are under my orders to do so."

Visenya's eyes narrowed. Orders.

"I don't hesitate to remind you, Lord Stark I am not a prisoner nor am I here to be treated as such."

His eyes burned into hers, black like coal striking against the lilac of her own, a colour he didn't even know existed until he saw it staring back at him.

He hated her. She was quite sure of it as his chest rose and fell in temper. Yet it was the closest she had been to him and she couldn't stop herself from taking him all in. From the dark curls on his head to the vicious scar on his face.

It was white, long healed and had stretched as he grew, almost frightening her to think how young he must have been when he got it, if it looked so healed and old on a twenty-four year old's face.

She made sure to lift her chin, to not waver in the slightest, to be every bit as aloof and cold as Daemon was. But she was beginning to feel like a fraud, like a dragon that had been shrank and chained and shoved North until the cold and the wind chastened her. She would not let him know this.

"You are here to merge our great houses and fortify an alliance that will mean more than any other if there is to be a challenge to Princess Rhaenyra's succession." he hissed, leaning slightly down to her level as if to infuriate her further.

He was almost eye level with her, that cocky smirk showing his wolfish teeth that flashed in a grin at her. Like a wolf baring his teeth to warn you of their sharpness.

"And as Lady Stark you will obey your Lord husband."

But his eyes dropped down, Senya asummed to give her a disdainful look up and down but his gaze stuttered. He lost focus and his eyes dropped down before sliding back up again, his aloof and cold expression gone.

"What in Gods name are you wearing?" he hissed, his eyes flamed and jaw clenched.

Visenya looked down at herself.

"I went for a ride and so I wore riding leathers." she responded in an obvious tone, wondering if the Lord of Winterfell had indeed gone mad.

"You left your chambers wearing this?" He snapped, eyes ablaze.

He couldn't stop staring, darting down her legs and back up, her stomach and chest, and down her arms before snagging again on her chest. His hand raised up as if he was going to reach out and grab her by the elbow but he stopped himself, his fist opening and clenching shut.

She felt her heart pounding a little bit harder and a heat in her chest.

His heavy gaze finally met hers and Visenya didn't recognise whatever was in his eyes.

Not until she looked over his shoulders and saw Ser Darron and his Squire avoiding even looking in her direction with pink spots high on their cheeks.

It was what she was wearing.

The leathers made for her in King's Landing were standard, same as her mothers and Rhaenys' although Visenya had opted for a variation without the overcloak. The leather clung to her body along her arms and legs but around her midsection and behind as well, much more so than anything else she had worn in Winterfell.

Heavy dresses and cloaks had left everything up to the imagination however Lord Stark was now privy to the fact his imagination had not even done justice to what the Princess was hiding beneath her clothes. Solid and strong thighs with shapely legs and he dreaded to think what she looked like from behind in such a fabric. Women who regularly rode horses were a sight to behold from the back but Cregan couldn't bear to think about what the Princess looked like. She spent most her waking hours on dragon back. From the front, her rounded hips and tapered waist gave way to her chest that rose and fell quickly from temper but did nothing to hide the swell of her breasts and did nothing to stop his imagination wondering did the dusting of freckles on the base of her neck extend downwards.

Of course, she ruined his imaginings as she stepped forward, removing the space he had put between them, narrowing her freakish purple eyes at him and hissing

"Lady Stark might obey her Lord husband, but I am still a Princess, I am the Princess and that will always be the order of things."

She liked it, the balance of power's shift. It was the first time she had felt like she had the upper hand with him since she had arrived in his frozen hell of a home. And as she soaked and tried to rouse some warmth into her body in the bath she wondered how far she would go the next time to get that extra step up again.

*

Cregan Stark didn't pray often. His mother promised to pray for him and his sister seemed to spend most of her waking hours praying for long summers and no war that they could all see had already started. But he did hope the Gods would give him the strength to put up with the thorn in his side that would be his lady wife.

She was stubborn and pig-headed. She didn't listen to orders from him or any of his commanders. She did as she liked, trampling on his orders with her pretty little feet and acted as though the only authority she recognised was her own.

From the moment she arrived into Winterfell's halls, Cregan had been surprised. She was smaller than he had pictured, she was louder than he had imagined and to his utter annoyance, she was much prettier.

And she hadn't bowed. Because most of all, she was more stubborn and more hot-headed than he could have ever allowed for.

She hadn't listened to any of their orders. She had befriended his little sister and brother who now talked of nothing but how pretty and kind she was or how strong and fierce she must be to be a dragon rider. She had even won over his mother who scarcely liked anyone but her own children but who now chastised Cregan every time he complained of her insolence and temper.

"Perhaps you could try to spend some time with her, Cregan. The rest of your lives is a long time to be together if you choose to hate her already." She had snapped one night after he complained of her Southern ways and insolence when he had heard she had snuck out again with her guard.

Perhaps there was more to the relationship between her and her guard than he had thought. Perhaps the apple didn't fall far from the tree and just like her mother, Visenya had fallen for the man who swore to protect her. This would not do. And Cregan started to feel his blood boil to imagine his future lady wife bedding her guard before marrying him.

It was unthinkable. Cregan knew that Southerners were not as old-fashioned and traditional as up North but the way she glared at him and something about the sparks that flew every time they spoke, he couldn't bear the thought of her hating someone more than she hated him.

She was like a fever, creeping into his system and haunting him. Alone in his chambers, stripping himself of his furs and sword all he could think of was her fury and her hatred when she looked at him when he told her no or when he tried to give her orders.

But those eyes. A colour he'd never even seen and whatever she covered herself in at night that made her smell like that, it was something Cregan had never smelt before. But it made him lose his mind and think insane thoughts such as wanting to step closer into her space and take a deep breath. It made him think about what it was she lathered her skin in, wonder about what it would feel like to run his hands along that skin and wonder what she looked like when she did it, soft hands rubbing down shapely legs.

For the first time however, thinking about her did not leave him furious. He was thinking about her maddening eyes and that gods be damned outfit she had been wearing when he had stopped her, how tight and supple she had looked beneath leathers that made her one long line of a body. That drew his eyes to her chest, to her small waist and her hips, to her legs. How was he supposed to stay angry about anything when she stood in front of him looking like that?

And he cursed himself. She was beautiful and he was thinking about it, for long enough to make her the last thing he thought about when he went to sleep and not like the other nights when he would lie there in dread of how their maritial bed would be like a bed of duty. No. He thought about sliding those leathers off her and getting her to stop her protests of indignation and start sighing happily instead.

And although the thought would be stupid and enough to make his War Council cry out in outrage should they ever find out, in the quiet of his chambers away from everyone who would chastise him, in his fantasies of the Princess he even bowed, he even went on his knees for her.

Chapter 5: V

Lord Stark might not have officially called them his war council, but Visenya knew enough of life to recognise one. And Lord Stark, with his brother as his second, his uncle, his Master of Arms, his Maester and two of his lead bannermen, this was exactly what she was sitting in on. What she had invited herself to and sat at one end of the table with Ser Jarrald behind her.

"M'lord, if Queen Rhaenyra takes King's Landing then all we must do is hold the North in her name, we are not needed as of yet"

Lord of Barrowton, Dustin spoke sharply, leaning across the table to be sure his liege lord heard him.

They had been arguing over their position for an hour already and Visenya's patience was growing thin. As was Lord Stark's from what she could see.

"They have dragons, they have men, they have most of the South as allies - this is not yet our war my Lord."

Lord Dustin appealed for what he felt was common sense for the sake of his own men. Visenya knew that they didn't want to march South to lose men and numbers for a war that was not yet started. But Visenya knew that should Aegon not bend the knee and end his claims, there would be a war.

Aegon was not a conqueror, he was not fit to rule. And if he had his way, he would drink and whore his way to an early grave on his father's purse. But the people around him, Otto Hightower, Alicent, even Aemond wanted the Iron Throne and their only claim to it was Aegon.

Aegon was weak, he could be talked into anything as Visenya and her brothers had proved time and time again in their pranks. But that made him malleable and dangerous. If Alicent and Otto Hightower put a crown on his head and a sword in his hand, he could be exceptionally dangerous.

The arguments had been going back and forth for over an hour. Visenya was sick of it. She was restless and she wanted to go see her dragon, not sit here and wait for a war to start. If there was war, she would meet it. She would marry Lord Stark and she would do her duty as his lady wife. She would also do her best to go South and fight with her brothers and cousins on dragon back just as she was born to do. But Daemon had always warned her that her impatience and bad temper were not strategic.

And so, like always. She watched, she listened and she learned.

From her seat at the end of the table she felt eyes on her, dark eyes. Looking up she caught his gaze. He had been watching her, watching her reactions but more importantly, watching her watch them.

Lord Dustin was loyal to House Stark but he shared no love for the South, the crown or House Targaryen. Edric was brave and strong for his age, but he lacked leadership and experience as many second sons did. Their uncle, Willum Stark was perhaps the biggest mystery. He had been the main supporter of the match between Visenya and Lord Stark and yet since she had arrived, he had been cold and wary, almost hostile. Always watching her, always waiting for something.

"Aegon has been named King. I don't hesitate to remind you thatwhat the Greens have done is treason my Lord" she reminded Lord Dustin, her tone sharp on the words. Her eyes flashed with the temper Lord Stark was beginning to grow used to.

"Treason, yes. But cause for the North to wade first into war, no." He retorted, sharp and quick as he stood bravely against the Dragon Princess.

"Forgive me, my lord but do you mean to say that Lord Stark's father's and his own oath does not matter?" she questioned, knowing where to hit the Northmen where it hurt "And that you would have your house and your liege lord named as an Oathbreaker?"

The men physically recoiled and she watched as Lord Stark's lips curled into a smug smile.

Visenya hadn't seen this emotion on his face before but he actually seemed impressed, a glint in his eyes.

"Queen Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and it has been usurped. My Lord father swore an oath of fealty to the Queen, as did I."

Lord Stark's voice was sharp and commanding, it did not leave room for misunderstanding.

Maester Fagan leaned forward, clearing his throat and hoping to dismantle some of the tension.

"My lord, your grace" he nodded towards Visenya too "The ceremony is to take place before the next moon change as per Prince Daemon's last raven... is there anything specific you would like prepared?"

Visenya felt her mouth dry up and her hands clench. Her wedding. That ivory dress she had refused to look at in her trunk and the tiara her mother had given her. The whispers of what a beast Lord Stark was with women and whatever awaited her on her wedding night.

She looked up, catching Lord Stark's eye who watched her reaction closely and carefully.

"Keep it very simple. Winter is coming, as is War."

He replied, holding her gaze and nodding slightly. Visenya wanted nothing less than a room full of strangers to witness her become a Stark, become a wolf in name only knowing that her Lord husband did it for honour and for some other reason he cared not share.

Business was concluded. The men began to stand, as did Visenya who was looking forward to peace and quiet in her chambers and writing a letter to Luke and her mother. But Lord Stark's voice interrupted their actions.

"There is one more thing" he tugged his gaze away from her intense eyes and stood, his fists against the table.

"The Princess will leave Winterfell once a day to see her dragon. She will be accompanied by Ser Jarrald or a member of my household. This is with full permission and anyone who has a problem with it, will be brought up the mountain as her dragon's next meal."

He nodded, not taking time for questions or protests, not even giving time for Visenya to be grateful. He left swiftly, leaving her with her realisation that Cregan Stark was not a stupid, warrior brute with no heart or head. He was much more complicated than that especially now that he would sometimes show a side that was not easy to hate.

*

Days went by and Visenya felt like much less of a stranger in Winterfell. People still bowed and stared at times but it was much less of an unnerving occurrence. Lady Stark took the air with her in the morning, talking about Winterfell and its bannermen, its houses and its allies. Arrina sat in the afternoon with her as they did needlework or practiced drawing maps and making hunting traps which Visenya found she was actually quite good at once she got the hang of it. Life in the North was much harder work than anything she had lived in King's Landing or on Dragonstone but she quite liked it.

She liked being busy and going to bed exhausted. It left little time or energy to be lonely.

Lord Stark was busy, always busy with his men, his lords and his wolf who plodded along beside him whenever he was alone. Lord Stark seemed to never be alone and although the idea of a conversation alone with him unnerved her, the thought of marrying him and being forced to bed with him, without so much as a moment alone with him was much worse.

A day with grey skies and rain clouds to the South made Visenya and Ghost's flight shorter than usual. Ghost had adjusted well to the North and although he disliked the cold he had learned to hide amongst the caves and even ventured as far as the Wolfswood where he had landed and met Visenya hours before, saving her tired limbs from the hike.

She should have recognised the man who stood waiting for her where Ser Jarrald had been when she arrived. He would be her husband before long. But it was the direwolf that sat beside him that really caught her eye.

Standing with his posture straight and his stance wide as if expecting a fight, he was strong and sullen. His eyes were dark as he watched her land on dragonback, his brow furrowed.

He was trying to hold back his wonder and what Visenya believed was a slight amount of trepidation at the beast in front of him but Visenya could read it on him.

"Good... Good Ghost" she hummed softly, patting the gap in Ghost's dark grey ridges on his neck as she unhooked her feet from the stirrup-type fittings.

"Princess" Lord Stark nodded as he watched her dismount, trying to pointedly avoid staring at certain body parts in those damn leathers as she slid onto the ground.

"Lord Stark" she greeted, slightly breathless from her ride. Her breathlessness alone was enough to send Lord Stark's mind astray.

"Dog" she nodded, with a sarcastic smile towards his wolf.

Although the wolf seemed less than impressed. He growled at the dragon and then at her, his sharp teeth bared.

Ghost did not take well to the threats by such a small creature. Visenya knew that Ghost could eat the direwolf in one bite but she did not want that for the dog nor for Lord Stark.

"Shhh, Ghost dohaerātās "

She spoke loudly and clearly, knowing that Ghost's growling and huffing had everything to do with the strangers that stood before them. A large and clearly dangerous stranger even if he meant her no harm.

Ghost's lilac eyes blinked quickly, his gaze turning towards her.

"Gevī Ghost... good..." She hummed softly, her hand reaching out and stroking his snout before his patience with the newcomer wore out and he snorted, backing away until he had the space to disappear into the clouds.

Lord Stark's awe was clear. Ghost was spectacular and pretending that the Targaryens were just like everyone else was laughable. Lord Stark had a direwolf but it was nothing compared to what Visenya had in Ghost.

"Winter is no dog, he's a direwolf of the North."

Lord Stark raised a hand in a calming motion to the wolf who stood and snapped its jaws at Visenya.

"Winter?" She questioned, not having known the wolf's name before.

The wolf blinked at her curiously, its head tilted although it still bared its teeth before its master whistled and called her back to him.

"Where is Ser Jarrald?" she asked, not out of suspicion but more curiosity. She knew Lord Stark well enough to know he meant no harm. He had signed a contract and he was smart enough to know that any harm that came to her meant her dragon would burn him alive and her family would fly North and burn his castle to ash.

Lord Stark cocked his head towards the castle

"A raven came for him... I was in the Wolfswood too and volunteered to stay with you on the return to the castle."

Visenya hummed thoughtfully, removing her gloves and throwing them aside as she stooped down and dipped her fingers into the clear, cool pond that was beside them. It was more of a rockpool than anything but Visenya had wondered if it was deep enough for swimming.

"Do you mind if I sit for a moment?" she asked but did not wait for a response and she took a seat on one of the high rocks around the pool. She wasn't sure why she had asked, she would have sat either way.

"Your dragon... she's magnificent" He admitted, slightly sheepish in his compliment.

Visenya smiled, a real smile that he hadn't seen much of before but that did something strange to him. It made him wonder what a real and full smile looked like on her face.

"Ghost is magnificent... I am very fortunate..." she admitted, more openly than even she had expected but the fresh air and flight had done her good and she was in good spirits.

"You had another dragon, didn't you?"

Visenya froze, her fingers running across the surface of the water. She hadn't expected him to ask about that time, nobody did. It was bad manners. But Cregan Stark had left his manners at the gates of Winterfell although he usually did exist without.

"Yes."

She nodded, avoiding his eyes.

"What happened?"

It was just a question. Something quite simple, something a man could and should do with the woman who would be his lady-wife. But it was the first time Lord Stark had asked her something out of curiosity and interest, instead of disgust or to poke fun at her.

She looked over her shoulder.

He stood behind her at the opposite edge of the water, facing her. As she watched he came closer and around the creek's edge, taking a seat on a similar rock. He leaned back, his back resting against a tall and strong tree behind him. He laid his sword across his lap in its sheath and regarded her so openly she wanted to tell him. She wanted to answer his question because he wanted an answer.

"You've probably heard the rumours about me..."

She paused, his eyes burning her gaze because she knew what rumours he was thinking, about her father. The ones that he had flung at her himself to try and hit her where it would hurt.

"Not those ones" she shook her head, resuming her soothing back and forth motions rippling the water. "My mother and father chose an egg for my cradle... an egg from Syrax's clutch. My father, Laenor found it and laid it in my cradle with me, day and night. It was perfect... and it hatched mere days after I was born."

Lord Stark must have been familiar with the Targaryen traditions because he didn't ask any questions. He just listened, intently.

"Lyraxes was beautiful...she was strong and lean, good-tempered and obedient. She was the colour of a crown, golden with scales that shone...She adored me as I adored her."

Visenya smiled at the memory of her beautiful dragon. Lord Stark hadn't seen her smile like that before, like she was at peace and he felt it do something strange to him.

"When dragons are hatched in the cradle, it makes a sort of bond with the dragon... as though we are two parts of the same heart, two parts meant to be together..."

Lord Stark listened, his head tilted slightly as he watched her delicate but strong hands do such gentle ministrations. He followed her movements carefully, realising that for someone who had not been formally battle trained like he had, she had remarkable control over every muscle and every element of herself. She moved with purpose, with full control. Like a warrior.

"I trained Lyraxes as I grew, we trained together and when I was twelve, she was big enough to ride. It was like having an extension to my own body, as though her wings were my own, her fire was my own..."

Visenya felt the emotion in her throat. She didn't like talking about Lyraxes, but Lord Stark had asked and some part of her wanted to tell him. She wanted him to understand this.

"She would never have been a war dragon... she was not disciplined enough or strong enough, she had no appetite for violence but she was beautiful and she was mine..."

Nobody liked to tell the sad part to any story but it was what he had asked for. It was nobody else had been brave enough to ask for.

But Lord Stark watched her so intently, so interested and invested she took a breath and continued.

"The rumours I was referring to, about me being ill when I was a child... they were true. I was struck by a fever following my sixth name day and it lasted weeks... I became frighteningly thin and weak... I could not even move from my chambers. I recovered but never fully, it kept returning every time the cold set in each year. One Winter the Maesters gave me Milk of the Poppy and my family were left with me to say their goodbyes."

Visenya remembered Ser Laenor's apologies to her on her deathbed, his promises that he would do better. Her mother's prayers and anguish and her brother's tears and confusion.

She only remembered feeling as though she were washed in ice every few moments. She was wet all over, sweat soaked through and yet she was so cold her teeth would not stop shaking and chattering. Her eyes felt so delicate, like her lids were made of paper and she couldn't seem to squeeze them shut enough to stop the light from hurting. She remembered how cold she had felt, like the fire inside her had been quenched and she was being frozen from the inside out. A fate worse than being burnt, being hanged, being beheaded. A dragon chained, flightless with its flame quenched.

"The fever, not long after my twelfth name day lasted weeks... and I could feel her growing weaker... My brothers had told me that Lyraxes was not eating, she would not fly or even leave the dragonpit anymore. She just lay there all day, wasting away, growing weak and cold as I did... until she went cold and she died...And I did not."

Lord Stark's lips dropped open ever so slightly. He had never heard what happened to the Princess' dragon although everybody knew the story of her claiming the wild dragon, Grey Ghost.

"That must have been very painful, princess"

It was a simple and innocuous statement but it touched her. It was the softest she had ever heard him.

"It was." Her admittance was not a surprise but the way he regarded her so softly was "I mourned her like I would mourn a sibling...a child even..."

In truth, the year following Lyraxes' death was painful and lonely, feeling completely lost in her role.

"Whose idea was it to try to claim a wild dragon?" He asked, curiosity winning out.

He really did want to know but also it was the first conversation they had had that was not laced with sarcasm or bitterness, where one tried to outsmart or outwit the other. He didn't want to push her too far but the Princess had been generous with her time so far, he wanted to push his luck as he always did.

"It was not my idea... not really" she almost even laughed, a breathy sound that escaped her lips before she had realised.

Again, a sound that could become an addiction for Lord Stark whose eyes widened slightly at the sight of her smiling.

"Daemon's..." she supplied, not wanting to look at how he regarded her after almost laughing with him for fear she would like it too much.

"My mother forbade it... the wild dragons on Dragonstone are just that - wild. Cannibal is vicious and would eat even Caraxes if he had the chance. Sheepstealer is unintelligent and slow... I was always drawn to Grey Ghost... Ghost was stronger, faster, and more intelligent than the other wild dragons."

She looked at where he had flown from moments before but of course, he was gone, vanished into the clouds. When she looked back towards Lord Stark, he was staring. Eyes dark and focused entirely on her, something slightly addictive in the way he regarded her. He found her interesting, fascinating even and it sparked a sort of excitement in her. After years of being not even the second son but the daughter to the heir to the throne, having someone fascinated by her was refreshing and dare she admit, addictive.

"On my fourteenth name day, Daemon woke me in the dead of night with a hand over my mouth. He made me follow him in silence, going alone to the Dragonmount until it was too late to turn back."

Lord Stark's eyes lit the way they did when the story was about to get violent or bloody.

"He almost ate me... twice. He burned most of my back and my shoulder to try and keep me away but Daemon stayed back, let me handle it... and he relented."

The smile on her face, it was fond but had the edge of something won that was not a guarentee. Cregan knew that feeling, winning a fight he had no chance of winning.

He paused, something had struck him as she spoke.

"Grey Ghost is a he?" He wondered aloud, his surprise evident.

"Yes" she nodded, amused "I suppose you are wondering, what kind of male would ever take commands from a female like me?"

She was only poking fun but the serious way he looked at her, his eyes dark and gaze intense when he looked at her was not funny. The surprise on his face when he realised what he had said was almost endearing.

"Any man who knew you."

It wasn't funny at all. And it wasn't mocking or vicious or underhanded or any of the other things she had learned to associate with Cregan Stark and his words. It was genuinely kind and came from a place of understanding her that she had not realised they were close to.

*

The sun was lowering itself in the sky when Visenya and Lord Stark resigned to returning to Winterfell. He led them a different path than Ser Jarrald and she normally took but then again, this time they were not trying to sneak back into the castle.

"The best view of Winterfell is from right here"

He remarked when he noticed how Visenya had halted and stared at the castle walls. She was no stranger to castles and pretty views but there was something different about Winterfell. It didn't have the ornate structures of Casterly Rock or the high towers of Harenhall. But it looked as though it had been there for thousands of years and it would be there long after any of those who lived there had died. It looked impregnable, immovable and utterly permenant.

"People talk of the beauty of the Isles of Tarth, of the cliffs in Dragonstone and the vastness of Dorne... they don't talk of the North and remark on its beauty..."

She replied, knowing he watched her.

Her words were harsh but she didn't want them to bear any insult. They were true. People talked of the Starks and of the North with words like - strong, loyal, enduring, tenacious and the most persevering of all. They didn't talk about beauty or vanity when speaking of Lord Stark and all he lorded over. Even if Visenya could see a type of beauty in it.

Targaryens were fire and blood, they rode dragons and dealt with traitors with dragonfire. They cut out the tongues of insulters and cut off the hands of those who raised hands against them. Visenya was raised to see beauty in danger. And she saw it in Winterfell. And its Lord. No matter how little she wanted to.

"Nobody talks about the Targaryens and talks of their beauty neither, princess." He sniped, that cocky grin pulling at his lips when he stepped past her and continued towards the gates.

She resisted the urge to pull off her shoe and throw it at him. Seething, she knew that moment of common ground in the Wolfswood was a passing phase as she rolled her eyes and continued after him.

His legs were longer and his stride wider so she had to force herself to push forward to keep up with him. He didn't wait for her and kept himself at least three paces in front of her, putting distance between them as best he could.

"How did you get your scar?" She asked, her curiosity winning over her stubbornness as they walked and approached the gates.

"By asking stupid questions" he huffed, glancing over his shoulder at her and being sure she was keeping up.

Her eyes rolled almost by second nature. He was maddening.

"My Lord, your grace" The men at the gates bowed in both their directions as they were let into the courtyard of Winterfell.

People bustled past, being busy with their daily work and Lord Stark strode away from her, intending to leave her go about whatever it was she did that kept her away from him during the day.

"Senya!" A gleeful shout turned Visenya's attention, a smile pulling at her lips when she saw Arrina running towards her.

"Rina, slow down" Lord Stark put his hand out as if he could stop her and slow her in her tracks but Arrina ducked beneath his hand and ran straight to Visenya's side.

Visenya felt a smugness at the little girl's favour towards her and not her brother. She almost felt like sticking her tongue out at him.

"Come quickly, supper is on the table and I have to tell you what happened after Aegon invaded the Iron Islands!"

Arrina reached up and grabbed Visenya's hand in hers and began to tug her towards the hall where supper was waiting. She was surprisingly strong although Visenya didn't resist.

"Arrina, the Princess is not here for you to educate although I'm sure you tell it well" Lord Stark chastised her but Visenya saw the lack of fear in Arrina. Lord Stark was strict but he rarely could be with his favourite and most endearing sibling.

"House Plumm"

He questioned her as Arrina let go of Visenya to run at her brother and grab onto his upper arm that he lifted so she swung from it like a climbing bar.

Visenya had seen him test her before, always hoping to catch her without an answer but Arrina was sharp.

"House Plumm of the Westerlands... Three purple circles on gold"

She replied with ease, grinning as her feet swung off the ground and her brother lifted her higher.

"Words?"

Arrina's grin faltered slightly. Her brow furrowed as her brother swung her forward and back but she huffed.

"House Plumm of the Westerlands..."

She repeated, hoping the words would come to her. But they didn't and she sighed crossly.

"If you spent less time burning the ears off the Princess and more time studying, you'd know!"

He scolded her lightly, his smile for her genuine.

Arrina swung off his arm, landing on her feet.

"Off with you"

He told her, pushing her gently in the direction of supper.

"And she is still a princess, she is 'your grace'!" He called after her, sighing exasperatedly knowing that now there was a sense of familiarity between the princess and his sister, she wouldn't be called 'your grace' for much longer.

"I am still a princess?... I will always be a princess" she reminded him as his sister disappeared and they were left standing almost alone in the emptying courtyard.

"Yes I suppose so... but here you'll be Lady of Winterfell, a much more important title."

He didn't look at her really, but watched the men who moved around them and the banners that blew with the cold winds.

"More important than being a Princess?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Even the children who lived on the farms outside of Winterfell knew that a princess was higher up than a Lady on the social ladder of Westeros.

"Yes" He looked down at her, catching her eyes and trying not to think about how the lilac of her eyes was a new colour in his life and was beginning to haunt him as his favourite.

"How can that be, my Lord? Do explain it to me" she asked sarcastically, beginning to walk towards her chambers where she would bathe and change for supper.

He walked beside her, not behind her or ahead of her but right beside her. She was surprised to find she quite liked it.

"You are Princess of Dragonstone, you are a Princess of the realm, everybody bows and curtsies-"

"Not everyone" she interrupted with a click of her tongue and a knowing glance.

Lord Stark exhaled a laugh, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek and looking down at her.

"Not everyone, princess" he conceded.

"You have been a Princess for your whole life but what have you been allowed to do? What power have you exercised?"

He continued carefully, his steps in time with her.

She felt flames of temper inside her, skidding to a halt beside him.

"How dare you? I am a dragonrider, I am the blood of old Valyria I am-"

"You don't have to convince me you're formidable, princess I know this" He stopped her, raising a hand to pause her as if in surrender.

She stopped and listened perhaps for the first time in her life.

"You are powerful, princess. You are fire and blood, you ride one of the largest dragons in the world, you are a warrior."

If Visenya didn't know any better she would say that what was in his eyes was wonder.

"But you are only a princess and as princess you have not been allowed to use even a fraction of that fire inside you."

Lord Stark looked her up and down, in a way that made her feel almost naked. Like he was looking for that fire inside of her and wondering how hot it burned, wondering if he would burn when he touched her.

He didn't look at her like she was sent for his amusement or for him to flaunt as his own personal princess. He looked at her like he knew she could be the ruin of so many, could destroy and lay waste to a castle or an army if she chose. He looked at her like she was something dangerous and it was intoxicating.

"You don't know what you're starting, Lord Stark" she warned him, not sure he had ever contemplated what a real dragon's wrath looked like. And Visenya was not sure she had it in her.

She was no Maegor or Daemon, she wasn't a King like Jace or a real Queen like her mother. She was Princess of Dragonstone because her mother refused to leave her without a title just because Jace was born four minutes previous. They came into this world together, into existence together. Jace would be heir to the throne because he came first. And Visenya would be Princess until she inherited another title. That was their order of things.

"I think I'd like to see" he turned to face her, although she backed away from him. Her back hit the cold stone wall.

Everything in his Godsforsaken castle was so cold. Except him. And as he stepped in towards her, she felt it. The heat and warmth radiating off his chest, off his body that towered over her but did not frighten her. She loved fire.

"Princess of Dragonstone was not allowed to choose her Lord husband, to choose where she reigned over, to choose what titles her children would inherit."

His hands landed on the stone either side of her head, his face dropping to her level so she could see the blackness of his eyes and wonder if that was what the long night looked like. His scent, of nature and woodsmoke, like fresh air invaded her senses as did his warmth that made him seem so inviting if her brain didn't tell her that Lord Stark was more dangerous than any man she'd met. The wolf of the North.

"Princess of Dragonstone didn't have a choice. Lady Stark always has a choice."

His voice was low and he was all she saw, all she heard apart from her breath that caught in her throat.

She found her chest refusing to take in a breath as he watched her brow unfurrow and her gaze drop from his eyes, along his scar to the pin on his chest, the wolfs head pin that she wished was pushing an imprint into her own chest as he pressed against her. The thought horrified her as she caught up with her mind and she was quite sure he could see the heat in her cheeks, the blush on her neck and ears.

"My Ladywife will command her own men from dragonback, she will be with me on the battlefield, she will paint the South with dead Greenmen and she will help her mother and brothers take back the Iron Throne. She will be Warden of the North where the wolves and dragons will keep peace and survive as many Winters as the Gods see fit to throw at us."

The mention of dead Greens and painting the South red with the blood of those who would raise arms against them flashed in Lord Stark's eyes, his excitement palpable at the thought of such bloodshed. His chest rose and fell in excitement, his grin was vicious and although any sane woman would have been terrified, Visenya felt utterly intoxicated.

She wouldn't be a broodmare or a ladywife sitting sewing while men went off to fight. She would be a warrior just like her namesake, she would be just as much a Queen as the first Visenya had been with Vhagar. She would be just as her brother was for her mother. She would not be any different, she was a woman and that was not a shortcoming this time.

Visenya knew her breaths were coming short and shallow in shock, her whole body pressed back against the wall to keep a shred of decency in the distance between her and her betrothed but if anyone turned the corner of the corridor to see them like this, there would be no decency in the rumours.

But it was of no consequence. She wasn't in King's Landing anymore where Queen Alicent would relish in the news that the Princess was no longer virtuous or where rumours of her sullying herself in corridors would be of great scandal.

She was in the North. With Winter wolves and freezing mountains, with no handmaidens of the Queen to spy on her nor members of the Kings guard to remark on how improper it was of her to spend so much time in the dragon pit or with her brothers in the practice courtyard. She would be Lady of Winterfell. And although being a Targaryen Princess had been fitting, what Cregan Stark was offering her made the flame inside her burn that bit brighter.

"And if Lady Stark unleashes her fire?"

She wondered aloud, not sure Lord Stark knew what he was asking for. If he realised that once the Targaryens had unleashed that side of themselves, it could not be put back. Daemon, Maegor, the first Visenya, Aegon and Rhaenys. They were not measured. Fire was all they knew.

"Winterfell is carved from the coldest ice of the coldest Winters, princess, as too is its Lord. Ice and fire could be perhaps the most fitting match of all."

It was the most animated Visenya had ever seen him. He was alive with it, the thought of them burning together through ice and fire. Wolves and dragons. Anyone sane would have found it frightening but Targaryens had always been half mad anyway and Visenya was quite sure the same could be said for the ruthlessly brave Starks.

"When?" she asked, knowing that he would know what she was asking.

When would she become a Stark. When would they go out to the Wolfswood and say their vows and become husband and wife. When would this dream of his, become a reality. When would she become a Winter wolf and fight for the pack.

"Just a few days." He grinned, the dimple in his cheek catching her eye underneath his vicious scar.

She took one last deep breath of him, relished his warmth for one more minute before pushing forward until she was chest to chest with him and plastered against him for just a moment. Just as his hands moved, she hoped he was moving to grab onto her and not to strangle her but she would never know as she slipped beneath his arm and into the middle of the corridor again.

Lord Stark dipped his head for a moment, slipping forward into the space she left and smacking his fist against the wall for a moment before turning towards her again.

"Until tomorrow I am not Lady Stark...I am still the Princess. And when you're before a princess, you bow" she remarked, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth for a moment as she wasn't sure if she should have tested him anymore.

But Lord Stark watched her, his eyes burning as he looked her up and down, his gaze heavy.

Straightening up to his full height he tilted his chin up at her.

"I don't bow for ladies, little dragon.. If you have me on my knees, it will be for something very different"

Her breath caught in her throat and her mouth was dry. Lord Stark knew what he was doing and when he turned to walk away, he was sure he could hear her ragged breaths a few times before she managed to pull her feet off their frozen place and force herself back to her chambers where her mind raced and her heart didn't stop thumping until she was bathed and dressed. And only then did she realise that for the first time since she had arrived in Winterfell, she hadn't felt the bitterness of the cold, only warmth.

Chapter 6: VI

Visenya woke in a fevered state, a dream about her wedding night had roused her. What had started off heavenly, Lord Stark kissing her neck and pulling her clothes from her until she was trembling with need had become frighteningly horrible. It had been so perfect, so intoxicating. Only for him to transform just as Visenya moved to undress him. He transformed into a direwolf, huge and growling. And he ripped her throat open until she woke, gasping and grasping for her throat expecting to feel her vocal chords in shreds bathed in blood.

Dread and fear were not uncommon to Westerosi brides but Visenya resented fear and she didn’t want it. It was fear of the unknown she told herself. Fear of a life bound to a man she didn’t understand, who she was quite sure didn’t like nor understand her either. Fear of an alliance with the North that would be her responsibility to keep strong for her mother and brother’s sakes. Fear of a wedding night that she had dreaded since she was old enough for her mother to tell her what marital duties consisted of.

The Queen had made a comment about Haelena flowering much sooner than Visenya. The girls knew that being a woman came with the sight of blood and more changes than they could keep up with. But what they hadn’t been aware of was the link with babies.

Visenya’s brothers scoffed with laughter when she had asked at dinner how women became withchild. Her mother had shushed the boys, opting to tell Visenya in private that night.

“It can be a duty, for many women it is nothing but their responsibility to their house. But it can be a pleasure, dearest... that is why they are called pleasure houses.”

Rhaenyra had brushed her hair, braided it for sleep, and waited as the girl processed it.

Her brow furrowed and Rhaenyra knew a question was on the horizon.

“Women can enjoy it too?”

She asked very unsure of herself. The way the Queen had spoken, it had seemed like a dreadful bother that meant closing your eyes and waiting until it was over, a time for counting backward in your head or reciting poems silently to keep your mind occupied.

“Of course they can, they do, just as much as men. Women are the very same with their needs and wants.”

Her mother had told her, being sure that Visenya never felt the same guilt and shame she had in realising she wanted sex just as much as her partners did.

Visenya didn’t distrust her mother but so far her experiences with boys had been lacking, clumsy and dare she say, boring. Boys who were either trembling with the fear of touching a real Targaryen princess or too busy getting their own pleasure that they forgot she was there at all. Boys who had bony fingers and dry lips, who made no noise at all, or who made awfully unappealing noises like whimpers or grunts.

Whatever lay ahead of Visenya on her wedding night, she wasn’t sure it would ever be anything like the stories she’d heard from handmaidens or the female servants who gossipped outside Viseyna’s chambers in Dragonstone.

But if the way Corrina, the pretty handmaiden who seemed frightened of Visenya, was anything to go by, Lord Stark was no stranger to what lay ahead. Visenya didn’t understand the irritation she now felt every time she saw Corrina. Her perfectly pretty face irked her and the soft way she spoke was utterly infuriating. She would smile at Lord Stark in the hallways and curtesy to perfection. And she had by far perfected the way she looked up shyly at him through her eyelashes as she bowed.

She was so perfectly nice as she changed Visenya’s bed linen and fetched water for her bath. She was perfectly nice and yet something inside Visenya made her angry every time she laid eyes on her.

And when Visenya caught her laughing, laying her hand on Lord Stark’s chest and stepping in close to him in the corridor after supper that night, mere hours after he had promised her a life of being equals, after he had talked about bowing, about going to his knees for her. Visenya knew why she didn’t like her. She just didn’t want to admit it.

Lord Stark was stood with his back to Visenya, leaning down against the wall that Corrina was pressed against. He had one hand splayed on the wall behind her, supporting his weight as he leaned down to her level, next to her ear. His other hand gripped Corrina’s waist and Corrina’s hands were reaching up, playing with his hair or gripping his shoulders.

The first time Visenya had seen them, she had stopped in her tracks almost making Ser Jarrald bump into her. She had frozen, feeling that hate and bitterness rise in herself before she turned on her heel and walked as quietly as she could past them and to her chambers. Every evening she tried to avoid that corridor, she asked Ser Jarrald to walk with her another way. She didn’t want to see it.

And every night she lay awake for a while seething, thinking about honour and loyalty, what it meant to have a lord-husband who strayed and whether she should take a lover of her own just to even the score.

And she hated herself for the part of her that had believed him when he had looked at her like she was not just an ally or an arrangement, when he had looked at her like she was perhaps what he had been needing all along.

And yet every morning, Corrina fetched her water and brought her breakfast. She smiled innocently and offered to brush her hair. And most afternoons, Lord Stark brought her to see Ghost.

He would wait in the Wolfswood with Winter and when she returned sometimes they would sit and talk, sometimes he would show her a type of tree or plant that was native to the North. He would show her what poisonous plants looked like and what spots were best for hunting traps. He talked about the North and what it was like in Winter, what the Lords and bannermen were like, what he thought of them and their motives. She listened, interested in learning something she had known nothing about and when he went quiet, she asked him questions. He didn’t often answer but he liked hearing her voice, she knew this well enough from the way he tried to hide his smile when she spoke and how he would look away from her like she was the sun that blinded and harassed him.

Sometimes he would laugh with her or pay her a compliment and she would find herself supporting romantic notions that marriage might not be a set of manacles but something quite different. And then every evening she would see Corrina trying to get his attention, often gaining it even if it was just a sullen stare and she would hate him again. It was a vicious cycle and she was beginning to grow tired of it.

He was waiting for her for the first time in days when she landed on dragonback by the gates of Winterfell. Winter eyed Ghost very carefully but he didn’t growl or snap his teeth anymore.

“He’s learning” she remarked with a nod at the direwolf and a smile knowing that Lord Stark’s eyes were glued to her.

“Just learning to pick its battles, princess” Lord Stark taunted, forcing himself to keep his eyes on her face and no other tempting parts of herself that she showed in those scandalous things she called clothes she’d brought North.

“I wish all wolves learnt where they stood with dragons.”

She bit, her irritation at what she’d seen the night before still running through as she peeled off her gloves and pushed her braid back behind her shoulder.

Lord Stark scoffed, that addictive grin on his face. Making the Lord of Winterfell smile was becoming a dangerously addictive hobby of hers, one she couldn’t seem to stop in its growth.

At some point, their vicious words had become taunts and then teasing and then somehow they walked this strange and delicate line between fighting and something else, something with tensions and stakes just as high.

Visenya watched him, the way he lifted his hand and rested it on his sword out of habit, the way Winter’s blue eyes darted to his master’s movements. Winter was perhaps even more bonded to Lord Stark than Ghost was to her, although she would never admit it.

“Have I done something to displease you, princess?” he asked, his head tilted at her.

Visenya scowled.

“Everything you do displeases me.” she snapped, her patience wearing thin at her glove that wouldn’t come off until she yanked it free and threw it to the mud.

“And what in particular, today?” he asked, watching her bend and snatch her glove off the ground.

When she snapped upright, she would swear she caught him staring at her ass. With a glower, he had the grace to look away and clear his throat.

She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t want to talk to him about it.

Dismissed and happy with the day’s outcome, Ghost dismissed himself to the skies and back towards the mountains.

Lord Stark seemed to be learning. He didn’t press her for an answer but rather changed tact.

“How do dragon riders claim a dragon?”

Lord Stark’s questions were becoming more frequent, he even started conversations now and there was a growing sense of interest in what she had to say.

Visenya began to walk beside him, hoping silently that they wouldn’t walk straight back to the castle. On the days when Lord Stark wasn’t waiting for her or the days when he walked in silence straight back to Winterfell with her, they were her least favourite.

“Being bonded to a dragon when born, hatched from its egg in your cradle is the surest way to claim a dragon.”

Lord Stark walked surefootedly through the woods, knowing each step with certainty while Visenya had to walk more carefully beside him. She was growing fond of having someone walk beside her rather than behind her or in front.

“But you claimed Ghost”

The story of Lyraxes was one he knew already. But the story of how she claimed Grey Ghost was not a fully solved mystery.

“I did...” she tilted her head up to catch the last of the sun’s warmth that fell across her face “Daemon warned me that the wild dragons were vicious, that they would not be easily claimed.”

Lord Stark watched and listened, enthralled with her.

“My uncle Aemond, he claimed Vhagar when we were still children... He was just a boy and he claimed the largest dragon in the world... So why couldn’t I?”

She had always known that as a girl, as a female she was seen as disadvantaged. But it didn’t matter to dragons. She-dragons were every bit as vicious and powerful. Dragonriders were power, were fire and fury. It didn’t matter about being a prince or a princess, a boy or a girl. Thankfully.

“Aemond never told us how he claimed Vhagar, nobody really speaks of how to claim a dragon... for years if you were not born to one, you did not have the right to one. But now many dragons are without riders...”

Lord Stark watched her intently, only looking from her to be sure their surroundings were safe.

“I know you cannot speak for everyone, princess... tell me how you claimed Grey Ghost”

“Ghost was vicious, he gained an advantage on me immediately by seeking higher ground and he burned my back and shoulder quite badly”

She gestured towards the area of skin that was still mottled and scarred despite the Maester’s efforts. She didn’t care. She quite liked it, the feel of it and reminder that she had been burned and did not die. She survived flames and dragonfire. She was no ordinary girl.

Lord Stark’s eyes were alight with interest, he wanted to hear more but the thought of her skin burned and marked couldn’t be erased from his mind. He had pictured her without her leathers more times than he would ever admit but the thought of her harmed made something twist in his chest.

“But I waited him out... until it became dark and he moved towards the caves to sleep. When everything was dark and quiet and Daemon thought me dead, I claimed Grey Ghost, one of the wild dragons of Dragonstone"

"And you became a dragonrider for the second time in fourteen years.” Lord Stark finished for her, unable to hide how impressed he was.

Visenya didn’t look at him when she finished speaking, opting to take in what was quickly becoming her favourite view of Winterfell with interest. But Lord Stark preferred to look at her and admire the sight of his princess admiring what would be their castle.

Visenya Targaryen was stubborn and prideful. She was foreign and strange. She knew little of the North and of life beyond Dragonstone. She was young and inexperienced in every aspect of the word. But she was formidable. Lord Stark needed no convincing that she was strong, she was made of fire and blood and something utterly unbreakable. It was why he had wanted her.

“Dragons don’t like the North, not typically”

His tone was sincere although he looked ahead to the gates and not at her. Although she watched him, couldn’t stop herself these days.

“Yes... well the North isn’t as bad as the Northerners make out” she shrugged, ignoring his outstretched hand to help her over an unruly tree root that was in her path.

“Is that so?”

He smiled, that equally enfuriating and endearing smile. With that even more enfuriating and more endearing dimple.

“I think so, my Lord” she conceded, making eye contact with him and instantly regretting it.

It was her downfall every time.

She had to do something, anything to stop him looking at her like that.

“Where is Winter?” she asked, turning her head. She hadn’t seen the direwolf since they had started walking.

Lord Stark stopped, closed his eyes for a moment and whistled sharply. As if seeing without eyes, he turned over his right shoulder and watched as Winter appeared from beneath the greenery.

The direwolf trotted over to its master’s side and placed its head under Lord Stark’s hand to be petted. His blue eyes watched her carefully but he didn’t growl anymore.

“Does he mind?”

She asked, watching them interact as though they were more comfortable together than they could ever be apart. It reminded her of what having Lyraxes had been like.

“What?”

“Being kept from the wild... not being a wild animal anymore?”

She didn’t mean offence. The Lords of Winterfell were known for their wolves. It was their symbol, as much a part of them as the dragons were a part of the Targaryens.

“Not as much as she minds being called a he”

Lord Stark remarked, pulling something from the game bag he had brought with him and feeding it to the direwolf.

Visenya’s eyes widened.

“Winter is a girl?”

She hadn’t known. Perhaps in the same way Lord Stark had assumed Grey Ghost was a girl.

“Yes. Winter is a she” Lord Stark nodded, whistling lowly and nodding towards Winterfell.

Winter took it as command and bounded ahead of them, not before looking straight at Visenya.

“She is quite beautiful” Visenya admitted, falling into step once again beside him.

Lord Stark didn’t respond. He often didn’t respond to what she had said directly but would say something else. She was beginning to understand him, just as she had hoped. Although the Walls of Winterfell seemed to be where her understanding failed her. The Wolfswood was easy, they could talk and even joke with one another. He would watch her with Ghost and she with him and Winter. It was remarkably easy.

But everything inside the gates of Winterfell was not.

Ser Darron watched her like a hawk. Maester Fagan pressed them for a wedding although he was kind to her. Corrina and Torra stared, watching and waiting for her to do something they could condemn her for.

But the Wolfswood felt like neutral ground for them. It felt all too easy to walk next to him, listen to him talk of the North and ask her questions about her dragon and think that being his lady wife would not be the shackles she had dreaded.

“Careful, princess you sound as though you would trade Ghost in for a direwolf.”

He remarked, his tone light even if his expression was as serious as ever. She had learned not to take notice of his sullen expressions. If she was being particularly honest she had grown to quite like them.

“Don’t be stupid, my Lord” She almost laughed, not even seeing how comfortable she was becoming in the Wolfswood around him “You can’t ride a direwolf”

She hadn’t meant what she said to sound so... so... whatever it was that made Lord Stark’s pupils double in size when he looked at her and his chest freeze mid-breath so his breath caught in his throat.

Whatever shock she had caused in him, he managed to bounce back. A glint in his eye when he leaned in towards her.

“Of course, you can princess. You just have to find one who’ll let you”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her heart hammer in her chest. Her mind flashed with her imagination running wild. She saw herself, sitting astride him with his large hands gripping her hips or reaching up her chest to hold her neck. She had imagined the laborious acts of her marital bed many times but never like this. In every imagining, she hadn’t wanted it. She had been doing her duty so she was on her back with her eyes closed or on her stomach so he couldn’t see her. Never like this. Never being the one who was in control.

She wondered what his face would look like as she learned what he wanted, how warm he would be against her naked skin and what he would feel like. She hadn’t prepared for this. Not in the slightest.

“Come try me” she blurted out, tearing her eyes away from his and doing the first thing she could think of to take the conversation elsewhere, anywhere away from him looking at her like he wanted to get down on the forest floor with her that very minute.

Visenya walked ahead but she was quite sure her eyes were playing tricks on her when she saw Lord Stark falter in his steps and almost stumble at her words.

“I beg your pardon?”

His voice was slightly hoarse.

“House Plumm... their words... Yesterday with Arrina, she couldn’t remember House Plumm’s words... Come try me”

She answered, trying to sound sure of herself. She was quite sure her answer was correct but she wasn’t sure he remembered every conversation they had quite as well as she did.

A vicious cycle. Talking with him, walking with him to see Ghost. He would be generous with his time and knowledge, he would show himself to be courteous and brave even if he was sullen and unwilling to smile too regularly. She would get glimpses of who Cregan Stark was. And then they would return to Winterfell and she would see just how cold and unyielding Lord Stark was.

“Of course” Lord Stark cleared his throat and resumed walking at her side as if nothing had happened. But Visenya saw the pink that bloomed across his cheeks and it made something flutter inside her, something much softer than she ever could have thought she would with the Winter Wolf, Lord Cregan Stark.

*

On their return to the castle, Lord Stark accompanied her as far as her chamber doors. She had asked about the preparation for Winter and he had walked with her as he told her. Once they reached her door, she paused not really wanting to end their conversation when it had been the longest they had spent together without any interference from others.

Usually Edric or Ser Darron descended on them as soon as they returned from the Wolfswood but this time it seemed they were to be left alone.

“I trust your chambers are comfortable?” He nodded towards the closed door, standing in front of her so she was between him and the door.

“Yes, my Lord... very” she nodded, rubbing her arms up and down in an attempt to stay warm.

Their breath gathered like smoke before them, rising up and over them.

“You’ll get used to the cold, princess” he remarked, with a smirk as he watched her constantly moving to try stay warm.

“I will have to, my Lord...” she replied, with a slight raise of her eyebrows and a tone of sarcasm that he was beginning to grow fond of. She was right. She would live the rest of her life in the North, whether that be a long or short life depending on the outcome of the War.

“Yes... I suppose you will”

He looked uncomfortable at the prospect, perhaps for the first time realising that it was not Visenya’s first choice to spend her life in strange lands with strangers for family and a strange people to be Lady of.

“Your brother, Jacaerys. He sent word that they will be messengers for the Queen. They will fly for Storm’s End and the Vale to ensure support...”

What was left unsaid itched at Visenya’s mind.

“And the North...”

She nodded, reaching up and gripping her neck. A nervous tell of hers that her mother had tried to stop her from doing. When feelings of anxiety or nervousness wracked at the princess, she wrapped a hand around her neck, and itched at the base of her neck until it was red and marked as if to ground herself.

Lord Stark was beginning to notice it, notice a lot about her and her behaviours.

“The North is your responsibility.”

His voice, although low and more of a growl than a voice was of comfort to her. Almost as much as his hand that reached up and stilled her nervous ministrations on her neck. A neck that Lord Stark was also beginning to grow fond of. A neck he had wondered about, what it would look like covered in marks of his own making, what it would feel like in his grip, what it would feel like to his lips.

Lord Dustin of Barrowton, Lord Glover and Lord Umber were attending dinner that night. They had come to meet the Princess but more importantly meet their new Lady of Winterfell and to discuss preparations for what could be a Targaryen Civil War.

Visenya knew they would not warm to her. Not because nothing in the North warmed to anything but because she was a foreign princess whose family were going to war and she was Lord Stark’s prize for pledging his people, his armies and his houses to fight.

It was nothing to the men of Hornwood or Deepwood Motte that Cregan Stark had a Targaryen princess warming his bed or bearing his children. Visenya wasn’t stupid enough to think they would be honoured to have a Targaryen as their Lady. The Northerners were loyal and brave but they were Wolves. They protected their own. And if Visenya couldn’t prove to them that she was one of them, she would be left to die alone in the cold if the choice came to choose between her and the Starks.

Lord Stark watched her wrestle with it inside her head, his hand warming hers as he held it longer than necessary. His hand was much bigger than hers and much rougher, the hard skin of his fingertips as well as the scars that littered the back of his hand from rough practicing with swords was a new sensation. And like all of him it was warm. Gods she just wanted to wrap herself around him knowing he could warm her bones but she knew she never would.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Lord Stark smirked for a moment, only for his smile to turn softer. As soft as Lord of Winterfell would ever be.

“Lady Stark of Winterfell... with a dragon” he remarked, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

His lady-wife would be the most formidable Lady the North had ever seen.

“Why?”

The question passed her lips faster than gave her time to wonder if she was bold enough to ask it. But she was Targaryen, a Velaryon, a Strong. She was always bold enough.

“Why what?”

His hand tensed in hers, his eyes narrowing.

“Why did you want me?” she asked, knowing that honour wasn’t all that called Lord Stark to pledge the North.

“You’d have me be called oathbreaker?” He snapped, an easy defense of aggression but Visenya didn’t cower. She’d seen much worse than someone angry. She’d seen people beheaded, she’d had people banished from King’s Landing.

“No” she shook her head, his eyes following hers “but you would have stayed true to my mother’s claim regardless. You asked for me.”

She knew that Lord Stark would have always stayed loyal to her mother’s claim, to Jace. But he had brought her into the bargain. A woman he’d never met. And he made her part of his oath, that she be his.

“Perhaps tales of your beauty had come all the way North” he remarked, smartly. His smirk irked her.

She rolled her eyes.

“There are lots of pretty girls in Winterfell as you are well aware.”

She snapped, her thoughts going to Corrina and dark corridors after supper.

He sensed her irritation, her venom. And he relished it.

“Jealousy becomes you, princess”

His hand tightened around hers.

“I wonder if being eaten alive by Ghost would become you” she snapped, pulling her hand out of his grip.

Lord Stark grinned, his eyes lit with amusement. She didn't even realise how vicious she could be. And he loved seeing the little dragon emerge.

When she'd arrived, she'd been proud and intense. She was a Princess, prettier and more formidable than any other. But it wasn't pretty smiles and soft voices that began to chalenge his opinion of her. It was glimpses of the fire inside, the fire she hadn't been allowed to release in King's Landing or Dragonstone. The fire her family had boasted about since the time of Aegon's conquering and yet they hadn't nurtured it in her. Because she was a woman or because she hadn't known it was there? Lord Stark wasn't sure but he saw it. And he would make sure she did too.

She seethed, pushing herself back against the wall but he stepped in further into her. And he seemed quite content with her anger. He was enjoying it.

“Don’t worry, princess. I will only have eyes for my good and honourable lady-wife" he grinned, his hand reaching out until her chin was held between his thumb and forefinger.

His grin faded and her own temper burned low. Something hung between them. Perhaps being this close was not so easy to maintain with a temper. He was off putting and irritating, domineering and he loved trying to goad her.

But she forgot. And from the way, his pupils dilated and he stared at her like it was his first time, she forgot what had been so irritating about him in the first place.

“You’re not what I thought you would be”

Visenya’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t expect him to say anything, especially not that. And she didn’t know how to react.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

Their faces were close enough now she could feel the words he spoke against her face when he replied, his voice low.

“Good”

And his lips were on hers.

And Cregan Stark doesn’t kiss her like the boys in King’s Landing or the Stormlands or even that trip to the Riverlands did. He kissed her like he had something to prove. His lips took hers immediately, his mouth firm and unyielding against hers. He kissed her like there was no time left and he had to do it before time ran out. His teeth nipped gently at her bottom lip that he immediately captured. His hands wrapped around her waist pulling her up against him, up onto her toes so she could reach his shoulders.

His shoulders were large and hard under her hands and she couldn’t help but grab onto them to steady herself because she was quite sure the world was spinning beneath her feet. Until her back was against the wall behind her and she was biting at his lower lip and the noise he made was like a growl and a purr that made her hands grip onto his shoulders even harder.

She was burning, quite sure she had caught fire and was up in flames. She’d felt like this before, many times. But never when Aemond had tried to kiss her after dinner or when the Tyrell boy had kissed her and promised her a wedding and never when she had found herself alone with a boy who wanted her. She had only felt like this when she rode Ghost.

As his hands roamed around her waist, dipping low on her back and reaching for her ass, his hands ready to take her in two hands the sharp gasp of a woman who was not the woman he was currently pressing up against a door, broke them from their trance.

The soft voice of Corrina behind them was enough to make Visenya stop and take a deep breath. But it was Lord Stark who moved away from her.

“Oh I beg your pardon, m’lord... I was just preparing your bath, your grace”

She was polite and perfectly sweet and yet Visenya hated her. She hated Lord Stark more though, even if she had been entertaining the most ridiculous ideas moments before. Ideas about Lords on their backs and Princesses against walls.

Lord Stark wouldn’t even look at her, his cheeks flushed and his eyes black as night.

“Princess” Lord Stark nodded, dismissing himself with a quick “my lady” to Corrina who almost swooned beside Visenya.

Visenya cursed herself. Stupid girl.

“That will be all, thank you” Visenya dismissed her as soon as she stepped inside her chamber door.

“I can help your grace dress and bathe —”

“No. You may not. Leave me be.” Visenya cut her off, she didn’t want her for help nor for company.

She always made her bath too cold and she was useless at doing her hair so Visenya preferred to get dressed alone. Cold and alone, she realised she best get used to the feelings.

*

Visenya was most displeased at dinner for four reasons. She wasn’t allowed to sit in her usual place with Arrina and Harrin instead forced to sit at Lord Stark’s table with Torra at one side and Ser Darron on the other. They were serving venison, which she despised. The Lords of the North were quite clear on the fact that they did not want her as their Lady. And she had been stupid enough to fall for Lord Stark’s advances and let him kiss her. Worse again, she had responded to it willingly.

However, the Lords of the North were her main concern now. Of course, they would never come right out and say it. They brought well wishes, they bowed and greeted her properly and they even spoke of the oaths their liege-lord had made to her mother that they intended to defend. They were loyal to each other, they were loyal to the crown and to their Lord. But Visenya did not know where she fell in this order of things. Rather low down the list if she was to believe her instincts.

She was not the heir. She was the heir's daughter. She was a girl. She wasn't the heir, she was the spare. And Jace and Baela's children would be plentiful. She was nothing really, not in the real order of things. Not to the Northerners who protected their own. She was the only thing Lord Stark had asked for to plunge his people into war if there was a challenge to Rhaenyra's claim. And fierce as she may be, she found proving her worth to the Northerner's an impossible task.

Torra didn’t speak to her and Ser Darron was more invested in shovelling as much venison and potatoes into his mouth than conversing with the princess beside him. So, Visenya sipped her wine and she watched.

Lord Tallhart and Lord Glover were closer to her late grandsire’s age than hers and although they bowed and spoke politely they were honourable to her because of their oath’s and their lord. Lord Dustin was kind and honoured to meet her, especially knowing the honour she had placed on his house by asking his song, Ser Jarrald to be her personal knight.

Lord Dustin kissed her hand and wished her a long and happy life in the North. Lord Glover looked at her as though he was expecting something better. And Lord Manderley seemed more interested in staring down her dress than responding to her questions about White Harbour's ports.

Lord Umber was less than a decade older than Lord Stark and his wife had come South once, for Princess Rhaenyra’s nameday.

“Lord Umber, it’s a pleasure to see you again”

She spoke, glad to see him approaching as Lord Glover had been asking her if the rumours about her Uncle Aemond's eye were true. Lord Umber approached her table with a bow and a serious face although Visenya was beginning to realise all northerners shared the same serious disposition. His arm was offered for his wife who, despite being clearly pregnant had come with her husband and curtesied remarkably well for a woman in her condition.

“Lady Umber, you look well”

“Thank you, your grace.” she smiled, clearly enamoured with her husband and with the child she had yet to bear.

“Your Grace, we wish you a lifetime of happiness and safety here in the North.”

Lord Umber was kind. Many in the North knew this and as a man who had grown up as the third brother of six boys born to the late Lord and Lady Umber, he had never expected to inherit the title. Visenya was quite sure those who never expected titles often became the best at bearing them and Lord Umber was no exception.

“Thank you, Lord Umber. I mean to serve the North well as Lady of Winterfell.”

Saying the words out loud was not pleasant but Visenya was beginning to grow used to them on her tongue. The image Lord Stark had painted for her was much better than anything she had accepted her life to be on Dragonstone.

If he had meant it.

Since arriving, he hadn't even looked at her. He busied himself with Ser Darron, with Lord Karstark and Manderley.

One pair of eyes did burn on her, Lord Stark's uncle, Willum. Watching her, waiting for her to do something he could whisper back to Lord Stark.

Lord Umber was more of a giant than a man, standing much taller than any other man in the room and towering entirely over his wife. With his long limbs and large head one would think he looked like a man although his face and features were so boyish, Visenya found him looking quite young.

Lord Umber’s name was shouted from the other side of the table where Lord Stark and Edric were surrounded by bannermen and friends. He excused himself from his wife and while Visenya was quite sure Lady Umber would have been happy to return to sit on her own, Visenya was in need of some company.

“Take a seat if you like” Visenya offered, nodding to the seat beside her that Ser Darron had left once he had swallowed most of a deer and what Visenya had counted as eleven potatoes.

Visenya felt relieved when Lady Umber took her up on her offer, although struggling for a moment to sit as her belly became in the way. Visenya stood, offering both hands to help her into the chair which she gladly took.

“Thank you, your grace. This is much more of a nuisance than my mother told me it would be” she smiled, a warm smile that was rather comforting in the cold of the North.

She was young, perhaps only a dozen or so months between Lady Umber and the princess. She had long, red hair that was in a long braid down her back and her eyes were a soft blue, like ice. She was very pretty and although her husband looked more like a giant than a man, she seemed to be remarkably at ease and happy.

“It suits you” Visenya remarked, seeing the glow in her skin and the easy happiness within her.

Visenya had often seen it on her mother when she was pregnant with Joff and then with Aegon and Viserys. But Visenya worried that after the horrors of Alysanne’s birth, would she ever feel the same about it.

“You’re too kind, your grace.” Lady Umber turned her head, looking undoubtedly for her husband “I hope you are settling in well.”

Visenya wasn’t sure ‘settling in’ was the right word for what she was doing but she was making progress.

“The North is beautiful” Visenya replied, politely.

Although Lady Umber was cleverer than to see that as a real answer.

"I know it must seem very strange and foreign."

Visenya wanted to laugh. Everything about the North had been strange at first. The cold, the food, the people, the modesty, everything.

"Yes, although I daresay it is I who seem to be the strange and foreign one here" She acknowledged, having spent more than ten minutes listening to Lord Manderley's statements about how she must favour the Arryn blood within her or how unusual her eyes were.

As far as they were from King's Landing the rumours still circled and hissed.

Bastard

Strong

“May I speak freely, your grace?”

Visenya admired her bravery.

“Of course.”

Lady Umber leaned in towards the princess and spoke softly.

“Northerners are difficult with outsiders your grace... they do not trust easily, not unless trust has been earned. And they can smell falseness, like a hunter can smell its prey.”

Lady Umber was right. And although Visenya had been the one sent North and she was the one who was giving up her life to spend it North, it was she who had to prove herself as loyal and trustworthy to the North.

“I understand, thank you Lady Umber”

Visenya nodded, a genuine appreciation in her tone.

“If it pleases your grace, call me Prue.”

Lady Umber replied, a hand resting on her stomach.

“Prue...” Visenya repeated, an air of uncertainty in her tone. She had never heard the name.

“Yes, short for Prudith.” She sighed, looking across at the princess “A ghastly name I know. I was the fifth daughter of Lord Tully’s niece, I assume they had run out of decent names.”

Visenya laughed, pleasantly surprised to find herself enjoying someone’s company and not despising herself afterward for it as was her usual custom in Winterfell.

“House Tully... Family, Duty, Honour... correct?”

Visenya’s reponse gained her another smile from the lovely lady Umber.

“Yes... although they are the official words of House Tully, I find that House Stark and all the Northern houses follow them too... Always Family, Duty, Honour with Northmen...”

Visenya had never heard about Lady Umber or where she had come from although her accent was not Northern.

“My father was a Northman, fourth son to Lord Flint of Widow’s Watch... but I grew up in Riverrun... I was an unruly child and as way of curtailing my antics, my father betrothed me to one of Lord Umber’s sons...”

Lady Umber smiled, as if it had all worked out exactly as she wanted. And it seemed like it had. Lord Umber was in a conversation with Lord Stark and his fellow bannermen although his eyes dragged back to his Lady-wife continuously, as if to check she was still content and safe.

“They thought marrying me off to some beastly, wild giant of a Northman was punishment...How wrong were they?” Lady Umber laughed, gaining a laugh from Visenya too as she looked at her own betrothed, her own beastly, wild giant of a Northman.

“These are almost all the main houses, correct?” Visenya asked, trusting her new friend as she looked around and made sure she could identify them all correctly.

“Yes, almost, your grace.” Lady Umber replied quietly, looking down at her dress and smoothing it out pointedly.

“Almost?” Visenya questioned, knowing when someone was hiding something.

Lady Umber paused, seemingly unsure. But her battle with herself ended and she looked up at the princess again.

“House Mormont... of Bear Island. They haven’t yet responded to Lord Stark’s ravens of the alliance with your mother, it is unsure where they stand...”

Visenya knew of Bear Island. ‘Here we stand’ were their words. A Northern Island between the North and beyond the wall. Their Lord and Lady were around Visenya’s mothers age and they were mighty warriors. But they were even more stubborn than most Northmen.

“Ah... I see” Visenya nodded, not sure where most of the Northmen stood.

Family. Duty. Honour.

The words ate away at her as she watched them interact. After Lady Umber excused herself for bed, Visenya was quite ready to retire too. Ser Jarrald waited behind her, near the doorway closest to her and when she gave him the nod, he moved into action to walk her to her chambers.

The various Lords and ladies nodded and bowed, with murmurs of “your grace” in passing as she excused herself. But it was Lord Cerwyn's brother, Hedgar who appeared in her path, looking as though he was going to address her.

"Your grace" he grinned, his eyes roaming hugrily over her and Visenya wished she had worn a different dress.

Hedgar was the youngest of the Cerwyns, and unlike his Lord he was foolish, arrogant and certainly believed himself to be much more handsome than he was. Hedgar Cerwyn liked redheads, fast horses and Dornish wine. Visenya didn't like him and she knew for a fact her husband liked him even less.

"You are much more beautiful than Cregan tells us" he remarked, his eyes looking everywhere but her face. If he had, he would have seen how unflattered the princess was.

"If you'll excuse me, my Lord. I'm quite tired" she stepped to the side, feeling Ser Jarrald's reassuring presence behind her. Although this did not deter her admirer.

Hedgar rasied a hand, placing it in front of her so that she almost walked into it. She stopped herself just shy of his hand although one more step and he would be holding her by the waist. He would have his hands on her, something no man in the North would dare to do if they weren't drunk.

"Let me escort you to your chambers" he offered, seeing only a challenge in her cold and frightening lilac eyes.

Visenya knew they were drawing some attention, especially that of Lord Stark who had kept his distance all night but now watched her like a hawk, watched how she would react to another man even if he was his man.

"I am already being escorted, my lord but thank you" she smiled tightly, knowing that it was too early in her life in the North to make enemies of men who just wanted what all men wanted from pretty girls.

She stepped around the man who seemed intent on blocking her path until he heard a 'yes' from her lips and was luckily shadowed by Ser Jarrald who immediately blocked anyone else who saw fit to speak to the princess.

"Another time, your grace" Hedgar's response floated after her, looming slightly in the air as if this was just the first of many rebuttals he would have to hear from her.

Although she put her head down, she should have lifted it. Should have seen her Lord Stark watching her leave because if she had, she would have seen his disappointment at her departure.

Chapter 7: VII

Her gown was beautiful. Her tiara was exquisite and her hair although dark was in perfect Targaryen braids. She looked like a princess. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to smile or to stop her hands from trembling.

'Princesses who don't smile don't get handsome princes'

Queen Alicent had whispered this to Visenya when she was a child countless times. Whispered into her ear before they entered a dining hall or a banquet. Coupled with a pointed stare and a matching one for Helaena.

But Visenya's mother had warned her that smiles were no currency for Targaryens. Tyrell heiresses and Dornish beauties could use their smiles all they liked because that was the currency they were born with. Visenya was born with fire and blood, with a dragon. She didn't need smiles. But she couldn't have smiled for all the money in the Lannister vault then.

She tugged gloves on over them and avoided Corrina and Ingrid’s eyes who watched her as she dressed. Ingrid had brought water for her bath and even added the scents Visenya liked from King’s Landing. Ingrid was most certainly the kinder of the two, to Visenya anyway as she admired Visenya’s dress and helped her with the hundreds of buttons that ran down her spine.

“It’s beautiful, your grace.” Ingrid had smiled, her eyes lit with excitement as she helped Visenya step into the dress "I've never seen anything like it!"

It was ivory white, a silk and shining fabric with red embroidery along the train reminiscint of flames. Her cloak was black and hung off her shoulders like night’s darkness. It was beautiful but she found herself wishing the flames were real.

Visenya dismissed them as soon as she was able, wringing her hands and pacing until Ser Jarrald knocked on the door to summon her.

She hadn’t seen Lord Stark all day. After dismissing herself for bed the night before, she had been without his company. Ser Jarrald had taken her to see Ghost and her afternoon had consisted of helping Arrina study and going for a walk with Lady Stark who was unnaturally quiet.

She had asked Visenya if there was anything troubling her, anything upsetting her but apart from the obvious Visenya could think of nothing to say. She could hardly admit to her betrothed’s mother that she was harbouring unwanted feelings of desire and fondness for a man who seemed to be fond of her one moment, ravenous for her another and then wanting to wrap himself around one of her lady’s maids another. That she knew that most of the men in the North, especially the Lords did not yet trust her nor want her as their Lady because she had done nothing but agree to marry Lord Stark to earn their lives for her mother’s cause.

Visenya’s anxiety fuelled pacing was interrupted by Ser Jarrald knocking for a second time.

“I’m coming.” she replied, smoothing her dress out once more in front of the mirror and admitting to herself that things could be worse. She could be marrying Otto Hightower or Larys Strong. She could even have been married to Aemond as had been her grandsire’s plan.

Although she wished her family could be there. Anyone familiar. Ser Jarrald was all she had and as he opened the door for her, she was glad of someone familiar.

“If it isn’t impertinent to say so, you look quite lovely, your grace”

Visenya felt the tears in her eyes immediately and swore that they would not fall and she would not cry another tear on her wedding night.

“Thank you, Ser Jarrald.” She cleared her throat to rid herself of the emotion that affected her voice and stepped forward, towards the Godswood where they would be waiting.

Winterfell was almost silent. It was almost midnight and although the bare minimum of people knew that the wedding was happening, Visenya had expected more. On the walk to the Godswood, they met nobody and when she stepped into the Godswood and saw them, she felt her hands start to shake again.

She clutched them together, hoping nobody saw. Even if it was only Edric and Lady Stark standing by the Heart tree. With no father to officiate, Lord Stark’s uncle who frequented Winterfell often stood before the Heart Tree.

Visenya couldn’t look at Lord Stark. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes as she walked, Ser Jarrald a few steps behind as always. She kept her steps short and stayed between the path of lanterns that were laid out for her. She focused on not trembling and not falling although all she could think of was how she had never wished to feel this amount of trepidation at her own wedding.

Willum Stark, Lord Stark’s uncle spoke and although Visenya tried to bring her eyes up to meet him she couldn’t.

“Who comes before the Gods on this night?”

His voice was rough and low while Ser Jarrald, who was the closest she had to a family member responded.

“Visenya, of the houses Velaryon and Targaryen comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Visenya’s hands clenched, her fingers sure to snap between her hands as she felt her heart thumping in her chest. Her head pounding until she looked up at the man who spoke in front of her.

“Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

She waited for her panic to heighten, for her discomfort become unbearable but it didn't. Like the first time she ever saw him, she was reminded that although he might not like it he was beautiful.

With the subtlest of nods from him, Visenya felt slightly calmed. He would not hurt her, he would not harm her. They weren’t in love nor were they really friends but the common ground they had found in the Wolfswood, the few moments of laughter, and the smiles they had shared could maybe be built upon.

She didn’t want to imagine what could be built upon the fire and burning she had felt when he kissed her or when he made those comments to her about riding direwolves and being her lord husband.

“Who gives her?”

Visenya didn’t drag her eyes away from him, nor did he from her. She worried if she did, she would revert to the anxious and frightening feelings of before. Like a focal point, as long as she kept her eyes on him she would be alright.

“Ser Jarrald Dustin of the Queensguard.”

Lord Stark didn’t look away from her, as if he knew that they were holding on by a thread.

“My Lords and lady we stand here in sight of the Gods, old and new to witness the union of this man and woman. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Lord Stark only moved when instructed, other than that he stayed right there with her and held her gaze like his life depended on it.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

With these words, Lord Stark tugged at the ties of his cloak, black and heavy like he always wore. The sigil of the wolf embroidered across the leather straps in front. Once released from his wide shoulders he stepped around her, laying it across her shoulders carefully, his hands resting on her shoulders and squeezing slightly. It was the most he had touched her really aside from their kiss and Visenya had to stop herself from gasping.

It was the warmest she had ever felt in the North, the most comfort and warmth she had felt since she had arrived on dragon back.

Returning to where he stood in front of her, Visenya hadn’t been expecting the heat in his eyes, the telltale signs of him fighting a smirk as he looked down at her. His hand absentmindedly went to the clasps of his cloak, the silver wolfshead that rested against her sternum.

She could see it in his eyes. One word, one sentiment.

His.

Her hand was taken, raised up and the ribbon tied around their hands binding them together.

“Now recite the words.”

Visenya swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to speak only comforted by Lord Stark’s voice who spoke with her, his hand squeezing hers reassuringly.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger....”

Visenya didn’t even hear her own words as she made her vow, only listened to his as he promised her.

“I am hers and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

There was something solid about it. His vow to her. A real vow and promise. Something that made Visenya’s worry ebb back.

There has never lived a Stark who has forgotten an oath.

That was what he was giving her, an oath and a vow. He would be hers and she his from that moment until the moment they were buried in the crypt below Winterfell.

“In the sight of the old Gods and the new, I hereby seal these souls, binding them as one for eternity”

And just like that, Visenya had a husband. Visenya was no longer a Velaryon, she was a Stark. And the words of the officiant rang like a warning.

“Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder”

Lord Stark’s dark eyes and that cross between a smile and a smirk told her one thing. No matter what he felt or didn’t feel for her, no one would ever take her from him, no one would ever have her again. No one would ever take what now belonged to the Wolf of the North. And it worried Visenya that this didn’t bother her more.

*

Lord Stark didn’t kiss her. That was her first thought when the ceremony came to an end. Lord Stark’s mother kissed her cheek and bowed, as did Edric and their uncle. Lord Stark kept his hand on her elbow, settling the cloak properly on her shoulders as they moved to leave the Godswood. They had just been wed and he hadn’t kissed her.

“Does this mean my nieces and nephews will be dragon riders too?” Edric asked, clearly unimpressed with the idea of being outarmed by his future nieces and nephews although Visenya shuddered at the thought of children in plurals belonging to her.

“Hush, Edric. Off to bed with you” Lady Alyssa scolded him, seeing the anxiety in Visenya’s eyes at the mention of children.

The courtyard in Winterfell was empty only for Lord Stark and his mother, and now the woman who was Lady Stark.

“Good night, my boy” Lady Alyssa sighed, pressing a kiss to her son’s cheek and then one to Visenya’s, “my dear” both her hands holding her head in a moment that reminded Visenya so much of her mother she could weep for her.

And then they were alone.

Because they would have to be alone for the next part.

After the wedding, always came the bedding. No matter what Gods the bride and groom believed in.

“Are you still cold, princess?” he asked, an innoccuous question that almost made her laugh.

She shook her head gently. She wasn’t. For the first time she had arrived in Winterfell, she could truly say she was not. And it was because of his cloak wrapped around her.

“Good...” he murmured, as if only to himself. His hand reached for her again, smoothing over the wolfshead pin that was resting against her breastbone.

She could hear Winter catching up to them and she was quite sure if she strained her ears she would hear Ghost in the woods. Fires burned in their braziers and coals popped. But she couldn’t take her eyes off him. As infuriating and confusing as he was, he was handsome. And the way he looked at her, like she was something to be stared at made her forget most the reasons she cursed his name time and time again.

“You look beautiful tonight”

It escaped his lips as if he wasn’t meant to say it, his towering form above her relaxing and slouching slightly so she didn’t have to strain her neck to look him in the eye. His hand that rested against the base of her neck moved, a finger tracing a line against her skin where she was exposed. Just the tip of his finger, warm and rough against her cold, smooth skin. And she felt her breath catch in her throat.

“I know.” she whispered, hoping to have any shred of her Targaryen pride left.

Lord Stark smirked, then smiled properly and laughed breathily. His dimple drawing her eyes downwards until she was entirely focused on his mouth.

“Alright, little dragon...” he shook his head, as if to wipe the grin off his face but he didn’t.

Gently looping stray hair over her ear, his hand cupped her neck his thumb stroking down the side of her cheek.

“I’m a Stark now...” she reminded him, too much sadness in her tone for his liking.

“Yes...” he nodded, his thumb continuing his path up and down her cheek “But you’ll always be a dragon too...Thank the Gods.”

Visenya nodded, his fingers warm and rough against her cheek.

“And if you embarrass me, if you humiliate me or have my honour questioned, I will not hesitate to remind you how much of a dragon I really am.”

She needed him to listen, she needed him to hear her. If he thought he could bed Corrina, could publicly embarrass her then his boldness would grow and Visenya would spend her days surrounded by the bastards of her lord husband and people who did not take her seriously.

His eyes lit in delight.

“Do you enjoy being threatened, Lord Stark?” She snapped.

If he had the balls to laugh in her face when she warned him, she would be quite happy to arrange his balls be blue forever.

His teeth flashed as he grinned, his stupid and ridiculous dimples taunting her.

“When she who threatens is as magnificent as you are, princess I do quite enjoy it.” he grinned, his voice low and husky.

As if he knew how close she was to slapping him, it delighted him.

And it was too easy.

Looking at a man who was beautifully handsome who looked at her with no confusion or conflict, just want. Want for that feeling of fire and burning he had felt when he kissed her before. It was too easy. And it was all too easy to let her eyes shut when she felt him lean in towards her.

“My Lord, a raven!”

The distinguishable voice of Maester Fagan ruined it.

And Lord Stark’s jaw clenched, his hands on her tightened at the robbery of a moment he was quite sure would be memorable in his life.

Lord Stark turned towards Maester Fagan who was coming towards them quickly, a raven’s message in his outstretched hand and panic on his face.

“Where from?” Visenya immediately worried.

Her thoughts immediately went to Jace and Luke, her mother and brothers.

“From House Norry”

Lord Stark’s brow furrowed. Visenya’s too.

“House Norry? The mountain clan?”

She asked, not recognising the sigil on the message although Lord Stark grabbed it and ripped it open.

The clans in the Northern mountains were not foes of House Stark or any house of the North. They were mountain or hill clans who dwelled in the wild. They were given the honour of House names although they preferred clan names.

Lord Stark’s jaw clenched, and he sighed in exasperation.

“They’ve captured a deserter from the Night’s Watch... with a girl from Molestown”

Lord Stark swore under his breath and crumpled the paper in his hand. Deserters from the Night’s Watch were Lord of Winterfell’s responsibility to deal with.

Running his hand over his face, Lord Stark shook his head not even realising his arm was still around Visenya until he tightened his arm and felt her against him.

“Thank you, Maester Fagan” he replied, passing back the message to him and sighing “Fetch Edric to me and tell Ser Darron to ready the horses. We’ll leave immediately.”

Maester Fagan dismissed himself quickly leaving Visenya alone with her Lord Husband again.

“You’re leaving? Now?” she blurted, hoping not to sound too disappointed nor relieved.

“It won’t take long, we should be back tomorrow night.” His tone was gruff and agitated.

“You’re going to leave me... on our wedding night?” She snapped, sounding more petulant than she had anticipated.

“My apologies, princess. I’m sure you had something special planned” he replied smartly, a smirk on his face as he pulled her in tighter to him and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his beard tickling her jaw and her senses assaulted by the warmth of him, the smell of him, the feel of him so close.

She shoved at him, as if to throw him off her to no avail.

“Oh shut up” she snapped, not enjoying the smirk on his face and the laugh that came with it. She certainly didn’t appreciate her body reacting so strongly to him either.

“Ser Jarrald!” Lord Stark called out over his shoulder, only for Visenya’s guard to appear as if from thin air.

Visenya cringed to think about what he had seen or heard between them already.

“Take Lady Stark to her chambers for the night...”

Ser Jarrald nodded, turning immediately towards the entrances. Although Visenya stayed rooted to the spot, staring at her Lord Husband. He had called her Lady Stark.

Ser Darron was with them now, leading two horses tacked up and saddled to be ridden. Edric led his own bay mare to be ridden, already climbing atop her and waiting for his Lord.

“Until tomorrow, princess” Cregan said to her with a wink, that cocky smirk making her want to shove him off his horse at the top of a very steep hill.

*

Remarkably, being Lady Stark changed absolutely nothing about her life in Winterfell it would seem. The morning after her wedding she rose and bathed, she ate and dressed, took a walk in the Godswood with Arrina and took Harrin to see Ghost with the escort of Ser Jarrald. The only thing that was different was the name people called her. It wasn’t “your grace” anymore it was “my lady” it wasn’t “Princess” it was “Lady Stark.”

Although by the laws of the Gods, she wasn’t officially married at all.

Lord Stark had left that night and not returned all day. She had wondered if she should wait for him or expect him but she decided to go about her ordinary evening.

As they walked back to her chambers, again alone after dinner she was thinking about her mother. Rhaenyra had been married to Ser Laenor. She had clearly been intimate with Ser Harwin in order for Jace, Luke, Joff and herself to come into this world. And then she married Daemon. Marriages were alliances for women like them. But her affair with Ser Harwin was love, was passion and adoration. Enough for four children to be borne and for the love to never burn out.

Her duty to her family was clear.

And family, duty, honour were priorities for her too.

Her family. She married Lord Stark to protect them and to strengthen their armies to take back their rightful throne.

Her duty. She had a duty as a Targaryen and Velaryon to uphold the family name, to be a dragonrider and to marry well and produce heirs.

Her honour. Whatever oaths she promised she had to keep. The only oaths she had sworn in her lifetime were to her Queen and her mother and now to Lord Stark. And so she was bound to him. Whether she liked it or not. Whether he liked it or not.

On their walk, Visenya halted to a stop.

“Ser Jarrald?” she questioned, sensing him halt behind her too.

“Yes, your grace?”

Ser Jarrald seemingly had not yet gotten used to calling her ‘my lady’.

“Why aren’t we going to my chambers?” She asked, confused as to why he was taking her down the opposite wing of corridors.

Ser Jarrald cleared his throat, stepping forward and back before decisively walking forward and pushing open an unfamiliar door that was certainly not the door behind which she had slept every night since she came from Dragonstone.

“These are your chambers, your new chambers your grace” he nodded, stepping inside the door and doing his quick sweep for safety.

Once he returned to the doorway, holding it open for her Visenya was still standing there, frozen. Cold and in shock.

“These are for the Lady of Winterfell... which you are, your grace.” he nodded, sensing her hesitation at the doorway.

Leaning forward, she caught glimpses of roaring fire in the hearth, of a ginormous copper glowing bath tub that steam rose from and she could see the posts of a bed, a bed much bigger than that of her old quarters.

“Thank you, Ser”

Stepping into the room, she was surprised at how comforting it smelled, like a freshness of the outdoors with something more rich and heady mixed into it.

“Good night, your grace.”

She heard before the door clicked shut and she assumed Ser Jarrald began his guard of her door.

The windows were tall and pointed at the top but they looked out on the Wolfswood and Visenya was dying to know if she could see Ghost, although Ghost was much too clever to be spotted. A writing desk sat on the opposite side of the room with a map of Winterfell and Westeros along with several stacks of large, intimidating tomes.

Although she had a curiosity to look amongst her new things, the bath was all too tempting in her cold state. And she spotted her robe draped across a chair near the fireplace. Giving in to temptation, she stripped off quickly and tiptoed over to the bath.

It was hot, delightfully hot and she couldn’t stop the sigh that was almost sinful leaving her lips. She felt the tension and irritation she had held in her shoulders and neck melting away. She wrapped her hair up around a pin atop her head to avoid getting it wet.

She must have dozed off, so glad to be warm and comfortable after a cold and confusing few days. Because when she jolted awake, she knew that she hadn’t just woke, she had been woken.

Turning in the still warm water, she saw the cause of the noise that had woken her. A tall and broad figure, cloaked in black and night although the candles set a glow across his face.

“Good evening, princess”

Lord Stark hadn’t even taken his sword or his cloak off, but watched her like she was the first bit of prey spotted a week into a hunting trip. There was a glint in his eye, that infuriating smirk everpresent.

He also looked exhausted. He was weatherbeaten and tired looking, his cloak and clothes bearing the marks of a long journey.

“What are you doing in here?” she snapped, turning her back to him, ensuring she was low enough to cover herself as best she could in the water.

But Lord Stark seemed to enjoy her embarrassment, enjoy how pink her cheeks went and how flustered she became. Visenya wanted to vanish into thin air.

Especially when she saw Winter, his direwolf step out from behind him and regard her with her frighteningly blue-white eyes.

“These are my chambers” he laughed breathily, stepping forward again. Only forcing Visenya to push further away in the bath, crossing her arms as best she could to hide herself.

“No they’re not.” she snapped back, watching as he came closer again.

She watched him. Watched as he pulled his sword off and slung off the bedpost, as he pulled at the clasp of his cloak until it gave way and it fell to the floor in a heavy heap.

“Apologies, princess” he conceded with a roll of his eyes “Our chambers”

Visenya cursed herself for being so stupid. The maps, the books, the scent. It was all him, all his.

“We are to share chambers?”

Her tone was bordering on incredulous as she hoped he was playing some kind of joke on her. Surely she was not expected to share a room with him, share a bed with him. It was too mortifying to imagine now. Especially after every time he did something that made her think about bedding him, he did something that made her want to have Ghost swallow him whole.

Lord Stark didn’t answer her. It seemed too rhetorical of a question.

“We are to share a bath too apparently” he nodded pointedly at where she sat.

“No” she snapped, too quickly for him to even start smirking and stepping closer in hopes to catch a better glimpse of her.

But he turned from her, long enough to give her a chance to step out and snatch her robe around her. Not long enough for him not to glance from the corner of his eye and get a glimpse of wet, shining, pale skin. Not enough for him to picture again but enough for him to want more.

“I’m going to speak to Ser Jarrald about having my things moved. I’m returning to my old chambers.”

She said, tying the robe around her waist and being sure she was properly covered before she turned in his direction again. Although he was far from decent. And her mouth went dry. Especially when Winter snapped his jaws at her, growling low in warning.

“Winter” he chastised, until the wolf’s ears fell back and she did as she was bid and moved to lie down beside the fireplace.

Lord Stark was large and intimidating with clothes on. Without clothes on his upper half, he looked positively giant. Frightening almost. His shoulders were wide and strong, leading down to thick arms that veined impressively all the way down his forearms. His chest, although marked and puckered with small scars dragged Visenya’s eyes downwards along his muscles and down to the dusting of hair that began below his bellybutton and trailed downwards, down past his trousers where Visenya noticed two lines drawing in from his hips.

“Not tonight, princess.”

Visenya pulled her attention back towards where Lord Stark was denying her.

He had shaken his head, throwing the shirt he had worn aside.

“I am not —”

She began but she was interrupted.

“These are your chambers now too. What do you think people would say if they found out we were sleeping in separate quarters?”

He was tired and his patience was clearly thin. And Visenya had always pushed it.

“I don’t care what people would say” she retorted.

Lord Stark just shook his head, his tongue running inside his cheek.

“Of course, you wouldn’t” he sighed, with a sarcastic bark of a laugh.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she bit back, feeling her blood heat and thanking the Gods for the warmth that only he seemed to be able to stoke in her.

“Because you Targaryens rule with fire and blood, and it doesn’t matter what anybody says. Because your word is final.”

Visenya blanched. Lord Stark continued undressing as he spoke. As he talked of her house and he was not kind.

“We are the Targaryens... we rule the seven kingdoms, we are blood of the dragon. Our word is final!” She snapped.

She had to stand up for her family. All her life she had been told how special, how blessed, how beautiful, how powerful they were.They were the blood of Old Valyria. They rode dragons. They had conquered cities and taken power from those who had it. They were the most powerful family in all the realm.

Throwing his soaked and balled up shirt to the ground with a wet slap, Lord Stark threw his head up to look at her.

“Why?”

His tone was so cold, so Northern.

“Why?” she repeated incredulously “What do you mean, why?”

“Why should everybody in the seven kingdoms take the word of House Targaryen as truth?”

His question rang out in the room that was getting colder by the minute.

Visenya had already answered, but her answer was clearly unsatisfying for Lord Stark as he pushed on.

“House Targaryen are more like Gods than men, so they say. But why? Because they can tell lies and paint them as truths, and then burn any who call them liars”

Her eyes narrowed at him, her arms tensed and thrown away from her chest. A stupidly, glorious chest that Cregan had wanted more of a glimpse but that now panted in indignation.

She began to protest, but it was not sustained.

“That is not—”

“That is the order of things, princess. That is exactly what you do! Vaemond Velaryon lost his head for calling you and your brothers bastards, Lady Penrose was banished from court for claiming Prince Aegon raped her, Ser Haustin Bracken was exiled from the Citywatch for supposedly trying to lay his hands on you at your brother’s first name day.”

Visenya shivered. Ser Haustin had been a stupid, drunk idiot to think he could touch her. But it had been in good fun when he tried to get her to dance with him. He had touched her. But he had not harmed her. And he was banished, branded honourless and exiled. Shame and scandal ruined his name and his house.

Vaemond had been Ser Laenor’s uncle and yet he had disowned them, called them no kin of his and branded her and her brothers bastards in front of King’s Landing. He had lost his head for it.

Lady Penrose had spent a night drinking Dornish wine and getting close to Aegon and everybody had called her a liar and a whore when she claimed Aegon had taken her without her permission, without her consent and even some said when she was too inebriated to be conscious.

Her family were like Gods. And Gods could be cruel and fickle creatures. And most importantly, nobody disagreed with them.

Lord Stark hadn’t wanted to enrage his ladywife, nor upset her. But he had wanted her to see. And although her lilac eyes burned. She saw.

Leaning forward he spoke softer, watching the cogs turn in her mind as she thought. She was brilliantly clever and Lord Stark knew she would be formidable if she was let.

“Why do you think people obey and follow House Targaryen, princess?”

His question hung between them, accompanied only by the crackling of the fire.

“Because people are loyal to the crown.”

Lord Stark didn’t accept nor like her answer, scoffing a laugh. Mianly because she didn’t even sound convinced of it herself.

When he lifted his head to look at her as he sat on the end of the bed, he wasn’t angry. And when he sat, leaning down to pull at his boot laces he was almost the same height as her where she stood, her hands on her hips.

“People are afraid of the crown, princess. It is not the same thing.”

The words knocked the air out of her lungs and she hated him for it. The people of Westeros loved her family, that is what they had always been told as children. But since coming to Winterfell, Visenya had seen things, had witnessed and heard things. People didn’t want to die so that one Targaryen could sit on the throne instead of another. Prince Aegon or Priness Rhaenyra, it mattered nothing to the men who had fields to plough, children to feed and grain to sow. They would die for what was right, for the oaths they had sworn and for their families and houses that they had sworn to protect.

Visenya had seen the Lords of the North. They would honour their oaths which was why they bowed and nodded respectfully at Visenya. But they didn’t adore her, why would they.

They loved Lord Stark. Whether their cold and stubborn hearts would admit it was another thing. But Visenya had seen and heard enough of them to know it to be true. They loved House Stark and people did more for love than they would ever do for honour and duty.

“Princess, this surely cannot be news to your ears” Lord Stark commented, his tone softer as he pushed his boots aside and was left in just his trousers before her.

He leaned his hands on his knees, his hulking shoulders bunching and his thighs flexing through his trousers. Visenya felt her mind wander to dangerous areas about being sat across his thighs or straddling them between her legs. Dangerous and stupid thoughts.

“Daemon always tells us that the dragon does not concern itself with the opinions of any other animals... wolves, lions, bears, krakens... none of them will ever be what we are.”

She said before she realised she was going to speak, her lips moving of their own accord as did her feet until she was standing in front of him.

“Is that what you wish to build your House’s legacy on? Fear?”

His question was so honest, his eyes so open to her that she felt strangely raw and intimate in the situation. It was the most he had seen of her even if she did wear her robe and certainly the most she had seen of him. But being together, in their own chambers entirely alone for once not in the Wolfswood felt like somewhere safe.

“My part in House Targaryen’s legacy will finish with me being sent North to be wedded and bedded by Lord of Winterfell.”

She remarked smartly with a roll of her eyes before she realised what she had said.

Lord Stark didn’t miss what she had said though. And Visenya was quite sure a smile even tugged at the corner of his lips for a moment as he shifted in his seat.

“Only wedded for now.” he remarked, looking up at her through his lashes that were stupidly long for a boy and recklessly long for a Lord who was as dangerous as he.

“Yes.” she nodded, her throat becoming remarkably dry.

Something hung in the air between them, in that two feet between them where if she reached out she could touch his shoulder and if he reached out he could hold her by the waist. Nobody breached that space, broke whatever it was although it seemed to be all they could think about as Lord Stark felt itching in his fingers to see for himself how soft her skin was and she was so cold she was desperate to climb on top of him and have him climb into the bath with her astride him.

Wedded. Not bedded.

If anyone were to know, they would call the marriage a sham. Lords would not need to march South for their liege lord because Visenya Targaryen would be no kin of theirs. The Targaryens would have broken their promise, to marry Visenya to Lord Stark and have her bear his children. She would be called oathbreaker, along with her family. She would be nothing to the Houses of the North and if they had their way, she would be thrown outside the gates of Winterfell and her dragon put in chains. Lord Stark would be relinquished from any promises he had made to fight for Queen Rhaenyra and he would be free to marry again, properly this time. To someone more proper, someone Northern. Someone like Corrina, Visenya thought bitterly.

All of it boiled down to one simple fact. They played a very dangerous game, just them two.

Wedded, not bedded. The words lingered between them in the small space that was left between them. She thought about it for a moment, feeling a shiver up her spine and she was quite sure he noticed it, as he noticed the goosepimples that rose on her arms and made him wonder where else they were.

And it reminded her. Lord Stark would be well within his right to take what was his. And she was his.

He could pull the robe from her body, could bend her over the bed he sat on, could push her to her hands and knees, could force himself between her legs. No laws forbade men from taking their wives. She had heard tales of men bedding their brides before the wedding feast had even started, lords taking their wives despite the cries and tears of the women. In some cases, men even enjoyed it more when tears were involved.

And although he looked at her like a man starving, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. She didn’t know many things for certain but she knew this.

“I should leave you to your bath...” she said softly, knowing that if one of them didn’t walk away from the other, something would happen. And she wasn’t sure if either of them could deal with whatever would happen.

She stepped away first, to step back behind the screen that offered some privacy although she wasn’t sure he wanted it. He was far from shy and he didn’t seem unnerved or embarrassed to find her in the bath or to undress in front of her.

Winter didn’t seem opposed to staring either as the direwolf never took its eyes off her.

A few steps away, from behind her she heard him break the silence.

“Visenya?”

Her steps almost faltered.

He had never called her by her name. Never Visenya.

Her name on his tongue sounded so different to the way anyone had ever said it. With her family on Dragonstone it had sounded like a command, with her family in King’s Landing like a complaint. With Lord Stark it sounded like something entirely different. Like something she had never been called.

“Yes?”

Her throat was dry but the word did manage to come out although she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he would say.

She looked over her shoulder at him, where he still sat at the edge of the bed leaning his hands on his knees although he looked into the flames now. Orange glowing against his cheek, his scar glowing white in the firelight.

His voice was low, soft even if she dared to say it about him. Orange flames danced in his dark as night eyes and she saw that beauty in danger she had always admired in dragons. But she saw it in him.

“Your role in House Targaryen may have finished with you being sent North to be Lady of Winterfell but your role in House Stark is only beginning.”

Gods he was beautiful, too beautiful for a man she hated. Even if only fleetingly now.

*

Visenya tried to distract herself while she heard him bathe. Thanks to the screen, she couldn’t see him but the sigh of relief he made as he lowered himself into the water and the shadows cast on the screen made her imagination work overtime.

She changed into the nightclothes left for her, a top and sort of trousers made in the softest black wool she’d ever felt. The bed was ginormous, and she was quite sure two people could easily fit without even knowing the other was there, although she wasn’t sure that was the point of a marital bed.

Lord Stark stayed in the bath for so long, Visenya felt herself starting to settle into the bed and dare she say it, relax. There was nothing frightening about what was happening to her and although her heart wanted to pound out of her chest as her mind instructed, her body betrayed her as it usually did around him.

So, she nestled further under the blankets, wrapped in soft furs and his scent. And even when she heard water sloshing and the sound of towels rubbed against skin, of footsteps and breathing. She felt safe in her decision to stay drifting in that space between dreaming and awareness. Even when the bed dipped beside her and candles quenched, even when Lord Stark settled in the same bed as her with a sigh and lay on his side, facing away from her of course. Even when he whispered something that sounded suspiciously close to ‘good night’ into the cold. But she was already asleep.

Chapter 8: VIII

Notes:

A veryyyyy long one but worth it! Starting to become less of a slow-burn and more of a medium burn

Visenya woke slowly and for a second, she was convinced she had fallen asleep on Ghost. She was against something so warm it was almost hot and so hard it wasn’t that comfortable. But she didn’t want to move away. Not until she realised her cheek was pressed against Lord Stark’s back and her entire body was curled in on itself, strayed far from the side of the bed she had fallen asleep on. Thank the Gods, her hands were kept to herself, curled up under her chin and her feet were tucked up into herself. But any closer to him and she would be inside his soft shirt and trousers with him.

His breathing was low and steady but she didn’t want to do anything suddenly to wake him. Sleeping beside him was bad enough but she didn’t want him to think she was happy about it. Even if it was the best nights sleep she had had since she got to Winterfell. Visenya told herself it was because of the warmth. And when she slowly pulled away, back to her side of the bed she felt the cold seeping back in. And she hated it.

She tried to sleep again as she knew it was still frightfully early. But sleep evaded her and she found watching him to be more rewarding.

Lord Stark slept on his side, facing away from her just as he had been the night before. And she prayed he had slept through, not noticing how his wife had migrated over towards him until she was pressed up against him.

His chest rose and fell in even, deep breaths but she could notice nothing else. Their room’s fire burned low and despite the chill in the air, the bed was warm and comfortable.

“If you’re going to try kill me, make it quick and clean.”

His voice was brusque and rough after a night’s sleep and startled her. He had been awake for longer than she realised.

“If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t do it here.” she replied quickly, finding it too easy to talk to him now.

Warnings from Septas and Queen Alicent about women holding their tongues and being good, being chaste and quiet had always fallen on deaf ears with Visenya but Lord Stark always seemed to enjoy their sparring.

“Good, you’d never get away with it here” he sighed casually, as though they weren’t discusing his murder upon waking.

Stretching and flexing, he turned to his other side, facing her now.

Although she had been pressed against him and bathed in front of him in the last few hours, she felt more emotionally vulnerable lying in bed beside him. Visenya was no virgin but she had never slept beside a man to wake up to him, warm and slow to rouse. It was nothing like she thought it would be like.

“What happened to the deserter?” she asked, curious about what had needed his attention so urgently.

Lord Stark rubbed his hand across his face, scrubbing the beard on his jaw that had grown longer in his days away. She knew that it wasn’t soft against her face when she kissed him but she didn’t mind. And she wanted it again as she watched him open to her.

“We found him just beyond the Norry’s boundaries. He had abandoned his post, stealing a girl from a farm in Mole’s Town.”

His voice was gruff and low in the early morning air and he hadn't even bothered to open his eyes yet. But he answered her.

Visenya knew that the clans lived in lands just North of Winterfell, nearing the Wall. Nobody wandered those lands because of how wild and barren they were. Dying from exposure was more likely than anything else up there.

“Is she alright?” Visenya asked.

Lord Stark nodded, his eyes watching her carefully.

“She was frightened and cold...But he hadn’t touched her.”

Visenya was glad for the girl’s sake. Deserting the Night’s Watch was an offence punishable by death and Visenya was quite sure Lord Stark had sentenced him to death. Any man named oathbreaker especially one who had stolen and frightened an innocent in the process deserved to be punished.

“So, you killed him?”

Lord Stark watched her intensely. He nodded.

“Yes. He broke his oath.”

“How? Beheading? Hanging? Burned?” she asked, her voice cold but interested.

Lord Stark didn’t often like discussing things, but he found he made exceptions for her, too many.

“Beheading.”

Visenya nodded, looking away for a moment.

“And you still think your ways and your rule is superior to my family’s, why?”

Lord Stark didn’t have to think for long, their conversation the night before had opened many scars and he was sure that it would be revisited until it was put to bed. Something about having the conversation in a shared bed was different. Softer somehow. They weren’t two members of two prominent Westerosi families indignant and defensive over their Houses. They were almost like a man and his wife, a woman and her husband.

“Because the law is set in stone, princess. I didn’t make it to suit my own wishes and whims. In the North, you must honour your oaths and your family, protect and respect your liege lords and do your duty to the realm. I am not the ruler of the North or maker of laws. I am just the Warden, here to uphold and protect not to reign or conquer.”

Visenya listened, really listened. And perhaps for the first time, she heard his words and saw her family for more than what she thought. They were conquerors, they were rulers and sovereigns. But they were not infallible.

They should have known. If people are treated like Gods for long enough they begin to believe it.

If they were in King’s Landing or Dragonstone and a house had been ignoring ravens as House Mormont did, not sending well wishes for their new Lady as House Mormont did, Daemon would have flown North by now on Caraxes and burned anyone who didn’t bend the knee to ash. But this was the North. And although Visenya was a Targaryen, she found herself with more restraint than she had ever believed Targaryens capable of.

“What do you want?”

Her question slipped past her lips so quickly she didn’t have time to wonder what his answer would be. Perhaps because she had no idea.

Rhaenyra wanted the Iron throne, her birth right and her legacy.

Alicent wanted her children to have power because it was one thing she had never come close to.

Daemon wanted the Targaryen line to live on, to crush any other family who came close to what they were and for the dragons to be the most powerful force in all the realms.

Viserys had wanted his family, a whole family to carry on a legacy for him of peace and prosperity.

Visenya didn’t believe any of them would get what they wanted. She had been a watcher for her whole life. Jace was the heir and when Luke was born, he became the heir to Driftmark so she could be the spare. She was important but never vital, never irreplacable. So she learned to watch, to see what everyone did and said until she learned what they all wanted.

And yet what she wanted and what Lord Cregan Stark wanted was still a mystery.

“That is a difficult question, princess.”

He tried to avoid answering although Visenya was not entertaining it. She had asked a question, she wanted an answer.

“Then give me a difficult answer.”

Lord Stark smirked, a low laugh coming from his chest.

“I want peace in the North. I want to do what is right by my bannermen. I want my family to be safe. I want to honour my father’s oaths and life’s work.”

His honesty struck her but he wasn’t finished.

“I want to live and die a Stark, in Winterfell leaving a legacy that my sons can carry on and my daughters can be proud of when they marry.”

The space between them seemed too small and too expansive at the same time. She could feel his warmth and if she reached out a hand, she could feel his heartbeat, could feel the raised white scar along his brow and eye, could feel the scratch of his beard against her cheek.

“I want to do right by my father and mother, by my brothers and sisters.” he paused, his tongue poking through his lips for a moment “by my lady-wife.”

Visenya couldn’t help herself. The physical reaction her body made to his words was pathetic and primitive but she felt it, deep inside her, in her chest and most mortifyingly between her legs.

The way he watched her, his dark eyes noting the flush in her cheeks and the heat in her eyes, the quick rise and fall of her chest and obvious fidgeting of her body. It was intoxicating.

“What do you want?” she whispered, her body shifting minutely towards him as he did the same until the inches between them were almost insignificant.

His breaths were coming slightly quicker, his hands flexing open and closed as if in restraint.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, princess.” he sighed, giving her another chance to bolt. To spring from their bed and break whatever it was that grew between them again.

“I want to know” she whispered, her eyes sinful and her voice low enough that nobody but he could ever hear her because he was the only person who came this close to her now.

“You want to know what I want?”

Visenya was too busy looking at his eyes to see his hand moving, not noticing it until it slipped against the skin of her collarbone and sat at the base of her neck, his fingers loosely around her neck. A position she should never let Lord Stark have. A position that could be end of her but he didn’t want her gone, his eyes said he wanted her right there, for much longer than either of them had ever anticipated.

Nodding, Visenya felt his fingers against her pulse, surely racing at this point although from his blown pupils and quickly rising and falling chest he wasn’t in a different position.

“I want to know why you wanted me”

The question that had burned in her mind since the betrothal talks had begun. Lord Stark was not a proud man so her title didn’t entice him. He wasn’t vain so her looks didn’t win him over either. He had never met her so she was quite sure it wasn’t her charm or wit.

Lord Stark’s eyes looked her up and down as best he could in their position, his hand flexing on her throat and his body looming over her even with both of them on their sides.

“You want me to feed into your vanity, princess” he teased, his attention completely undivided on her.

His attraction, his fascination that bordered on obsession was clear for that moment. How her eyes haunted him, her wicked tongue taunted him until he wished for her to argue with him all day. Her legs and hips in her riding leathers. Her small and delicate hands as they held a cup of wine or rubbed at her neck in worry. Her thick and long braids that his hands itched to grab onto, to touch. Her maddening scent that lingered after her on his clothes, in his library, at the supper table when she’d left.

“No” she shook her head, her legs shifting together restlessly as his hand crept up her neck until the tips of his fingers rested along her jaw, his thumb swiping against her bottom lip, watching it bounce back.

“I don’t want to know why you want me now” she whispered, knowing that no man could fake what he had.

Leaning closer, his hand still around her neck but her chest against his and feeling the power balance shift between them again.

“I want to know why you wanted me as Lady Stark. You didn’t want more lands, more power, more gold. You could’ve asked for anything... And you asked for me.”

It had nagged her since the moment he had made her a part of his deal and Daemon had been in favour. Lord Stark would have marched South for her mother regardless but the Lord of Winterfell had wanted her for his ladywife, only her. After years of having Northern girls thrown at him, rumours of even the Iron Islands sending four daughters for him to choose from, Lord Stark remained unmarried. Until Visenya Targaryen was an option and within hours he had sent a raven to Dragonstone accepting and signing a betrothal.

Whatever had been building between them shattered. Lord Stark’s hand loosened on her throat, as if she burned him as she did everyone. His eyes, which had been open in their want and desire shut down immediately as he pushed back from her.

“The Starks honour their oaths, my lady” he said coldly, the mood changing so rapidly Visenya felt as though she could have whiplash.

Honour. As if that was why he had wanted her. Visenya didn’t believe it for a moment and from the way he looked at her, he knew she didn’t believe it either.

Back to ‘my lady’. Not even ‘princess’. And certainly not the fondness which he had called her by ‘Visenya’ the night before.

Stinging from his quick change of heart and rejection, Visenya hid it well as she moved from the bed. Taking her leathers from where they had been left for her, she was quite sure they were a key component to breaking him.

Whatever reason Lord Stark had for marrying her, he was not willing to share it. Visenya would get it out of him regardless but she would have to pick her moments. And from how open with want he watched her step out from behind the screen, changed into her tightest leathers she would pull it out of him eventually. She regarded him with that ice in her stare he was getting more and more familiar with as Lady of Winterfell, a dragon who could breathe ice as well as fire.

*

War Councils were tiresome and boring, Daemon had once told her. He said they were for men who liked to talk and the real war was fought without talking. But Visenya also knew that wars were often won before the real fighting began in rooms exactly like the one she sat in, across from her Lord husband and beside the men who were now her house’s sworn bannermen.

“I have taken the liberty of sending one more raven to Lord Mormont, my lord. It is the last we shall send...”

Maester Fagan told them, the rest of his sentence going unsaid because they knew what he meant.

It was the last raven they would send before House Mormont were named oathbreakers. Something they would not take lightly.

Lord Stark nodded, his eyes not straying from the map of the North laid in front of them.

“Princes Jacaerys flies for the Vale to ensure support as well as Prince Daemon who gathers forces on Dragonstone.”

Visenya already knew what Lord Stark told his men although she did worry for her brothers. They were just boys, although if Jace was just a boy she was just a girl. And her part in this war was marrying Lord Stark, which she had already done. Daemon had told her to appease him, to make him loyal. Although she was not sure it was working as Lord Stark seemed adamant on looking at everyone around their table but his lady-wife.

“My Lords, Moat Cailin will be our greatest asset.” Ser Darron explained gesturing to it on the map. Visenya knew enough of strategy and history to know Moat Cailin’s significance in the history of the North.

“No Southern armies will dare come North, and if they do they will be stopped at Moat Cailin.” Willum Stark remarked cockily.

Men nodded and agreed, although something pricked at Visenya.

“And to cross the Trident? What is the plan?”

The men’s surprise to hear Visenya speak up was evident. Many heads whipped in her direction, many looked at Lord Stark waiting for his reaction although he seemed deep in thought, his eyes flickering to where Visenya’s delicate hand pointed.

“The Greens can easily cross the Trident, my lady but it is Moat Cailin we refer to now. Just here”

Lord Manderley told her, thinking he was helping the innocent and simple lady navigate the map as he took her hand and moved it to point at Moat Cailin rather than the Trident where she had directed their attention.

Visenya pulled her hand from his grasp as politely as she could but not before Lord Stark’s eyes were drawn to where he touched her. And she pointed back where she had originally.

“I don’t refer to the Greens crossing the Trident coming North, I refer to us on our journey South if it comes to that.”

The men were silent.

Lord Stark watched her with interest, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows raising at her as if to say ‘go on’.

Visenya moved closer to the head of the table, closer to where the Trident was visible on the map. The Bay of Crabs flowed into the river known as the Trident where it carried on inland until it forked splitting itself into the red, green and blue forks. If the Northerners ever marched South they would have to cross the Trident at some point, something they had never done without the Crown’s permission.

“If the time comes where we march South, we will have to cross the Trident and the only way for an army to cross safely and without seperating is either at House Roote or at the crossing of Castle Darry.”

Visenya moved the black figurine of a plough into the intersection. House Darry was a noble house from the Riverlands and lorded over the Trident’s crossing. The Kingsroad led from Witnerfell all the way South but if the Greens knew they were coming, that is the first place they would intend to stop them. Moat Cailin was an extreme advantage for the North. It was a bottleneck that trapped most marching armies whether they be on foot or horseback. But this war would not be fought on the ground. The Greens had dragons, and flying North to incinerate the Northern forces was much easier than the Blacks trying to march South.

Although the princess was clearly not finished speaking, Lord Cerwyn’s brother, Hedgar piped up.

“My Lady, you need not concern yourself with such matters. No house along the Trident has ever let a Northern army march South, it will be very delicate to negotiate.”

Visenya bristled. Hedgar, like most Northern men were not used to women being included in these kinds of conversations and decisions. But Visenya was raised a Targaryen, a dragon rider. She knew of strategy and war as well as her brothers, even if she had never imagined herself in a place where she would have a voice. But Lord Stark nodded at his wife, he wanted her to speak.

“House Stark and its banners pledge itself to my mother and her claim on the throne. I am a Targaryen by birth and a Stark by marriage, I think I shall concern myself with a war that involves both my houses.”

Her voice carried across the table, pushing past Lords Manderley, Umber and Karstark until it reached Lord Stark who stood at the head of the table, with a heat in his eyes she was getting too addicted to stoking.

Hedgar Cerwyn’s face went bright red, his embarrassment and temper unable to cope with being owned so publicly by who essentially to him was just a woman.

“My Lady, I did not mean to upset—”

“—You do not upset, my Lord. You misunderstand.”

Visenya snapped, her patience disintegrating for the man who had stared at her like a beast to be tamed rather than his liege lord’s lady wife.

“Perhaps these meetings would go more smoothly if the council was kept smaller.” Hedgar Cerwyn dared.

Although Visenya expected the voice of Ser Jarrald or even Lord Stark or Dustin to her defence. It was Edric who spoke.

“Visenya stays.”

A boy of seventeen looked much more formidable than Hedgar Cerwyn, a man of near thirty. Perhaps Lord Stark was not the only wolf in the North. Perhaps there was a pack.

“This is a Northern matter, my Lord.”

Lord Cerwyn did not hesitate in his response.

Neither did Edric.

“That is why she stays.”

Visenya knew that Arrina and Harrin had grown to care for her but Edric had been as much of a mystery as Torra. Until now that is.

In taking Harrin to see Ghost and attending lessons with Arrina, Edric had grown used to the Targaryen princess who made his siblings laugh and had ensnared his brother’s attentions. He had grown used to her until he had one day realised he was growing fond of her.

Nodding in solidarity with her, the boy stood straight and tall beside his brother. Visenya saw so much of Jace in him, it made her heart ache for him.

“My father and Lord Darry fought together for many years, House Darry is loyal to my mother they will allow us to cross knowing who we fight for.”

Visenya reminded those who had forgot, not of who her family were but who she was too. Of course, ‘upset’ was the wrong word for what Visenya was. Hedgar Cerwyn, like all men saw a woman who displayed a side that was not the kind, devoted wife and mother and all they saw was a hysterical, emotional woman who was not fit for decisions nor discussions on anything more serious than a seating arrangement for a feast.

Hedgar Cerwyn didn’t take kindly to his embarrassment, reaching for his cup again and scoffing into the contents. His muttering almost went unheard but Visenya had been hearing it whispered for years.

“Which father?”

Lord Stark’s gaze turned icey in seconds, his eyes moving away from his wife and landing on Hedgar Cerwyn.

Cerwyn had clearly expected Stark’s fellow bannermen to share his laugh, to have a chuckle at the Princess’ expense just as they did before she had married. But that was before she was Lady Stark.

Visenya felt herself flush but it was not embarrassment, it was temper.

“I beg your pardon?” She snapped, feeling her chest tighten. Gods she could have put him to the pyre right then.

Nobody thought he would be stupid enough to say it again.

“I said, which father. The late Ser Harwin Breakbones, your mother’s sworn shield or Ser Laenor Velaryon of the Street of Silk”

In King’s Landing or on Dragonstone, Hedgar Cerwyn would have had his tongue cut out of his head by Dark Sister or be swallowed by Caraxes. As the only Dragon in the North, Visenya felt utterly alone in her rage.

Until she saw the other men. Until she saw her husband.

Lords Manderley and Lord Cerwyn hissed and seethed in outrage, while Lord Karstark straightened and grabbed the pommel of his sword.

Visenya had come to Winterfell as the Targaryen princess whose rumours of her being a bastard were many. But she was Lady Stark now, she was their lady and Hedgar Cerwyn had forgotten that.

Ser Jarrald, standing just behind her gripped his sword and stepped closer towards the Princess. Defending her against those who would harm her had been his priority since he was sworn into her service and Hedgar Cerwyn would harm her because she had rebuffed him that night at the feast.

“How dare you speak such slander and insults” Lord Cerwyn, Hedgar’s older and much wiser brother hissed before turning towards Visenya.

“I apologise on behalf of my brother your grace, he has brought shame and dishonour to my house yet again”

Lord Cerwyn was brave and loyal, a man worth ten of his brother. And although he had done his best to guide Hedgar, it was clearly a failure.

“Do not apologise for me, I do not speak lies” Hedgar snapped, his patience long expired for being dismissed and shushed as the younger brother.

Visenya just wished he would choose somewhere else to throw his tantrums.

Opening her mouth to warn him, to issue her sentence Visenya was caught unawares when it was Lord Stark who began speaking instead.

He hadn’t spoken to her since he had left their chambers that morning, not wanting to speak any more on the subject of their union and his motivations. She waited for him to laugh at Hedgar’s insults, laugh just as he had done when she arrived and he had called her so ‘Strong for a Targaryen princess’.

“My lord, you have been a true and brave warrior for the North for many years, my father often relied on your father for wisdom and support.”

Hedgar’s chest puffed out in pride, although Lord Stark was not finished speaking.

“But you have been warned against speaking against my ladywife. And I do not issue warnings lightly. You will leave Winterfell at once.”

Hedgar fumed, his face reddening with temper immediately. No Cerwyn had ever been refused a seat at a table in Winterfell, they were the closest allies the Starks had in the North.

“How dare you boy—”

Lord Stark however was not finished. Leaning his fists on the table, his hulking figure looming over them and his low voice demanding their attention and fear, Lord Stark was not known to take being called ‘boy’ well.

Winter growled from her position next to Lord Stark and even though Visenya knew they would never harm her, she would never know who they would harm. Lord Stark’s arms stretched out in front of him on the table, one fist on the Iron Islands the other on the Fingers. Viseyna’s pulse hammered in her neck and she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“You will leave Winterfell and you will continue North until you reach the Wall. You will take the black and you will live out your days as a man of the Night’s Watch or you will have your head relieved from your shoulders by courtesy of Lady Stark's dragon.”

Visenya had never felt what she was feeling then. She didn’t pay any attention to Hedgar Cerwyn’s fury and his indignation, not when his brother forced him from the room and the other Lords of the north nodded in agreement. She felt something in her chest, deep in her stomach.

Hedgar Cerwyn had called her a bastard and Lord Stark had sent him to the Wall. Whatever his reasons for wanting her, the reasons he would not share with her that morning, they were good enough reasons for him to protect her at all costs.

Hedgar stepped forward, his fury winning out over his common sense when he stepped in the direction of Visenya with such viciousness in his eyes. Ser Jarrald moved first but Lord Stark moved faster, as did Edric and Willum whose swords were drawn faster than Visenya had ever seen.

Lord Stark had about ten inches, a room full of men and support on Cerwyn and even he wasn’t stupid enough to try something he would regret. Shaking his head, his face red from anger and embarrassment Hedgar spun on his heel and stormed from the room.

Visenya didn’t move, not from where she stood flanked by Willum and Edric with swords drawn.

“My Lady, please accept the apologies of my house” Lord Cerwyn spoke, his voice low among the tense and hardened stares.

Visenya stepped back towards Ser Jarrald, her brother and uncle-by-law sheathing their swords.

“Your brother’s crimes are not your own, Lord Cerwyn. The apology is not yours to make, please continue my lords.”

She nodded towards the war table where bannermen’s sigils had fallen in the chaos. Lord Stark still stood with his back to her and his fists clenched.

Returning to the table she passed a hand over him, over where she could reach and where the other lords wouldn’t notice. She barely touched him, from the middle of his back where layers of his leather and furs covered him across his shoulder.

She heard his heavy breaths, the ones she had listened to this morning and watched him rejoin them although his mind was clearly elsewhere. The meeting continued for less than ten minutes, Visenya knew that many men were thinking about Hedgar Cerwyn on his trek to the wall and Lord Stark’s show of power. Visenya thought of her Lord husband and how for all his talk of loyalty and being a warden of peace not a conqueror, doling out sentences suited him.

The men were beginning talks of the question of House Bolton’s presence, or lack thereof in the war council when Lord Stark had had enough.

“Everybody out.”

He commanded, loud and clear, his eyes vicious like a beast. Like a wolf.

Chairs scraped along the floor and men shuffled quickly to obey their Lord. Visenya copied, turning towards the door with her cloak rustling against the floor. She had come from visiting Ghost with Harrin and her riding leathers, although warm were covered with a cloak of fur and wool given by Lady Alyssa.

“Not you” he snapped, pointing a finger at her and hooking it towards himself in a gesture.

Visenya did not know what he wanted from her, but she wanted to know. So she stayed. Lord Dustin and Ser Jarrald were the last to leave, Ser Jarrald waiting for a nod from Visenya before he left her in a room alone with the man who could’ve asked for anything and asked for her.

The door shut, leaving them entirely alone again for the second time that day. But this morning, they had been in bed, undressed and speaking softly at daybreak. Now they were standing at the War council’s table in Winterfell and he had just banished one of his men’s brothers to the Wall for an insinuation.

“Now even Edric grows enamored with you.”

It was almost like a sigh.

Visenya rolled her eyes, quite sure he couldn’t see her.

“Yes, well don’t worry, I’m sure you’re still quite immune to my charms.”

Her tone was quite sharp although when Lord Stark lifted his head, her eyes weren’t half as cold as he knew they could be.

“I wouldn’t be so sure” he shook his head, rolling his jaw.

She admonished herself for looking in his eyes. Because once she did, she was trapped.

“You didn’t have to do that...” she spoke softly now, her feet moving until she stood only feet away from him, her hip resting against the corner of the table.

Lord Stark scoffed, raising his eyebrows at her as he looked across at her.

“A man sworn to obey and be loyal to my house calls my wife a bastard, what would you have me do?”

He wasn’t being cruel, just curious. And she was glad he was speaking to her.

“I would have let Daemon or Jace take his tongue or worse... but you didn’t have to do anything”

A few weeks ago she might have been right. But Visenya was his wife, she was Lady Stark, she was Wardeness of the North. Speaking such insults of your liege lord’s house was treason and for the first time, Visenya felt Northern.

“Yes. I did” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers as she moved closer.

“Need I remind you of some of the choice remarks you made upon my arrival at Winterfell?”

Visenya remembered being called ‘his princess’, being called ‘little dragon’ and the ‘Strong Princess’. She remembered how he sneered, how he barely spoke to her until he announced he was marrying her. And even then, every time he would do something that made her fond of him, he would do something equally as hateful.

“No, princess. You needn’t” he huffed, something akin to regret in his dark eyes when he looked away from her.

“Hedgar Cerwyn is a stupid and arrogant prick.” Lord Stark spat, his fist pressed into the Fingers on the map so hard she was quite sure the table would mark his hand.

“He would never be Lord Cerwyn but he is in close contact with the Arryn’s youngest son as well as the obsession Wyrma Fray has with him, he is well connected with many families. He is my friend’s brother and I sent him to The Wall because he spoke ill of you.”

Visenya shivered, this time with no correlation to the cold. The way he looked at her, like she was to be pounced on at any moment did something to her pulse that couldn’t be healthy.

“And because he tried to touch you.” Lord Stark seethed, admitting something he clearly had no intended to.

Visenya blanched.

“He did not—”

“At the feast, the night before our wedding he tried to touch you.”

Visenya had not even known Lord Stark had been watching. She had not been overly bothered by Hedgar’s advances.

She scoffed, a laugh coming from her throat being the last thing Lord Stark had expected to hear.

“You think another man laying his hands on you a joke?” he snapped, fury in his eyes but no fear in hers as she stood up straighter and faced him.

“I think hypocrites to be a funnier joke than most fools tell”

She bit back, knowing he stood far bigger and taller but with her spine straight and her brow furrowed, feeling every bit of the flames inside her she didn’t care if she was outsized. She didn’t care because she was not out matched.

He turned to face her and she wasn’t intimidated but spurred on.

“Hypocrites?” He snapped, his eyes burning.

“Don’t make me laugh, Lord Stark. You banish men who dare to try to win my affections and call me bastard but when I arrived you made your little snide comments about my parentage and you did not even look at me.”

She grew braver, pushing further and standing straighter.

“You talk as though any man who touches me will be sent to the pyre while you do not touch me yourself and you let women you've fucked fetch me water and clean my clothes with their simpering smiles and innocent shit talk.”

Visenya couldn’t stop once she had started. She wished she could but she never had been able to. Her mother had warned her what trouble her temper would cause her but standing before Warden of the North, her lord husband and letting him see exactly what he had asked for when he said she should let her fire burn as bright as it liked. She was waiting to be sent away, to be shut up and refused entry to any of Lord Stark’s councils or meetings. But he looked at her with such open fury and heat, she couldn’t stop.

“You think I’m fucking other women?” he roared, looming over her.

“You would deny it?” she snapped back, fire and fury burning through her veins.

Lord Stark laughed, not the low and warm laugh he had let slip in the Wolfswood a handful too many times for his liking but the cold and hollow laugh she hated. That she hated because of how cocky and cold he looked, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth might shatter and if she reached up her finger tips would be sliced against his jaw.

“I would deny any lies thrown at me” he snapped back, furiously.

Visenya laughed, just as cold as his had been.

“You rage that Targaryens tell lies, paint them as truths and burn anyone who calls them a liar. And you stand before me telling lies and painting them as truth now?”

Lord Stark was angry. He wasn’t amused nor attracted by her accusations as he had been at her temper.

“I call them lies because that is what they are.”

He seethed, not shouting any longer. He was furious but he did not want anyone in Winterfell hearing their shouts.

Visenya did not relent. Her hands sat on her glorious hips and she glowered at him, those lilac eyes burning with something not of their world.

“You deny fucking Corrina Cassel?” she questioned, feeling as though she had him cornered but not in the way she had imagined.

Lowering himself by stooping slightly he looked her in the eyes, those maddening eyes.

“I deny it.”

Although Visenya didn’t want to believe him, she saw it in his eyes. He did not lie. He had not been with Corrina.

But while he had her shocked into silence, he stepped forward, gaining on her and gaining the upper hand again even if it was just a two man fight.

“I deny bedding Corrina, I deny bedding Ingrid, Offeelia, Greer and Roslin too. I deny bedding every woman, lady and whore from here to Dorne”

Offelia was daughter to a stable hand, she bathed in the pools of the Wolfswood every Sunday and most boys of Winterfell tried to spy on her. Greer was the wife of Urstin, a hunter who had lost a hand to a bear trap. She was tall and thin but she had a pretty smile and an even prettier pair of tits. Roslin was a butcher’s daughter. She was beautiful with long red hair and freckles on both cheeks. She was married with four children. But Cregan included her for certainty.

“I deny bedding any woman in Winterfell because I have not bedded a singular woman because I took a vow to be Lord of Winterfell and Lord of Winterfell only beds his wife.”

With mere inches between them, Visenya could almost taste his words and she saw no lies in his eyes. Although she doubted it, she found it almost impossible to believe, she did believe him. Lord Stark told her he had been with no one because it was the truth.

Visenya’s breaths came short and quick, her mind racing to catch up with what he had just told her. That he had never been with anyone else, that when they consummated their marriage then she would be his first.

Although Visenya had pictured it, had imagined it and wanted it for longer than she would admit the thought now frightened her. It wouldn’t be the clinical chore that needed to be carried out anymore for the duty that was to their Houses. It would be personal, it would be intimate and dare she think, sacred.

“What is it, little dragon? Not what you expected?” he taunted her, his voice thick but the pink in his cheeks more endearing than she would ever admit to him.

She blinked fast, hoping the confusion she felt would vanish with it but it didn’t.

“I didn’t... I didn’t think...” she stammered, finally left speechless and dumbstruck.

In their proximity she could follow the scar from his temple all the way through his eyebrow and around underneath his sharp cheekbone. His scent, the one she had woke wrapped in was still clinging to him even now hours later wrapped in furs and his fighting leathers. His heat still taunted her and beckoned her closer.

“You’re not what I expected”

The words rushed out past her lips, almost a direct copy of what he had said to her before he had kissed her. And like he remembered; Lord Stark sighed softly in what seemed like relief.

“Thank the Gods” he sighed.

She wasn’t sure if he pushed or if she pulled or if something else altogether shoved them into each other’s reach but the next thing she knew, his lips were on hers and her hands grabbed at his chest finding purchase in his furs.

And Gods she had no idea why they didn’t do this all the time. He kissed her like he was starving, like he’d been deprived of her lips, of her mouth, of her whole body for years. And the thought that he didn’t do this with other girls, the reassurance that he was hers even if it was just a silly vow and an alliance of two great Houses, it made her push up onto her toes and make her chest meet his in the middle.

He was so warm, so big and sturdy when she bumped against him. His hands could hold her head in them and his thumbs and fingers would touch but when he grabbed her head, they were gentle and coaxing in the way he tilted her head up to his. She was grabbing onto the furs around his chest and neck, pulling him down to her as he pulled her up to him, his mouth following hers and urging for more.

More of his teeth catching her lip between them, more of his fingers and their slight pulling of her hair, more of his chest moving against hers where the hard and strong planes of his body met the soft, pillowy curves of hers. More of the noise that left his throat when she wrapped her arms around his neck and he felt her tongue against his.

More. More. More. She thought in broken, short flashes as his hands smoothed down her shoulders, down her sides past her breasts that she prayed he would touch until he gripped her hips and pulled them against him, against the hard and warm front of him. Wanting less obstacles and more of him, she undid the clasp of her cloak quickly, letting it slap to the ground and leaving her before him in just her riding leathers.

When his hands squeezed her hips and she rolled her hips against him, the sound that slipped from her lips was sinful and he would relive it again and again for the rest of his days. He would think of how his hands slipped across leather and how her soft breasts felt pushed against his chest, how she sighed when he pulled her closer.

He wouldn’t have pushed, but she pulled. Leaning into his grip further, his hands slid over her hips until her ass was in the huge palms of his hands and when he squeezed, her lips broke away from his to gasp. Her eyes opened and the lilac flames he had grown so enthralled with burned like an inferno.

“More” she whispered, it was almost a sigh as she gripped his shoulders, pulling herself up on tiptoes again.

Lord Stark would never leave a lady in distress or discomfort, being raised better. And standing on her toes would grow tiresome. With his hands full of the part of her he had been almost frightened to look at since she arrived because he truly believed it would be his ruin, he pulled her up into his grip, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively so that she was at his eye level again.

Arching against him, she found that he made the most delicious groaning noise especially if she rolled her hips at the same time.

“Gods, you’re fucking... you’re...”

Whatever Lord Stark intended to say was lost between her sighs and gasps for more. More that she only wanted from him. Because what she was feeling with him was something she’d never felt. Not with any of the boys she’d kissed or let touch her, never with them.

Visenya felt him turning around although she didn’t really care where he went or what he did with her so long as he didn’t stop. And he didn’t, not when he set her down on the table they had all been standing over minutes previously and not when he pulled his lips from hers and started wandering, across her jaw and down her neck, kissing and licking, sucking and biting, laving with his tongue until he reached the base of her neck and her leathers were in the way.

Pushing her hands between them, she grabbed the front of them, releasing the hook and eyes of the bodice under his watchful and heady gaze.

“You don’t have to... we don’t have to...” he stammered, watching her small and delicate fingers work their way down her torso until he could see a sliver of skin from her clavicle to her navel and his mouth went dry.

The sliver of space between both sides of her clothes didn’t reveal much apart from her collar bone down between her breasts that sat as two firm and soft globes inside her leathers, aching to be touched down to her belly button.

“I know we don’t" she whispered in response, leaving the rest to Lord Stark who stared at her like he wanted to burn the image of her like this into his skull.

His shaky exhale was enough for her to want him more than she’d ever wanted anything and had her reaching for him again.

He just kissed her again, his hands holding her neck and his fingers sliding up into her hair until she was squirming against him again, her own hands fidgeting with the clasp of his cloak until it fell from his shoulders to the floor and she had more of him, all she wanted then was more.

“Touch me, Lord Stark” she whispered, her lips moving along the rough stubble of his jaw down his neck until she heard him groaning when her teeth ran along the skin under his ear.

“Touch me” she sighed, her tongue against his throat until his ear lobe was between her teeth and he was sighing too.

“Cregan” she tried once more, his name slipping past her lips before she realised. Before she stopped herself calling him by his name for the first time.

But it had the absolute desired effect. Growing up in King’s Landing and on Dragonstone had meant a life largely unfamiliar with wild animals but Visenya had come face to face with Grey Ghost when he was still a wild dragon. It was the only place she had seen something so wild. Until she sat in front of Cregan Stark, undressing herself and asking him to touch her.

She heard his sharp inhale and felt his hands stop moving. She opened her eyes to see him watching her, eyes wild and dark, one of his hands around the base of her throat, his thumb against her bottom lip. His breaths came short and fast, his thumb gentle against her lip until she couldn’t take it any longer.

She thought she was hot already but the way he looked at her when she leaned forward and took his thumb into her mouth, running her tongue over the tip of it, she thought she was going to be set on fire by his gaze.

“Touch me, Cregan” she whispered, knowing she had him.

And she did.

His lips met hers again, with more purpose this time as he knew exactly what she liked this time, how she liked to be kissed and what made her sigh, what made her breathe heavier. But he was intent on making her moan, he needed to hear what the Princess sounded like when he made her happier than anyone else had.

Rough and calloused fingers traced down her jaw but they moved with purpose, unafraid and wanting as they pushed down beneath the supple leather that lay between them. Cregan slid his hands beneath it, feeling her warm, soft skin and pushing until he felt the weight of her breasts in his hands, felt her heart beating into his hand. And he groaned, in time with her soft moan.

“Senya...” he sighed, so quiet she almost didn’t hear him but she did, and she couldn’t stop her back arching, pushing herself further into his hands until he squeezed, until his thumbs found the hardened bud in the centre of her breasts, and he rolled it beneath his fingers. He pulled them lightly between his thumbs and forefingers, his mouth attached to her neck in the place her breaths grew heaviest when he kissed it.

“Yes” she sighed, her head lolling back and his ravaging of her neck continuing. It was perfect, too perfect. Much better than anything any other boy had done before but she didn’t want to think about them now. She wanted to think about him.

And she did. She ran her hands up his chest, over his shoulders squeezing the hard muscles that were there until she was able to slide her hands underneath the leathers over his chest and feel the heat of his skin like she had when she woke that morning.

“More Cregan, please” she sighed, pleasure burning through her with each pull and stroke of his fingers against her.

Hearing his name leave her lips, his hands tightened against her squeezing the handfuls of her that he had possessively.

“The Princess wants more?” he whispered against her neck, looking up at her for the first time ever. Looking back at her throat which was marked in small and red patches from his teeth and tongue, from his beard scratching her although she seemed not to care or notice.

“Yes” she sighed, shifting her hips against him until he felt the heat between her legs rubbing against his middle and he groaned.

“More than this?” he asked, low and quiet as he ran his thumbs in circles around her nipples again until they tightened even more and she felt it deep inside herself.

Nodding, her breaths quickened and her eyes tracked his as they moved down her neck. His hands rolled, coming to the parting of her neckline and pushing it out the way, rolling it over her shoulders and down her arms until she was bare from the waist up.

The cold air nipped at her but the way Lord Stark’s throat bobbed, his breaths came harder and faster and how his pupils doubled in size, it was worth braving the cold.

The scarred and mottled skin of her left shoulder that creeped around to her back did not faze him. If anything, it spurred him on as his eyes roamed across the white, mottled flesh that the Maesters had said was beyond repair.

“More than this?” he asked, leaving no time for Visenya to wonder what he thought because when she looked down, his mouth was on her chest and his lips found her nipple immediately, his tongue laving across the hardened bud and his teeth scraping until she whimpered. A sound she had never heard herself make before.

“More?” he whispered, his mouth still against her as he moved to the other side, his ministrations the same but his other hand reaching around her back and running the callused tips of his fingers down her spine.

She couldn’t speak, only nod. And feel. Feel everything he did to her and how she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to say she had had enough of Cregan Stark.

Clinging to him, she heard herself making noises she did not usually make and nod so enthusiastically her neck would surely ache tomorrow.

“You’re so perfect, aren’t you” he sighed, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him but she keened into the praise, in such a state of heightened want she wanted him to never stop.

“Cregan” she whispered, his name becoming something of a term of endearment from her lips as she reached down and took his hand in hers from where it rested against her ribs.

She pulled his hand up between their faces, his eyes dark with lust as he watched her and she watched him. She wanted to see his eyes darken, to watch him lose it for her again and again. She pulled his hand closer to her face, her lips kissing the rough and callused tips of his index and middle finger until she slipped them into her mouth, warm and wet and gave them the same treatment she had with his thumb earlier but she took them deeper, wetting them with her tongue and sucking until she wrenched a groan from his throat.

“Touch me” she encouraged, his hand in hers, guided down to where her leathers were open until her belly button and pushing his hand down past the soft and warm material until he found something softer and warmer.

Lord Stark was a virgin, not an idiot. He knew more than most did in his state. And he knew that watching her reactions was all he needed to do.

Watching her eyes fluttering back in her head and listening to her soft, feminine sighs were indications to follow. And with her hand guiding him, he moved the two fingers slowly further down until he found her wet and warm and she gasped.

“Yes” she sighed, when he pulled back slightly, feeling something beneath the pads of his fingers and she thanked the Gods he stayed there, running fingers in circles and back and forth until he was moving at a pace and in a pattern she liked.

“Fuck” she sighed heavily, after he had been continuing at this pace and pattern she favoured, her hands gripping the tops of his arms like he was all she could cling to. Sliding his fingers further, they slid inside of the source of her warmth and wetness, like heaven gripping onto him and his palm slid across where he had been rubbing before that made her make such contended sounds. The flush in her cheeks had run all the way down her neck, to the tops of her breasts that heaved and moved with her as she rolled her hips against him.

“That’s it, princess. Come on” he groaned, needing to see her reach what he assumed was a peak more than he needed his next breath.

He’d experienced plenty of his own but he had never seen a woman have one. From what he had heard it wasn’t uncommon for women to never reach them, especially with their husbands. But Visenya Targaryen was splayed across his war table with his fingers buried inside her and her breaths coming so fast she was barrelling towards something, whatever it was.

All Cregan wanted then was to see it and he would do whatever it took. Knowing she had liked it before, he leaned forward wrapping his lips around her nipple and sucking, running his teeth across it and looking up at her.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, reaching in the darkness for something perfect and elusive she had wanted with many other boys but never reached. And there she was, with it lingering just out of grasp until his lips found her nipple again and he bit softly, his groans and grinding against her leg not pushing her off the edge but shoving her into it.

And it was all-consuming, blinding pleasure that she chased after with him, knowing that the moans that slipped from her lips she had never made such sounds before but she didn’t care because of how he looked at her.

Like a man who had seen a dragon for the first time.

Because she was perfect and the sounds she had made were sinful and he realised what was happening, the wet that flooded his palm and the way she had clenched around his fingers like a velvet vice.

For all her strength with which she gripped his shoulders, she let her pleasure, that he had given her rack through her until she couldn’t even hold herself up anymore and she fell back on her elbows against the table, her head tilting back in release and her eyes fluttering shut.

He could feel her still clenching and quivering around his fingers, under his palm and when he moved to pull his hand away, dragging both his palm and fingers up through her, against the part of her that made her sigh loudest, she whimpered, her thighs tensing around his hips and her brow furrowing although her eyes still didn’t open.

“....Sensitive... wait...”

She sighed, although Cregan only heard fragments of what she said as she mumbled and didn’t raise her voice higher than a whisper. Careful to slip his hand from under her leathers without rubbing against her again, his hand came free and he found that he could smell her, the arousal that coated his fingers and he felt his pulse hammer in his chest.

Men talked of women and what they tasted like but Cregan wanted to know what she tasted of.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern overtaking his filthy thoughts.

He leaned over her, ignoring how hard he was against her and hoping it didn’t offend her. Looming over her, his hands either side of her head, fists resting on Storm’s End and Highgarden, he waited for her eyes to flutter open and they did.

“Yes, I’m perfect” she managed to get out, her contended and soft expression one that Cregan knew he could grow incredibly attached to.

He liked it when she was angry, all furrowed brows andburning eyes. But he liked this too.

Being looked at like that, it would make any man go to his knees.

She smiled, knowing that he had said how perfect she was countless times and he smiled back, an easy laugh working its way from his chest.

“Yes, you are” he nodded, relishing the feel of her hands that slid up his chest until her fingertips played with his beard almost absentmindedly.

“I didn’t know it could be like that” she whispered, honesty being too easy when he looked at her like that with such open admiration and his hands trailed back and forth across her stomach and ribs.

“Neither did I” he admitted, never hearing how much pleasure a man could get from a woman with his cock still in his trousers.

She could feel it against her stomach as he leaned over her, a long and hard length.She slid a hand down his chest, towards him but he stopped her. His hand gripped hers in his and brought it back up to his face where he kissed the back of it and placed it back on his neck.

“It’s alright, princess...” he said, distracting her with another kiss. Lazy and slow this time, his hand holding her neck and squeezing lightly until she sighed happily again.

His fondness for calling her princess was growing less of a mocking moniker and more of a term of endearment that she was growing attached to. The way he kissed her she had a dangerous thought. She was growing attached to much more than just the way he referred to her. She was growing attached to her husband. A dangerous prospect indeed.

Chapter 9: IX

Notes:

Cregan's simp era <3

Visenya knew that the men of the North were old-fashioned and even slightly prudish compared to the capital. But she did not care if people watched her and Lord Stark exit the council room after quite some time together, standing much closer together than they had on entering and an air of ease between them. If people noticed a change in the tension between their Lord and Lady, nobody said anything. And the day continued, all chatter surrounding what had happened to Lord Cerwyn.

Visenya had planned to spend her afternoon on dragonback but after a morning flight and a walk with Harrin, she was more tired than she had expected. And she returned to her chambers to bathe and rest before dinner. Lord Stark was to go into the Wolfswood with Willum and Edric, to hunt.

Sitting in her bath, Visenya thought of her family on Dragonstone. She wondered how life looked now they were approaching war. Life in the North seemed to go on as normal even if the war council convened. She imagined that Dragonstone was a very different matter of affairs.

The sound of the door opening and closing alerted her to someone joining her in the room. Turning over her shoulder, a smile on her face she called out.

“I won’t be sharing this bath, no matter how nicely you ask me. So don’t”

But when her head turned to where the person stood, her mouth dropped open.

“Oh”

Corrina stood with fresh linens and a pair of Visenya’s riding boots that she had taken to be mended.

“I thought you were someone else, my apologies.”

Visenya acknowledged, unsure if Corrina deserved her apologies. But if Cregan hadn’t been bedding her all along, she deserved politeness. Even if she had been trying her best to seduce him with her wandering hands and fluttering eyes after supper each night where she had seen them.

“Of course, my lady”

Corrina was furious, Visenya could see it in her clenched fists and her tight voice.

As Corrina put away the linens and made the bed, the bed Visenya had woken in with Cregan that morning, Corrina seethed. Whatever she had thought was going to happen with her and Lord Stark was evaporating before her eyes since Visenya had arrived in Winterfell and she was not pleased.

However, she held her tongue and when she had finished her cleaning she left Viseyna to her bath. She left Visenya to do her hair and eat her supper in the hall with Lord Stark who gestured to the chair beside him rather than her usual spot with Arrina and Harrin. Of course, Arrina and Harrin simply followed her, bringing their plates and stools with them until they sat beside her, knocking elbows in the tight space.

It was just the Starks dining on this night. Lord Stark sat in the middle, with Edric and Willum on one side and his wife on his other. Across from Visenya sat Lady Alyssa and Torra.

Arrina told her what happened in the North at the time of Aegon’s conquering and although Lord Stark stayed quiet she was quite sure he wasn’t listening. Winter sat behind them, ice blue eyes watching them carefully and whining until Lord Stark gave her the bone from his plate.

Visenya felt dare she admit it, content. Something close to content.

The North had not been her first choice and Lord Stark had certainly not been it either. Visenya had never yearned for married life, always fearing a life of duty to a husband who belittled her and fearing the birthing bed more than she could put into words.

But the North was beautiful. The people were stubborn and complicated but they were not without merit. And the Starks were good people. Her life could be much worse.

“Dorne was the only of the kingdoms to not be conquered although Aegon’s efforts didn’t stop there. The First Dornish war broke out —”

Arrina’s story cut short with Maester Fagan’s arrival to supper. Visenya’s eyes dropped immediately to check his hands. And she was right. He had a message.

“My Lord, my lady” he nodded to them both, the worry deeply creasing his forehead “It comes from Dragonstone.”

Visenya stood, reaching her hand out although Maester Fagan did not place it into her hand. He looked between his lord and lady, uncomfortably.

“The message is for Lord Stark”

Visenya looked to him straight away. He stood up, reaching his hand out and taking the message, feeling her eyes on him. She sat back down, Arrina chattering still in her ear although Visenya heard nothing but the breaking of a seal, the unfurling of paper.

She waited.

Waited and waited for what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than seconds as he read.

He crushed the paper in his hand, rolled back up but clenched in his fist as he pushed away from the table, knocking his chair in his haste but not caring. Cregan left the hall without word to anyone. And Visenya followed. Because the sigil had been her family’s. And whatever it brought was news she should be privy to.

She found him in the Godswood, standing beneath the tree. He faced away from her, his whole body tense and his hand running over the top of his head as he tended to do when he was overwhelmed.

It was freezing outside and her breath curled like smoke on every exhale.

“You’ll freeze out here” he said, knowing she was who had followed him from her footsteps.

“What did it say?”

She didn’t care if she froze. She needed to know.

She strode up beside him, standing in front of him and making herself look him in the eye. And when she looked up at him, the pity in his eyes was worse than anything she could have seen.

“Senya... I’m so sorry”

Panic flooded her veins. Her mother. Rhaenys. Luke. Jace. Joff. Baela. Rhaena. Aegon. Viserys. Even Daemon. Something had happened and their faces flashed before her eyes.

“Who?”

Her voice sounded hoarse and unlike herself.

Cregan put both his hands on her shoulders but the piece of paper was still in his hand and a corner of the parchment pricked at her skin.

“It’s the Prince Jacaerys”

Visenya panicked. Her entire body felt numb and cold but her mind panicked. Jace. Her brother Jace.

“Prince Daemon wrote me.” - Cregan’s hands tightened for a moment on her shoulders - “The prince Jacaerys was sent to the Vale to ensure support. He hasn’t been seen in days...”

He hadn’t been seen in days. But that did not mean dead. He wasn’t dead. She would know if he was dead.

“He’s not dead” she stammered, pulling herself out of Cregan’s reach and out of his grasp. It was much colder without him.

“They cannot find him, Visenya. He hasn’t sent word and Lord Arryn said he left the Vale over a week ago. He should have reached Deepwood Motte by now.”

Cregan was talking sense but his wife did not want to hear it as she stepped away from him.

“Why would he be going to Deepwood Motte?”

House Glover was sworn to House Stark, they were their bannermen and would follow Lord Stark if and when he went to war. Visenya knew nothing of Jace’s plans to fly there. Nobody had told her, including her Lord husband.

Lord Stark shook his head, avoiding her eyes.

“We had planned to meet there, he is to see what ships we have although they are nothing compared to the Sea Snake’s fleet they are what the North has and the Greens do not even know we have them.”

Visenya knew that Northern forces had no need for ships but what they had were more for transport of food and grain, livestock and weapons. But what they had were between Whiteharbour and Deepwood motte.

“Why did nobody tell me?” she snapped.

Before Lord Stark could muster an explanation or excuse, Visenya’s next question came shooting out.

“Why isn’t he on Vermax?”

Lord Stark had said he had left the Vale over a week ago. The flight from there to Deepwood motte would not take more than a day. He was without his dragon. And this was the part of the circumstances that she hated the most.

“He wanted to go unseen... Dragons draw too much attention”

Visenya took a deep breath through her nose. The cold air stung but she needed to calm herself.

“My brother has gone missing. He is without his dragon and without aid. The heir to the Iron throne has vanished. And now is the first I am hearing of it.”

She was furious. She hated him. For distracting her, for not telling her, for fooling her.

“I did not think it was of consequence.”

Lord Stark spoke low but not softly, not like he had spoken to her that afternoon.

“Not of consequence?” she snapped, feeling fire seizing inside of her “My brother is missing, my brother who will one day be our King. He is my brother and he is missing!”

Her voice was raised now. Jace had been with Visenya since the second they were conceived. He had been by her side since the moment she came into existence. She had never entertained the thought she would have to exist in the world without him. The thought made her feel ill.

And the space between them seemed to widen like a chasm.

A Targaryen and a Stark. His family and her family. Her duty and his duty. Her honour and his. Two people who were not on the same path no matter if it had seemed to be merging.

Cregan’s attempts to comfort or help her were not helping. She pulled away from his touch and talked over his reassurances. She covered her ears when that didn’t work and walked away from him when that failed too.

She should have never touched him. This was what happened to dragons who didn’t stay with dragons. They burned everything they touched. Targaryens were mad. They were mad because they were like Gods or because they lost everything so gods damned always. Visenya thought it was a bit of both.

He caught up with her easily, grabbing a hold of her elbow.

“No Cregan, stop” she yelled, her tone taking him by surprise.

His hands immediately jumped from her, he stepped back entirely and put significant distance between them.

“Don’t touch me” she yelled, putting her hands up in front of herself. Gods all she wanted was to sob and cry and curl into a ball around him, on his lap, against him. Anything but be this far away from him.

But that was what had gotten her into this mess, this pain she had been trying to avoid.

“Okay, Senya okay.” he nodded, his tone so soft she wanted to rage.

He should hate her. It would be easier if he did hate her. Then she wouldn’t want him so badly.

“Stay away from me” she cried, backing away from him and heading towards her chambers.

Not the chambers she shared with Lord Stark but the ones that had been left empty when she was moved into the Lady of Winterfell’s rooms. The bed had been stripped and all her things were now in another room but she didn’t care. The door had a lock and more importantly, the room did not have company. Wolves might have had packs but dragons were solitary creatures. Dragons didn’t have friends or allies. They had other dragons. That was all they were meant for.

Visenya should have never let herself think a dragon could survive in the North. Only wolves survived in the North. And she was no wolf.

*

Once she had washed her face with water cold enough to make her eyes less red and spent the hours of dawn with Ghost in the Wolfswood, Visenya felt less like she would combust into flames with temper and heartache.

Lord Stark had once told her that Lady of Winterfell would command her own man from dragonback, would fight alongside him and paint the South with dead greens. And yet he had kept news of Jace’s movements from her.

She felt stupid for ever believing him when she was convinced that he would be different to the rest of the men in Westeros who believed women were not equal, were weaker.

“Your grace” Ser Jarrald bowed quickly as she dismounted Ghost in the Wolfswood and found her guard waiting for her.

“I believe I’m ‘my lady’ now Ser Jarrald” she sighed, only slightly bitterly.

Ser Jarrald harrumphed.

“You’ll always be ‘your grace’ to me, my lady”

Visenya smiled. Ser Jarrald had been with her since her fifteenth name day and at first while she had only grown used to him, she could admit now she was incredibly fond of him.

Even if a part of her had wondered if it would be Lord Stark who would meet her off Ghost like he had taken to doing.

Arriving at the gates of Winterfell, guards nodded and greeted her, much more respectfully than they had when she was princess. Lady Stark was theirs, the princess hadn’t been. She just wished they would let her. Mothers shooed their children away from her, men didn’t look her in the eyes. No one wanted to speak to her. Visenya had never seen up close how terrified people were of the crown, of the dragon. In Winterfell where it mattered, she hated it.

‘The people of the North will be honoured to have a princess of the realm as their Lady’

Her mother had told her this when Visenya had voiced her concern. She would never call her mother a liar but honoured was not what she would call the Northerners. Frightened. Intimidated. Cagey. Standoffish.

“Senya”

A shout of her name pulled her from her deep thoughts, a shout coming from Edric who was dressed for a long ride and was standing beside his horse saddled up.

“Edric” she smiled, despite herself. She didn’t hate all the Starks and it certainly hadn’t been his fault.

Edric shifted awkwardly.

“What is it?” she asked, looking around for her husband.

“We ride for Deepwood Motte... The Blacks still need to know what ships we can send.”

Visenya nodded, still turning her head. If they were leaving for Deepwood Motte Lord Stark should be readying to leave too.

“He’s gone already” Edric said, knowing who her lilac eyes scanned for.

“Why isn’t he riding with you?”

Something wasn't right.

“He left for the Vale at first light. He’s gone to search for the prince Jacaerys.”

Visenya didn’t know how to feel. Cregan knew that Visenya would have wanted to leave for the Vale but it was too dangerous. She was too recognisable, especially with Ghost. He had left to go to Jace’s aid for her. For her family. And he had left her there at Winterfell, with his family.

“Safe travels, Edric.” Visenya said, her hand reaching out to squeeze Edric’s forearm.

He was her brother by law and although she already had five brothers, Edric was carving out his own space in her heart so subtly she hadn’t noticed he was there until then when he smiled tightly at her, trepidation in his eyes at being sent alone for once.

“He’s not used to having someone alongside him, Senya... It might take some time for him to learn what that’s like.”

Edric called after her, as if his parting wisdom. And Visenya was grateful for it.

He was right. Lord Stark had been alone in his decisions and his ruling since his father died. Perhaps he would need some time to get used to the thought of having a lady wife he could trust. Northerners were loyal to their own and Visenya needed him to see that she was one of his. Perhaps the whole North needed to see that their lady of Winterfell wasn’t just a dragon who fought for herself.
*

A week passed slowly with no news from the Vale, from Dragonstone or from Deepwood Motte. Visenya felt useless. She took morning flights with Ghost, she sat with Maester Fagan and Ser Darron to review raven’s news and to approve accounts. Visenya had to nod along, had to trust the help and words of her advisors who were there to help her. But she felt utterly useless.

She had been raised as a princess by her parents. Ser Laenor made sure she was well-read, well-spoken, and knew how to dance, converse, and comport herself as a Princess of the Realm should. Her mother, Rhaenyra made sure Visenya was proficient in High Valyrian, in the histories of the Houses of Westeros and the wars of the Realms and in politics especially the underhanded and often cutthroat movings of life at court. And Ser Harwin made sure she was more than proficient with a bow, that she received the very best of training in the dragon pit and that she would be a warrior just like her namesake.

“Just like your mother. Now do it again” he would say, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand smoothing over her dark hair in braids.

All of this had prepared her for much but not for being Lady of Winterfell.

“My Lady, Maesters from the Last Hearth and from Widow’s Watch have wrote asking for the minimum they can send for the Winter stores”

Maester Fagan asked, his last order of business on the paper in front of him.

Both men sat across from their lady, watching her read the papers they put in front of her and digest what information they gave her. She had pushed her seat further towards the fireplace but it did nothing to warm her bones.

The way she looked at both men was quite clear she did not understand. Thankfully, Lord Stark’s mother had been helping.

“When winter or war approaches in the North, House Stark take responsibility for all the Northern houses. To do so, we need grain and livestock, enough to feed armies and the people if it comes to it.”

Visenya smiled gratefully at Lady Alyssa.

“Might I suggest the same rations we had asked for before, I can have my calculations and research sent to your chambers so you can look through it on your own time, my lady?”

Maester Fagan suggested, kindlier than he needed to be. Visenya didn’t have many allies in the North but he was certainly one. He had sent a bucket of what looked like blackened logs to her chambers the night before to be burned. Ingrid had told her they burned much hotter than wood and that they would keep her warmer. Aside from trying to keep her warm, Maester Fagan had brought her a copy of the Stark family’s ledgers to study.

Visenya didn’t know much about being a lady of Winterfell but she didn’t like to be not good at something. And she wanted to be good at this.

“Thank you” Visenya nodded, itching to go see Ghost once the meeting was over.

Since Lord Stark had left to look for Jace and no news of either of them had come in a week, Visenya found that the only ease and comfort she felt any more was with Ghost. And with Winter.

Lord Stark hadn’t left a note or instructions but his direwolf. Winter had been sitting at the gate of Winterfell when she had said goodbye to Edric. And she had scarcely left her side since.

The first afternoon, she kept her distance always trotting ahead of her not looking back at her unless Visenya stopped unexpectedly. She had gotten quite used to the wolf and she liked her company so much she had even spoken to her.

The first night when they had gotten to Visenya’s chambers, the ones she shared with Lord Stark although he wasn’t there she hadn’t been sure of what to do. Winter sat at the doorway, head tilted and ice-blue eyes wide as she regarded Visenya.

She held the door ajar, nodding her head and saying “it’s alright, come on”. Winter didn’t need to be invited a second time, rushing into the room past Visenya.

Winter lay on the ground at the foot of the bed, head under her paws while Visenya bathed and dressed in the red night clothes that had been set out for her.

“You’re much shyer than your master” Visenya remarked wryly, almost under her breath although she was certain Winter looked at her.

Visenya had climbed into the bed, shifting from one side to the other looking for the warmest position which, gods damn it was on her lord-husband's side. Wrapped in comforting notes of cedar and whatever else her husband smelled like, she slept.

And every night after that, Winter would sleep either on the rug next to the bed or in front of the fire. But always in view. And always where she could see Lady Stark.

The next morning, Winter had even rubbed against her, quickly sniffing around Visenya’s arms and legs, becoming franticly excited. Putting her head under Visenya’s hand as if to be petted and allowed her to rub her. Winter became quickly fond of the Princess’ attention and affections much like the Lord of Winterfell had.

With the meeting coming to an end, Visenya left the hall with Lady Alyssa who was becoming more of a friend than a mother by law.

“My lady!” A shout followed them, causing both women to turn quickly.

Visenya had been waiting all week for someone to come running to her with a raven.

“What is it?” Lady Alyssa asked without delay, seeing the boy who ran towards them with a message in his grasp.

“It’s for Lord Stark...” he panted, holding it out but not for Lady Alyssa, for Visenya.

Lady Alyssa nodded at her, without Lord Stark she was who should receive it. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to open someone else’s letter, especially not Lord Starks.

But the sigil caught her eye. A bear. House Mormont had sent a raven after weeks of ignoring their liege lord and their new lady’s pledges to Queen Rhaenyra.

“It’s for Lord Stark... not for —”

“—When Cregan isn’t here, you are Winterfell, you’re Lord Stark, you’re Warden of the North, Visenya.”

Lady Alyssa told her, pushing doubt and lack of certainty aside.

With unsure hands, Visenya broke the seal and rolled the paper open.

The writing was apalling, the ink smudged in places and it was clear what a hurry it had been written in. But the panic was clear.

“Bear Island is under attack. Two hundred Thenns, maybe more. Please help us.”

Visenya knew what the Thenns were. Wildlings who ate the bodies of those they killed. And they were renowned for killing.

There were women and children on Bear Island, there were innocent men on Bear Island. Her women and children, her men. Her people now.

The people of the North would never trust an outsider. Lady Umber had told her this the night of the feast. They were loyal to their own and without reason they would continue to be cold, standoffish and cagey. But Visenya was theirs now as much as they were hers.

She was useless in meetings about grain and livestock, in talks about long Winters. But she could do this.

She could fight for them.

*

“Please, Senya! Cregan won’t thank you for this! The Lady of Winterfell should obey her lord-husband and Cregan left with the understanding you would stay here!”

Lady Alyssa pleaded, her eyes begging as she followed Visenya into her chambers.

Visenya had handed her the raven’s message from Bear Island and turned on her heel, preparing to leave. Lady Alyssa had caught up with her in her chambers where Visenya was already dressed for a fight.

“Visenya please, you cannot leave Winterfell it isn’t safe for you out there. If some harm is to come to you, your family will never forgive us.”

But Visenya wasn’t listening. She tied her boots and pulled the bow and quiver Ser Harwin had given her mother to give to her when she was old enough. She didn’t have a sword but she never planned to get close enough to need one. A knife at the hip and her leathers were all she could bring. But she had Ghost. She didn’t need anything else.

“Cregan is Warden of the North. When he is not here I am both Lady and Lord of Winterfell...That is what you said!”

She couldn’t explain it. But she had to go. Cregan might not return for days, it could be too late then. House Mormont were fierce warriors but their numbers were low and they were isolated. The North had ships but they were scattered and those in Deepwood Motte would take too long to sail to Bear Island. The only way aid could arrive was by air. And Visenya was the only Dragon in the North.

“House Mormont are stubborn, my lady. They haven’t yet responded to Cregan’s call to arms, they might not want your help.”

Lady Alyssa was right. House Mormont had not shown support for Cregan or for the rightful Queen. They hadn’t even sent well wishes for the new Lady of Winterfell. But Visenya had learnt about the North. They were loyal, they were stubborn and cold but they looked after their own. And if Visenya wanted to be one of them, she would have to show them.

“I’ll take Ghost to Bear Island...Send word to Edric, he can follow from Deepwood Motte as quick as they are able... But I must go now, I’m the only aid they can get today!”

She explained and Lady Alyssa knew she was right.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, not sure what just one woman could do with her dragon

“I will protect them.”

She pushed past the doorway, making for the Wolfswood as fast as she could.

Lady Stark followed her, hot on her heels with protests and begging her to stay.

Just as the gates of Winterfell opened, no questions asked from the men who guarded them when they had seen their Lady coming in her leathers with a face like fury.

“māzīs Ghost”

She yelled into the cold and unforgiving winds. Ghost was never far anymore. Although he was far enough to give Lady Alyssa time to catch up to her albeit short of breath.

“And if you’re too late?” She questioned, looking for anything that would make her stay.

Visenya had thought of this too. If she was too late to save the people of Bear Island, if there was nothing but smoke and blood left where there had once been homes and people.

Ghost screeched from overhead, blocked from view by the clouds until he slammed to the ground only metres from where Visenya stood.

“rȳbās Ghost” she soothed him, ready to take flight.

Lady Alyssa’s question remained unanswered. The answer was quite simple to Visenya. She had a duty to the people of Bear Island, she was Lady of Winterfell. The North was her responsibility as much as it was Cregan’s.

“Then I will avenge them.” She said into the wind before commanding Ghost to take to the skies, flying for Bear Island without support, without knowledge of what awaited and without permission. But most worryingly, alone.

Chapter 10: X

Notes:

Little bit early! But this was one of those chapters that was one of the first ideas I had about writing a Cregan Stark fic. I'm absolutely loving writing this story even if it's proving a lot harder than other stuff I've written. Reading people's comments and reactions makes it so much more fun too! Love, M

Cregan Stark knew that he had married a woman who was a force to be reckoned with. She proved this with every act of defiance, every icey glare, ever barbed comment she threw at him. But arriving home to Winterfell, to be told that not only was his wife not there but they weren't sure where she was, only where she was going tested his ever-wearing thin patience.

He had swung off his horse, relieved to be home when his mother came rushing towards him. He knew by her face that something had happened.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling something like panic flood his veins.

“She wouldn’t wait, Cregan she left days ago”

His eyes darted around hoping to catch a glimpse of a black cloak and burning lilac eyes.

“Where is she?”

His mother grabbed his arm but Cregan was already climbing back onto his horse.

“The raven came days ago, Lord Orren appealed for aid from his Liege lord... she wouldn’t wait!”

Cregan heard his mother’s words but it wasn’t what he wanted. He needed to know where she was.

“She flew to Bear Island?” he barked, knowing that it was exactly what she would do.

And a flame of pride burned in his chest for her. The dragon princess who had flown North and married him for her family now fought for his people. Because they were hers now too.

But that flame was quickly overpowered. Visenya and Ghost had flown to Bear Island with no aid and no way of knowing when aid would come. The Thenns were vicious, monstrous warriors who wouldn’t care for consequences that came with harming the Lady of Winterfell or a Princess of the Realm.

“Send a raven to Edric at Deepwood Motte. Tell him to sail for Bear Island immediately with every man Lord Glover can spare. Tell him to make not a moment's delay!”

*

The journey from Winterfell to Bear Island was the longest Cregan had ever experienced. It certainly wasn’t since he had once gone to Dorne with his father and even to Oldtown a handful of times. But Cregan didn’t sleep or eat, he barely felt able to breathe until the ship he had gotten from Deepwood Motte was sailing into Bear Island’s harbour.

He had felt sick in his stomach at the thought of what might await him. Edric gutted and mutilated, Visenya and Ghost ripped apart, a Thenn wearing a necklace woven from her hair and another wearing Edric's hand around his neck. He imagined all the ways he would rip their bodies apart, eyes from sockets and arms from shoulders if they had laid a hand on his family.

But what awaited them was something else entirely.

Smoke and ash still hung heavy in the air, the main evidence that Visenya had used Ghost for more than just transport. Cregan had his sword drawn, turning and pivoting quickly to watch his back and his men's backs as they stepped foot onto the dock.

It was quiet. Deadly quiet.

There were no cries from wounded or screams for help but there were no roars of victory either. Cregan surged on, with his handful of men with weapons drawn as they approached the seat of House Mormont.

While House Mormont were an ancient and noble house they did not opt for high towers and castles, keeping with the simplicity and fierceness they preferred. The long and wide hall was built from wood with sloping ceilings and large chimneys. Many smaller copies of the wooden cabins and fortresses made up Bear Island’s courtyard as they looped around in a semicircle, leaving an open space for forges and fighting rings to practice.

“Lord Stark” an exclamation in a pleasant but rough tone was shouted at him from across the open and vast courtyard that had always been used as a fighting ring.

Turning towards the voice, Cregan saw them.

Lord Mormont and his sons, each as large and intimidating as the next. They still held weapons and were marked in ash, soot and an assortment of blood and dirt. And Edric, sporting a black eye and holding his arm at an odd angle but he was whole. He was filthy, charred and bruised but he was in one piece.

“Edric, thank the Gods” Cregan sighed, not caring for what was proper and what wasn’t as he closed the distance between them and grabbed his brother around the neck, hugging him into his chest.

“He fought well, my Lord. Commanded his men wisely” Lord Mormont remarked and Cregan knew that Lord Mormont did not give compliments in abundance.

Pleased with his brother’s state, Cregan started looking for his other source of concern. His head craned, his eyes scanning face after face. Green eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes. Old women, young boys. Not her. Not those intense and frightening lilac eyes.

“Where is she?” he asked, his eyes still scanning.

“She was fucking brilliant, Cregan she annihilated them in their boats in the water and picked them off from the ski” Edric gushed, excitement in his voice at the mention of his sister-in-law.

“Is she alright, where is she?” Cregan was quite sure his brother didn’t recognise the tone he was using, Cregan hardly recognised it himself.

But the relief that washed through him, like sinking into a bath after a days hunt when he heard her Southern accent and felt someone approaching on his left.

“I’m fine, I’m here”

She sounded almost irritated and when Cregan spun to see her, seeing her face marked in sweat and grime, soot and ash clinging to her skin and leathers, her eyes tired but still in her head, her hair dirty but still attached to her scalp, her hands bruised but still on her wrists. Perfectly looking at him, her irritation faded.

He didn’t say anything, not even to ask what had happened. He didn’t even move towards her as he had with Edric.

“Jace?” she asked, her eyes filling with apprehension.

“The Prince is on his return to Dragonstone, princess. He seemed to have lost his way, not overly familiar with the North.”

Visenya’s sigh in relief, the relax in her shoulders and ease in the smile she let slip onto her features did something to ease the ache in Cregan’s chest.

After the tension and stress of everything that had happened, Visenya felt her exhales come quicker and her eyes begin to mist. She was exhausted and her head was spinning.

Sensing the tension, Edric chose to break it by speaking to Lord Mormont rather than addressing the married couple who looked equally as relieved and nervous to see each other.

“I hope you have enough room for another Stark”

Lord Mormont seemed brusque but when he dipped his head in respect and acquiesced, Cregan was quite sure the Mormonts were sorry they had not pledged to Visenya’s mother before then.

“Of course” Lady Mormont nodded, directing them back towards the halls where they held feasts and bigger occasions. The victory had clearly been cause for celebration.

During the feast Cregan became privy to the story of how Thenn raiders had landed upon Bear Island, landing in waves with fresh soldiers each time. Bear Island was home to no more than two hundred people and less than half of them were of an age fit to fight.

Those who could fight had done so but when the second wave was arriving hope was beginning to fade quickly. Until a wind started to pick up.

Only it wasn’t a wind. It was a dragon, the first anyone on Bear Island had ever seen. And it wasn’t just a dragon, it was ridden by Lady of Winterfell who had come to their aid.

“I’ve never seen anything like it” Lord Mormont’s son said to Cregan as they ate, filling his cup with ale again.

They told him of how quickly Ghost incinerated soldiers who came to the shores, how Visenya made sure to keep Ghost’s fire away from the homes and fortresses of House Mormont and how she continued to take men down from dragonback with a bow and arrow. They talked about her as if she was a hero from the stories of Old Valyria.

And when Cregan caught her eye across the feast table, he didn’t doubt for a moment that she was every bit a warrior as her namesake.

She had flown to Bear Island for his people, for their people. She was Lady of Winterfell, Warden of the North, perhaps the most intimidating there had ever been. And he just wanted to speak to her, to have her to himself. But the people of Bear Island and even Edric were stealing her attention and time from him again and again. And he was growing tired of sharing her.

*

House Mormont had needed her. And since she had arrived and helped them, they had promised to follow their Lord and Lady Stark wherever and whenever they were needed. Lord Mormont was a proud and loyal man and Visenya knew that he had to see that she wasn’t some foreign princess wanting men to die for her cause, she was their Lady, she was Warden of the North. She had the interest of the North in mind, she would never sacrifice or betray them. She was theirs as they were hers.

They were a fierce and loyal people. But they were severely lacking when it came to hosting. Visenya had not much of an appetite, thankfully because the meal served was bland and apparently very nutritionally sound yet lacked any sort of flavour or taste. The ale was weak and watery and the Mormonts didn’t seem to have any talent for music or singing, even telling stories or jokes as the Southern houses often did at feasts.

She excused herself when it was polite to do so, wanting to wash the soot, blood and ash from her skin and hopefully find a bed that was warm and comfortable. One of the Mormont girls led her to the baths, a new experience for Visenya as they didn’t heat water and draw it in buckets to their private chambers but used hot springs and the forges to heat the bath houses. The baths was a long and narrow wodden hut-type structure with the baths carved into the ground like pools, steam rising from all of them although they were all empty. The Mormont girl had promised complete privacy for her.

And it had been private for long enough that Visenya was cleansed of all that had clung to her skin from the battle and she was rinsing her hair through for the third time when the door pushed open.

She froze. Although she should have expected it. Lord Stark seemed to have a built in alarm for when she was naked and / or bathing so that he could insert himself into the situation.

“I’m using these baths, my lord. You should look for your own” she remarked, rather snootily although he didn’t seem to mind. He never did.

While Visenya was naked, submerged up to her shoulders Lord Stark was still dressed although he seemed quick to rectify this as he unclasped his cloak and let it fall to the floor with a loud slap.

“I can see that, princess but if you remember correctly, ‘All I own I give to her and her to me by the Old Gods and the New’ was what we promised.”

Visenya couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling although Cregan grinned back, that smug smirk on his lips.

“Yes well the laws of marriage seem quite different for us” she remarked wryly, turning her back to him to finish rinsing her hair and in hopes he would not join her.

Although from the corner of her eye she saw his shirt and trousers join the pile on the floor and she had to dip her head underwater to stop herself looking when all she could see from the corner of her vision was skin.

When she broke the surface again, rubbing her face clean, she was equally pleased and displeased to have been joined by her Lord husband. The water was dark and cloudy with the balms and salts Visenya had approved.

“I don’t know” he hummed, running his big paw of a hand across his chest distractingly “You seem to have a clear understanding of the duties of Lady Stark.”

There were scars littering his chest, the round and marked skin of a wound from either a spear or an arrow. When he turned, there was an accompanying mark on his back as if it had gone straight through him.

Visenya shifted in her seat, dipping lower to be sure she was sufficiently covered even if her modesty had gone out the window when she had been splayed across Winterfell’s table of war pushing Lord Stark’s hand down her trousers.

His eyes burned against her, watching and listening as if she was the only thing in the world he wanted to look at, to listen to.

“Yes, well they needed help. I was the only person who could...”

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze as for someone who had spent weeks when she arrived not even looking at her now he seemed unable to look away.

“You didn’t have to go on your own, go without aid or without being sure more of us would follow.”

He remarked. He wasn’t scolding or admonishing her, more of an observation.

“Yes I did” she replied, her eyes meeting his.

It was almost deja-vu back to the exact same words they had spoken after Cregan had sent Hedgar Cerwyn to the wall for calling her a bastard. She had said he didn’t have to do anything. But he did. Just as she didn’t have to do anything when House Mormont called for aid, but she did.

Lord of Winterfell didn’t have to exile Hedgar Cerwyn for slandering the princess but he did exile him for slandering his lady-wife. Just as the princess didn’t have to defend Bear Island but the Lady of Winterfell did.

He wasn’t expecting her to speak again, but she did.

“Ser Harwin always said that no man with honour would let men fight for him without being willing to fight for them too.”

She didn’t look at his as she spoke, her eyes downcast and her fingers combing through her long and unbraided hair. It was the freest he had ever seen it, usually braided back or tied up with a ribbon while she slept. It looked almost black, shining and wet in a sheet down her back.

“I never met Ser Harwin... but they say he was a good man. His brother Urwin... he has made my sister very happy.”

He remarked, surprised at her openness when it came to discussing him. She had never brought up Ser Harwin before. When she spoke of her father, she spoke of Ser Laenor and his kindness, his clever mind and bravery in the Stepstones. She had never acknowledged that she knew Ser Harwin was her father.

Visenya nodded absentmindedly.

“He was a good man.” she said softly, thinking of how often she wished she had asked him more questions, spent more time with him, wondering if he would have ever told them the truth.

“What happened at Harrenhal was a terrible accident, I’m sorry you lost him like that.”

Cregan said, knowing that the fire that had killed Ser Hawin and his father had been a devastating event for the house. Thankfully, Freeda had not been married yet and was safely in Winterfell. The youngest Strong, Urwin had been unharmed by some stroke of luck.

“It was no accident” she remarked, her voice low.

She looked up at him, gaze catching his and reminding him of how different she looked from every other face he had ever seen. She was beautiful.

“Princess, you don’t think someone...” he didn’t finish his sentence, his insinuation clear.

Visenya sighed, rolling her shoulders and wincing at the obvious discomfort. Her skin shone almost luminious in the candlelight, wet and glistening. Her scarred shoulder flickered as though it sparkled in the light with its white and mottled scars.

“Ser Harwin was the strongest knight in the seven kingdoms, and he was my mother’s sworn shield.” she paused, looking across at him for certainty. Whatever she looked for, she saw because she continued. “He was my father, and Jace’s, Luke’s and Joff’s”.

The truth settled between them, into the steam and heat of the room.

“And he was punished for it... Ser Laenor too.” she almost whispered, exhaustion winning out over her sense to stay quiet.

Lord Stark and she had entered into their marrige with their own motives which they had been keeping from one another, their own secrets which they had not divulged and their own demons which they refused to part with. But something pushed Visenya to speak of this, to not let it take a life of its own. Whether it was exhaustion from the battle or exhaustion from keeping things from a man she did not want to keep things from any longer.

“Do you know why House Targaryen wed their brothers and sisters?” She asked, meeting his dark gaze.

Lord Stark’s eyes narrowed, never looking away.

“To keep blood lines pure... everyone in the seven kingdoms knows this.”

She nodded, biting at her thumb until she remembered how Queen Alicent would berate her for it.

“A part of this is true...” she admitted, nodding “But we’re dragons. We are fire and blood, we burn everything we touch, everything we get out hands on we cannot help it.”

Lord Stark’s gaze didn’t falter, his brow furrowed, and his stare intensified but never moved from her.

“We need someone who can stand inside the flames with us and not burn... we are told that we were born to burn together, all of us... and let the rest of the world shiver and fear the flames.”

Her eyes held fear, more than he had ever seen in her expressions and he had spent the last few months spending more time watching her than he could admit.

“You won’t hurt me, princess” he began to move, to push towards her but she put her face in her hands.

“Yes, I will” she blurted out, her hands covering her face “I am fire and blood, my whole life has burned again and again. I thought I would burn to death from fever, my father... my fathers... both perished in flames, burnt alive. Fire and dragons have been everything sacred about our family but if it is our gift, it is also our curse...”

Visenya had told herself she wouldn’t speak of it, she would never tell the Starks about what she felt and thought of the Targaryen’s dynasty and what they were equally cursed and blessed with. But Lady Alyssa had taken her in and treated her like her own daughter. Harrin and Arrina had grown so fond of her and she of them. Edric had come to Bear Island with little to no information, knowing that he could be wading into a slaughter but he did so without hesitation for her. The Starks had let her into their home and their family, this Southern dragon who had no place there. And she couldn’t let Cregan keep letting her in.

She wanted to leave, to somehow get out of the baths and get into a room on her own without having to look at him. She wanted to leave. But strong hands grabbed hers and pulled them away from her face, pulling her body forward with little to no effort to move her until her face was in his hands, tilted up to look him in the eyes if she dared open hers.

“Look at me, Visenya”

Forcing herself to look at him, her expression faded from tortured to unsure.

“You are a Stark of Winterfell now. You’re a dragon of Old Valyria and a wolf of the North, you will not hurt us.”

Cregan held her head in his hands, her hands locked around his wrists, not sure whether she wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

Her exhale came in a shuddering breath, her eyes slipping closed again but not to avoid him, to slide further into his grasp and relax into it, into him despite herself.

“I thought Jace was dead” she whispered, her forehead against his collarbone, his hands slipping down her neck.

Cregan had found the prince just after Moat Cailin, delayed by the winter weather.

“He’s a stubborn lad your brother” he sighed, remembering how wary Jacaerys had been of him and his promises that Visenya was perfectly well.

“I have been told a certain amount of insolence runs in the family.” she replied, the hint of amusement in her voice reassuring him that she was not still lost in her thoughts.

Cregan scoffed, his own wife was proof of that.

“That, I can believe”

His hands slipped down her neck, over her shoulders and down her arms, smooth and wet under the water.

“If something happens to Jace... I’m...” she couldn’t even speak of it, couldn’t let herself or anyone breathe life into it.

His brow furrowed as he watched her.

“What happens to the throne, princess... if something happens to the Prince?”

Lord Stark had never asked it but it had bothered him. Visenya was mere minutes younger, she was next in line by law.

“I won’t be the heir if that’s what you’re thinking...” she said, not bitterly but not happily either he noted.

“But you are next, you were born mere minutes after Jacaerys” Cregan remarked, knowing the story.

“Yes but when I married you, I lost my Targaryen name. A Stark will not be allowed to sit the Iron Throne, even if I am a dragon...Jace is the heir to the throne, Luke the heir to Driftmark. Both titles will be passed to true-born Velaryon children and I don’t mean us.”

She explained, her voice in a whisper now. She had never spoken so openly of her parentage and Cregan couldn’t help but feel something melting between them, some thawing.

“Prince Daemon and Laena Velaryon’s daughters” he nodded in understanding.

Baela and Rhaena were to wed Jace and Luke, meaning a descendant of the Velaryon line would inherit Driftmark and another the crown. However, Visenya had no coin to play in it, she had nothing. Laena had no sons for her to wed and marrying to secure the North was a much better solution than marrying Aemond in hopes it might unify the Greens and Blacks.

“You agreed to be Lady of Winterfell for your brothers didn’t you?” he asked, almost rhetorically.

It was becoming clear that everything Visenya did was out of love for her brothers and her mother. Protecting their names, honouring their oaths, fulfilling their duties, fortifying their alliances.

Visenya seemed trapped for a moment, pinned by his dark and intense gaze.

“At first, yes” she whispered, refusing to offer any more of an explanation. “Thank you” She didn’t feel the need to specify for what.

For going after Jace, for coming to Bear Island after her, for not being angry with her, for being pleased at the fact his wife could be a warrior like he had imagined.

“Don’t thank me, it is I should be thanking you.” he replied, his hand smoothing across her hair and down her back until he felt her shiver against his fingertips.

“Don’t thank me” she asked of him, her fingers tracing against the pulse of his wrists before she looked up at him “Just promise me that you won’t keep anything from me anymore. We are heading for war Cregan, my mother will not rest until she is named Queen. The Greens will not rest until we are all dead.”

Cregan winced at the thought.

“They will have to kill us all, Cregan. My very existence is a challenge to Aegon’s claim. Mine and Jace, Luke and Joff, Viserys and Aegon’s existence means my mother has a stronger claim to the throne than the Greens regardless of our parentage.”

She spoke softly, the words quiet but strong as they passed from her lips and he could almost taste them on his own she was so close to him.

“That will not happen” he said, almost like a vow, an oath. And Cregan Stark would never be named an oathbreaker.

“I made a vow, to your mother and to you. I intend to honour them both” he almost growled, his hands tightening around her and gripping her under arms until he pulled her up against him and she had no choice but to wrap her arms around his neck to steady herself and with Cregan’s insistent hands, her legs hooked around his hips under the water.

I, Cregan Stark make an oath to Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne to support her claim to the throne.

The Dragon Princess and I will be wed.

I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days.

Cursed be he who tear us asunder.

All he had promised and intended to do.

“I intend to honour my oaths and I intend to honour you” he whispered, as if he hadn’t really intended to say it but it had forced itself past his lips before he knew he would breathe life into it.

Visenya didn’t have time to ponder it or even muster up a response for Cregan’s lips were on hers and thank the Gods they were because she had felt cold and empty since the last time he had been there.

Her instant sigh of relief spurred him on, his hands looping her legs around his waist and sliding his fingers up her back, nothing to impede his touch or mission. His mission being to have as much of her skin covered by him as possible, to feel her pulse, her breath, her heart beating against him.

Her hands found their way up to his hair, her fingers curling through it on the top of his head while one hand trailed down his neck and ran across his chest feeling the rise and fall of his breaths.

“Fuck I thought I’d never get to do this again” he groaned against her lips, her tongue missing his but he gripped her neck and tilted her face back and forth until he was biting and sucking against the length of her neck, her breaths coming quicker and quicker and her body pushing further against him.

It made her lightheaded, what he could do to her but what she seemed to do to him. Her sullen and brooding giant of a Northman husband who wanted her, whose hardness she could feel against her just from kissing him and who was on a mission to lick and suck, bite and kiss all the way down her neck to her chest until he had her tits against his face and had her in a writhing, panting mess against him. The water slapped and splashed around them but she didn’t care in the slightest.

With one nipple in his mouth and the other being pulled and plucked by his hand, he had her making the sounds that he had thought of ever since the first time she made them.

“M—”

She began to voice, but Cregan was way ahead of her, his teeth scraping against her nipple in one last teasing pull before gathering her up in his arms again.

“I know, princess. More, I know."

She heard him say against her skin, his tongue against her neck before she felt herself being lifted and sat on the edge of the bath. The wooden floors were hot and smooth and so she didn’t mind sitting up on them, her husband still in the water, his arms wrapping around her middle and tilting her down until she could kiss him.

It was soft this time, almost chaste and sweet. Just his lips against hers, the slightest graze of his teeth on her lip before he pulled back and looked up at her.

Seated on the edge, she was almost the same height as him where he stood in the bath dug deep into the ground. His massive arms wrapped around her where she sat, his hands grabbing and squeezing at her ass, until she arched her back against him.

“More?” he whispered, his gaze addictingly open when he looked at her like that. His lips were pink from her mouth, his cheeks flushed and his beard scratched against her finger tips as she stroked against his jaw.

She nodded, not even sure what more meant. From the position she sat, she doubted sex was possible unless he turned her onto her stomach but Cregan didn’t want that it seemed.

Pushing forward, she watched him as his hands slid around her hips and down her legs until he reached her knees and started trailing back up skimming over her wet and smooth thighs.

“What are you—?” She breathed, silenced by what he did next.

“Shh Princess” he told her, a knowing smirk on his face at finally knowing something she didn’t. She had no idea and he wanted to do this.

She watched him so intensely, her eyes on him, so trusting and eager it gave him a shiver up his spine. He gave a light kiss to her knee, the edge of her knee and looked up at her, prying her knees apart with ease as she relaxed.

Watching him was mortifying but not watching was worse and she had to know what he was doing, she watched his tongue and lips creep up her thigh, up her leg until it swept out against her hip bone and he moved across to the other. She thought he would keep creeping up towards her chest again but he didn’t. With one last look up at her, his eyes burning with more hunger and wildness than she’d ever seen in a man he buried his face between her legs and she fell open for him.

He kissed her right there, right where his fingers had found before and where she had made that breathy moan when he played with it.

“Oh my Gods” she gasped, her knees instinctively trying to come together but they couldn’t because the Lord of Winterfell was currently buried between them.

Her hands grabbed for something to hold onto, anything but the floor was smooth and flat and she had to just gasp and moan when Cregan blew against her, a cold breath that made her almost squeal and her hands found purchase in his hair.

The groan that left Cregan’s mouth when she gripped his hair almost frightened her that she’d hurt him but when she releneted her grasp, he groaned in protest this time. So she tightened her grip again and let him continue, let him lick and suck at her, let his hand come up and open her up more to him until he had her clit in his mouth and he sucked. And she jerked in her seat, her moan catching even him off guard.

“Cregan” she groaned, her fist tight in his hair and her hips starting to move against him in the pace that best pleased her.

“Come on, princess that’s it” he groaned against her, his fingers sliding into her so easily now she was so wet and ready for him.

Her eyes were shut now, her hips rocking against him and her nails against his scalp.

“Gods look at you” he groaned, the words falling from his lips as he watched her, watched her hand grab at her breast and pull against her nipple while he focused on finishing her.

And when he curled his finger inside her, he felt something against the pad of his finger that was clearly something sensitive for Visenya as her eyes snapped open and she gasped. Her eyes had always been otherwordly but the way she looked at him then, he would’ve gone to the pyre if it meant she’d look at him like that.

Knowing she was teetering on the edge of something, he latched his lips back onto the little part that had garnered the most of a reaction, knowing that was what had made her make that noise earlier and he dared to look up. And he thanked the gods he had because she was looking back at him, looking down, her cheeks flushed her eyes burning and her lip caught on her teeth as she tried to shush herself to no success. His hand that gripped her hip was pulled open until her own hand slipped into it, his fingers tightening around hers and something tugged at his chest, a sense of something deeper than just the physical, carnal emotions they were working through.

She could hear her own voice saying things and making noises she had no control over, making little moans in time with his sucks and his fingers’ thrusts and she was quite sure the silent scream that made her gasp for breath had been the finish of her. Her thighs clenched around him and her fingers had his hair in a death grip but he didn’t seem to mind nor notice.

It just went on and on, wave after wave and ripple after ripple until it was soft and barely there but she was on her back now, her thighs loose around his head and her legs hooked over his shoulders which must have happened at some point not that she remembered nor cared.

It rippled through her, her lungs and her chest burning, her thighs trembling and her fingers loose around his.

His beard scratched against her thighs, again when he turned his head and kissed the inside of her leg that made her shiver again.

“Come here” she heard him whisper, his hands lifting her hips until she was sliding back into the water that was still hot and soothing against her.

She felt almost sleepy and drowsy, not quite sure her arms and legs would work if she was in a position to need them. But she wasn’t. Not when Cregan lifted and looped her arms around his shoulders and locked her legs around his hips.

“What the fuck was that?” she whispered drowsily when she finally found her words and could lift her chin from his shoulder.

“Did you not enjoy yourself princess?” he remarked smartly with that annoying dimple and smirk mocking her.

His hands kneaded up and down her back, down her sides and hips but there was nothing inherently sexual about it, more comforting.

She laughed, knowing a response was rather obsolete after she had almost ripped his hair from his head and crushed his face between her legs with height of pleasure.

“I’d enjoy it if you enjoyed yourself too, you know” she remarked honestly, noticing that in their encounters it was always she on the receiving end.

Something darkened in his gaze, his fingers combing through her hair gently and his eyes not looking at hers.

“I enjoy everything I do to you, princess.” he told her, a smug smirk on his lips she traced with her fingers in a move she wouldn’t have even allowed herself to imagine doing a mere few days ago.

Exhaustion was creeping in, her head drooping. She was quite content to rest her head against his shoulder just for a moment of rest. She was quite content to just stay in his arms, to stay with him, to stay North for as long as she felt this feeling with him. Something she’d never felt before. Something she didn’t want to admit to herself. Not quite yet anyway.

Chapter 11: XI

The breath of relief Lady Alyssa took when she set her eyes upon them riding back through the gates of Winterfell was another reason Visenya was glad she didn’t have children. Although it was heartwarming, the thought of having that much fear, that much vulnerability was too much to fathom in times of impending war.

Lady Alyssa grabbed her boy’s by their heads and pulled them down to her height until she could kiss their heads, ignoring Edric’s resistance and Cregan’s promises that they were perfectly well.

What Visenya hadn’t been expecting was the embrace Lady Alyssa came towards her with and the soft stroke across her hair.

“Thank you Visenya” she whispered, her relief palpable.

Visenya didn’t know what to do or to say, she just nodded. Her smile felt strange but she was exhausted. Ghost was exhausted too and Visenya hadn’t wanted to tire him more by having him fly her back to Winterfell. She had come from Deepwood Motte on horseback with the rest of the Stark’s men. Cregan had been quiet, although he usually was in public.

The only words he’d spoken had been to Ser Darron apart from when they mounted their horses at Deepwood Motte. Visenya had been struggling, her horse much taller than she was used to and no one was around to help her. Or so she thought until she felt a warmth and a presence behind her, a murmured “Come here, princess” in her ear before large hands that she was becoming overly fond of grabbed her around the middle and lifted her up and into her saddle.

The ride to Winterfell had been quiet and uneventful. She rode beside Edric for most of the journey and when they stopped to water the horses, Ser Darron who had never been her biggest supporter even came to help her off her horse and filled her water for her.

When she had thanked him, he had just nodded at her and replied “of course, my lady”.

Perhaps the thaw between the Northmen and the Dragon princess had finally made some real progress.

Visenya was greeted by Arrina and Harrin, even Torra had come to the courtyard to greet them. She didn’t exactly smile at Visenya but she didn’t glower quite so much.

Arrina had been complaining that Harrin had been allowed to go see Ghost while she had not, so once Cregan nodded in approval, Visenya took them to the Wolfswood with Ser Jarrald and two of Cregan’s men for extra security. Winter followed them too, keeping a distance but never being too far.

Arrina took some coaxing and reassuring but she did finally put her hand on Ghost, laughing hysterically when Ghost nosed at Winter before the direwolf snapped her jaws at him.

By the time dusk was creeping in, Arrina and Harrin were exhausted and Visenya felt her back and legs aching from the long journey from Bear Island as well as the fight she’d flown into. It was terrifying. She had never flown into battle, never thought she would have to. But on the flight to Bear Island all she could think of was Winterfell being laid waste to by savages. She thought of Arrina and Harrin, even Ingrid and Torra and she felt her fear eclipsed by something else.

She didn’t have time to wonder of it. When she paused overhead, urging Ghost to be as silent as possible she saw it. Bear Island were fighting off the attackers on the shore to great effect but a second wave were going to land. They rowed in wooden boats, easy to ruin. Especially for an attacker on dragonback.

Visenya had no mind for food when suppertime came, opting for an early bath and retiring to her bed. Ingrid came to check on her, to see if she could fetch her anything but Visenya assured her all she needed was rest. Even still, Ingrid brought a bowl of broth and bread to her bedside and waited with her until she’d eaten it. Visenya finished it a matter of minutes in spite of her claims she wasn’t hungry.

“I won’t come until you call for me in the morning, my lady. You need your rest” Ingrid told her, blowing out candles and leaving Visenya to the quiet and comfort the dark offered.

Sleep came quickly and it must have been hours later when she was roused, feeling movement in the room and even on the bed beside her.

“It’s alright, princess go back to sleep” she heard, even felt the ghost of a hand on her body over the blankets and furs that lay over her. And for once she obeyed her lord-husband.

*

He was gone the next morning when she woke. She knew it before she even opened her eyes because the bed was cold and from how well and deeply she’d slept all night, she knew he had been there for at least most of the night.

She broke her fast in her chambers, took a walk with Lady Alyssa and took Ghost as far North as Queenscrown before she returned. She practiced shooting with Harrin and even went through some queries she had with Maester Fagan after reading the ledgers he had given her. And she didn’t have a singular interaction with her husband. For three days she didn’t have more than a nod from him.

He was avoiding her.

She had thought he was busy until he spotted her with Harrin and changed direction, until he took his supper not in the hall with his family but in his private library and when it was well past midnight before he returned to their chambers. And when he finally got into bed, he turned his back to her and shut his eyes immediately. Every morning he would be gone before she woke and the cycle would start again.

She felt ridiculous for trying to get her husband’s attention. A man who had looked up from between her legs and had to busy his mouth before he said something stupid. A man who stared at her like he was starving from across the courtyard when she passed in her leathers to go ride Ghost. A man who watched her lips wrap around spoons and forks, wrap around her own finger when she caught it between a book and the table in their meeting with Maester Fagan and had to leave the room. She knew that he stared, she wanted him to feel like he couldn’t look away.

She started dropping things and bending over to get them when he was looking. She started sleeping in the sheerest and most tempting slip she had.

And no matter how hot his eyes burned on her and how much he clenched his jaw, he never reached for her. Never touched her, kissed her, even laid a finger on her. And after giving her a taste of what it could be like, he had ripped it away from them just as quick. And for what, Visenya didn’t know.

On the fourth night, she had had enough. He had clearly been hoping she would be asleep when he crept in, and with what he saw he had assumed he was correct. He could see the crown of her head, her chin tucked into her chest and the slow, steady rising and falling of the furs and blankets that covered her small body.

She forced herself to keep her eyes closed feigning sleep. All she wanted was to peek, knowing from the sounds that he was undressing. But she didn’t. Not when he undid his cloak and slung it across a chair, when he stepped out of his boots and loosened the ties of his shirt before pulling over his head exposing his wide and tempting chest. Not even when he moved away, back behind the privacy screen where a bath stood and a basin of hot water and soap. As if a privacy screen was necessary now. After everything that had happened, he was still avoiding her and she wasn’t going to take it anymore. Her plan was going to work.

When he eventually moved towards the bed, she felt him so gently lift the covers of the bed and climb in beside her. The bed was giant and she knew that they could easily share it with one other person and have enough space for all of them to sleep without even touching. But that wouldn’t work for Visenya. Once Cregan had settled on his side, fortunately facing her as she lay with her back to him, she started to shift in her sleep.

Subtly at first, just little movements and sighs as if she was trying to get comfortable in her sleep. She did it slowly so as not to arouse suspicion until she could feel him, could feel his heat encroaching on her and she hated herself for melting a little bit.

She felt him sharply inhale when she made her final shift back and her back was pressed against his front, her arse nestled into his lap and his arm in the air not knowing where to go. The little sigh she let past her lips was mortifyingly only half fake when he let his arm go around her, his fist against the mattress and just the weight of his arm across her middle.

It should have been enough, hoping that he would break, that his silent treatment would stop and he would go back to wanting her as he had before. But when she woke an hour later, she could feel the tension behind her and how awake he was, trying to put some distance between them. He was trying to move away from her, trying to push her gently to her own side. But when she pressed back, she felt it against her arse and she had to supress a smile. He was hard, painfully hard against her. In a way, she knew would not disappear on its own.

She rolled her hips so slowly he wouldn’t even know she was awake, letting the hardness of him push against the softness of her. She could feel his breath first against the shell of her ear, then against her neck as he dipped his head to swear under his breath in what he thought was a silent cry. Arching her back, he slid against her again slipping between her legs while the arm that was slung across her slid up and against her breasts by accident, just the friction of his skin against hers and she had to stop herself from hissing.

Each breath landed against her neck, tickling against her until she felt his nose graze up the column of her neck, the ghost of his lips behind it. And he inhaled deeply, a deep breath of her and what she smelled like when she got out of the bath, a smell he had grown to find the most arousing of all. Because when he smelled it, he thought of her. He thought of long legs that shone from the bath water and dark, unruly hair that piled against her head, ringlets curling at her nape and her forehead. He thought of pink cheeks and hot, soft skin that slid against him when they were under the water.

Feeling the subtle and almost subconscious push back of his hips, meeting hers in a slow and sensual push and pull back, she sighed audibly knowing he’d hear her. She pushed back on him at the same time he pushed forward and when she felt it, hard against soft her sigh and his groan pushed into the silence together. It was almost like what she could have, a dangerous game of showing her the slightest hint of what it could be like if he unleashed.

If he finally gave up on placating her with his tonuge and his fingers and had her. Had her in the way he was supposed to on their wedding night. Took her. Let her take him. Anything. Everything.

Her fingers slid down his arm, taking his wrist in her hand and turning it, pulling his hand up until the weight of her breast rested in the palm of his hand and he was groaning again, his restraint somewhere long gone. She was wearing a slip of white, gossamer material that no one in their right mind would bring as nightclothes to the North. But the purpose of it was not to keep warm. It was short, skimming her mid-thigh, it was cut low both in the front and the back giving generous views of both sides and it was practically translucent.

Whatever plans he had formed were surrendered when he felt the pepple of her nipple in his palm and she sighed breathily. He let his thumb swipe across her breast until he felt her nipple pushing against his thumb and let his other hand trace up and down her leg, trailing until she wanted to sling her leg back across his hip and beg him just to push into her like this.

But his plans were stopped by his wife who although she had been panting, had been growing more impatient by the day and now by the millisecond, she put a stop to his actions.

She turned to face him, her eyes clouded with the fire in them he’d seen on Bear Island and when he had her on his war table. But she didn’t let him do what he liked, she pushed against his shoulder until he lay back. Each time he had gotten her like this, she looked back at it now as the fact he had her sighing happily in his ear like some doe-eyed whore. But not this time.

Cregan seemed caught by surprise when he landed on his back, completely taken aback when she slid her body over him until she sat astride him and her hands came down on his shoulders, lowering her hips down on him until they were both inhaling sharply.

She moved slowly, sinfully slowly feeling every slide of her against him until she felt him twitching between her legs. Now that she sat up, he could see her. Could see how little of her was covered in that slip of a nightgown, how her chest rose and fell quickly, how her nipples pebbled hard beneath the fabric and her neck flushed pink.

He almost flinched when he looked at her, his hands desperate to reach out and grab at her hips but he stopped himself, shutting his eyes and turning away from her. When he finally reached out to put his hands on her she nearly cried in relief but he gripped her hips and lifted her off him so that she hovered over him.

“Enough, Visenya. Stop” he shook his head as though he couldn’t even put conviction into his words.

She was not convinced either. He held her up and off of him, so the only point she felt him was through her hands on his abdomen and the tight muscles there tightened as she ran her nails slightly over them.

But he shook his head, his eyes dark and commanding when he told her to stop.

“Cregan... I’m your wife... this is yours. Have it”

Any pride she had had been abandoned at the foot of their maritial bed as she pushed her hips down against his, feeling him against her in the most delicious way that made him hiss through his teeth and his eyes shut. At the word ‘yours’ she felt him twitch against her, as if his whole body ached for her.

He let it happen. Let the desire and longing wash over him but only for a second. He ripped his hand away from her hip like it burned him and pulled back from her.

“I can’t, princess”

Frustrated now with her own pent up desire she snapped.

“Yes, you can! Please, Cregan...”

She couldn’t believe herself. Reduced to begging. But after all they had been through, all they had done and all he had promised. Why could he not do this? She was running out of patience as he was running out of excuses.

“Stop, Senya” he growled, planting his hands on her hips and lifting her off him until she was only hovering over him.

“Why?” she cried, desperate for answer “Am I so awful to you?”

Cregan’s eyes flooded with emotion, with conflict and pain

“No, princess. You are far from awful... you are... you’re better than I ever dreamt.”

He tried, tried to placate her but Visenya was much too clever to fall for words and traps and compliments.

“Do you want me?” she snapped, her patience having run out.

Shaking his head he sighed.

“Of course, I want you.”

“Then have me, Cregan!” she exclaimed in frustration, grabbing his hands in hers and pushing them onto her hips, pushing them to move her down so she could move against him, could feel him and know that he wanted her more than he wanted anything else in this realm. He had wanted her enough to have asked for her when Rhaenyra Targaryen could have promised him anything.

"Is it so difficult to reason with yourself that you could want me?" She snapped, but she was wounded. And he could hear it in her voice.

"It is not difficult at all" he shook his head, knowing he only had himself to blame "You would be the easiest choice I ever made. You were the easiest choice I ever made."

“Then why won't you have me?” she asked, sounding more vulnerable than she had intended.

She knew he wanted her. From the way he looked at her with open awe to the hard length of him that pressed up against her centre. Cregan Stark wanted her.

“I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve this... to have this with you”

He sighed, as though it pained him to tell her. As though his hands ached to touch her, his lips ached to kiss her but something stopped him.

“If it is not my lord-husband who deserves to bed me, then who may I ask does?”

She snapped, her patience growing thinner by the minute.

Throwing his hands off of her she climbed off of him, turning herself and planting her feet on the ground. She grabbed a cloak that lay on the edge of the bed and wrapped herself in it. Wearing nothing but a slip dress in white silk that skimmed her thighs and was practically transparent did nothing to hold her husband’s concentration.

“Don’t!” he warned her, his voice more of a growl than speech.

Arguing with her was like foreplay for the most part but this time, their rowing was getting nowhere but tied up in knots. The mention of her being near another man’s bed was enough to stop the games and playing, to force him to listen.

“Don’t what?” she snapped “Don’t act as though I could have another man in my bed? Because I could! We were wed but we never consummated this marriage, it’s not official yet I can do what I’ve always done, whatever I like!”

Cregan seethed, shaking his head in anger.

“None of my men will touch you, they know that touching you will mean a lifetime of repentance at the Wall”

But she cared not.

“You don’t think I’d be worth it?” she taunted, her chin in the air, a prideful princess “You don’t think a man would happily spend his life freezing to death in the Nightswatch to have one night with me... one night buried in me, one night where I rode him until we both couldn’t breathe, one night where he could have me any way he wanted.”

Her taunts hit hard and hit home. Cregan’s jealousy was dangerous as it flared. He had sent Hedgar Cerwyn North for trying to touch her and for calling her a bastard. He would happily cut the hands off any man who touched her and made her make any of the assortment of sounds she made for him.

“Stop it” he growled, not wanting to picture it any longer.

Her sitting astride Lord Karstark, his hands grabbing at her hips.

Her kneeling in front of Ser Jarrald, her eyes wide and wanting as she leaned forward with her mouth open.

Her lying beneath Lord Cerwyn who buried himself inside her and buried his face in her neck, her dark hair wrapped around his fist.

She knew he was picturing it and the tortured fury he wore on his face was enough for Visenya to know that Cregan didn’t want that, he only wanted for them.

Her resolve softened, her feet bringing her back close to him and her voice lower.

Her reasons for wanting her husband to bed her were not just the carnal desires she battled with. Her duty still haunted her even after doing the ultimate act for her family.

“Every night you do not bed me, you weaken our alliance. You make our marriage a farce, you allow my mother’s claim to weaken just by denying me."

Cregan knew she spoke sense but he did not want to hear it.

"No one here could know we have not yet lay together, Visenya. It is just between us."

He tried, but she would not listen.

Visenya grew up in King's Landing where little birds sung songs of her every move and the Queen always seemed to know what was being said or being done.

"It is not, Cregan!" She implored, keeping her voice quiet "My handmaidens check for blood on my sheets, they tell Maester Fagan I am still not pregnant... everybody watches us and if they have been watching us in the last few days they see a husband flinching at the touch of his wife and avoids her at every cost."

She was being entirely rational. And it was the truth. They watched them, both of them. Waiting for news of a baby. Visenya's education was not perfect but she was quite aware that a baby could not be made if all he put in her was his tongue or his fingers.

Rubbing his hands furiously over his eyes, he hated it. He couldn’t bear it anymore.

Displeasing her was more awful than the guilt he felt at pleasing her. Visenya had given up everything for her mother and her family and Cregan was lying to her, she knew it in her bones.

“Cregan” she commanded his attention, his hands falling in fists to his sides and his eyes falling on hers.

"I gave up my life, my freedom, my title, everything I had to wed you for my family. And if people realise what a sham this marriage is, it will all have been for nothing!”

Sitting on the edge of the bed they had shared since they were married, she stepped in between his knees until she was pressed against him, chest to chest and face to face.

“Do you want me?” she whispered, her hands on his chest pushing up until they played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He just nodded, his eyes roaming over her up and down and knowing that it was the truth,

“I want you.” he sighed almost as his confession.

But Visenya wanted his confession and she would happily dole out his penance.

“Why?” she asked, her voice low and thick with longing.

“Because you’re beautiful. Because all I think about is you, making you happy, making you make those sounds like you did before.”

His honesty didn’t surprise her but his words did. Her husband cared for her, a lot more than either of them had allowed themselves to think.

“Then why won’t you let yourself have me?” she asked her second question, her hands not straying from around his neck. She would not let him brush her aside this time.

Visenya was a proud woman, she was reared as a princess of the realm. But she wanted her husband. And she told herself she wanted him because that is what she had to do, her duty. And she knew he wanted her, possibly more than he wanted anything. But he would not let himself have her, and she either wanted him to relent or she wanted to know why.

Taking a deep breath, he blinked slowly. Looking into her addictive gaze, he had to stop himself from spilling every truth he had.

“Because I don’t deserve to have you here, to have you want me because I brought you here never thinking I would grow to care for you...”

The truth, what little of it he could give away without ruining his life slipped past his lips. And she listened. The princess who people swore was the Realm’s delight and who some said was colder than the waves that crashed against the Dragonmount. She listened and she waited.

“If we do this” he looked pointedly between them “then we are man and wife forever. Cursed be he who tears us asunder... When we win this war, you’ll still have to spend the rest of your life in the North... with me.”

Consummating their marriage binded them together in the eyes of men and the Gods, old and new. She would be his and he would be hers, more so than any vows they’d recited. Visenya didn’t know what it was to have a husband or to be a wife but she had never imagined it would be anything as real as she felt already for him.

Marrying Lord Stark was her duty. Growing affection for him, caring for the people of the North and becoming a Northerner was never her plan nor her responsibility. It was just seeming to happen bit by bit as the ice and cold settled into her bones, as if it took root in her chest.

“I know.” she nodded even if she didn’t really. Sex was nothing sacred or special in her life. Until the way he looked at her and the way he touched her made her think it would be.

Visenya had agreed to it. She had told Daemon to sign the betrothal, she had promised her mother she would do anything she could to strengthen their claim. But it occurred to Visenya for the first time that Cregan had not thought it through when he had asked for her. He had not realised what he was asking for.

“I’ll be gentle” she whispered, her joke not lost on Cregan who scoffed and grabbed the back of her knees and swiftly yanked her off her feet until she was straddling him again at the edge of the bed.

“Promise me something, princess” he spoke softly, her lips a breath away from his as he planted his hands on her hips and rolled her down against him.

She tried to say yes, to acquiesce but all that came out was a ‘mmhmm’ noise as she slid against him and felt that curling, desire rising deep in her stomach.

“Don’t ever be gentle with me” he growled, his lips capturing hers before she could think of a response.

He kissed her and she kissed him and what started as something soft and promising, became something much deeper until it felt almost dangerous. She could feel him twitching beneath her, his hands running up her thighs until her nightdress was bunched around her hips and she was naked from the waist down. He made a noise she hadn’t heard from him before when he realised how bare she was and she liked it so much she took her hands from his hair and pulled her nightdress off.

It was cold and goosepimples rose up and down her body but Cregan’s hands ran over her skin, so big he covered her back with the flat of his hand and so warm she didn’t shiver from cold but from desire.

Her lips left his and when he jerked his head forward, as if to follow her mouth she found herself grinning. But she moved her lips to his cheek, then his jaw, then her tongue and her teeth scraping gently. Her lips were wrapping around his ear lobe when she felt his hand slide up her spine until his fingers locked in her hair and pulled her lips back to his.

The tug on her hair made her gasp softly but when Cregan paused, pulling back from her to check had he hurt her. She shook her head rapidly.

“Don’t be gentle with me” she repeated back to him with a keen look in her eyes.

He nodded, his nails just slightly scraping against his scalp before he tugged her back to his lips and she squeezed his shoulders in pleasure and encouragement.

The hand in her hair slid down, splayed across her arse so he could pull her further up into his lap as he pushed back onto the bed until he lay with her over him, just as she had in all of his fantasies.

She looked up at him as he settled her across his hips, his trousers easily rid of until they were both bare and panting. She seemed almost frightened and certainly unsure. Looking down at the short and dark hair that scattered down his abdomen to his pelvis, the strong and deep ridges of muscles down his abdomen until his hips where his cock lay, hard and thick, bigger than any she’d seen before so much so she wasn’t sure it would fit.

“I don’t know how to... I don’t do it like this, I’ve never...” she stuttered, her usual unwavering confidence and pluck wavering slightly.

Lilac met black when she lifted her chin and he was looking at her so openly, so honestly and obsessively she didn’t mind being vulnerable.

The other boys had always put her on her back or even that Westerlands knight who had her on her hands and knees. She had never done it like this and perhaps it put them on even ground as novices for once.

“Do you want to?” he asked, his voice enough to turn her on even more, especially when he so clearly wanted her like this. Because since that first night when he’d realised it wasn’t just ire he carried for the princess this was exactly how he’d imagined it.

She just dipped her chin slightly, almost too nervous to say it aloud in case she looked stupid. Her lilac eyes were bright with an open sort of nervousness and curiosity and when his hands gripped her hips and slid up forward, when his cock slipped between her folds and grazed against her they both groaned out for the Gods.

Back and forth she slid, her wetness surprising them both as it slicked between them, guided by his hands on her hips, and when she leaned forward, her hands on his chest so her braid slipped over her shoulder and swayed between them, Cregan could feel so much of her, smell so much of her, almost taste her he felt like he’d slipped into heaven.

Although that was nothing compared to when she raised up a little, looked up at him through hooded eyes and found his cock with her hand, searching for an answer.

“Yes?” she asked, knowing that if they did this there was no turning back. She squeezed as she ran her fist up and down his thick length and he hissed out in pleasure, his eyes rolling back in a way that made her want to do everything she’d ever imagined to him just so he’d do that again.

Waiting until he nodded, she watched so carefully, her fingers playing with the edge of his beard until his chin dipped. And her hand guided him into her, and he was inside her inch by inch until she was full of him and she sighed, her cheeks flushing. And Cregan thought that if life ended that night, it would be quite a happy ending.

She was tight and warm, wet and perfect and when he looked down at where they met, he couldn’t stop himself from swearing out. The sight of her against him, her taking him and him lost inside her was enough to make him proclaim for her and her alone if that was what she wanted.

“Fuck, look at you” he groaned, his hand sliding up her torso, up her chest and neck until he tilted her chin to look at him. And seeing her eyes so clouded with lust, her lips parted in a gasp of pleasure that he was the cause of almost finished him.

He had to stay still, gripping her hip steady with one hand and his other roaming across her chest until he had her in his hand again, a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and she keened forward, rocking against him where she needed it.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his concern sprouting when he saw her brow furrowed and the way she clenched and released around him as she rocked.

“Yeah I just need... you’re just so...” she stammered, inflating his ego slightly as he’d finally made her speechless.

However, his sense of cockiness faltered when she sighed and even whimpered when he gave a light pull on her nipple and yet she put him back where he belonged, in awe and wonder of his lady-wife when she sighed “I’m so full of you, Cregan.”

He thought it was game over then, having to concentrate with every facet of himself not to finish this so early.

When he had recovered, opening his eyes and finding hers shut as she rocked back and forth slightly, more used to the feel of him he felt bolder and thrust up into her. And the moan she let past her lips was almost sinful.

She leaned down, her hands on his shoulders to use him so she could move her hips easier and they found their pace. She lifted off him, only to push down again and let him fill her as though he was meant to be there. On each descent, she sat into him letting her hips circle and on further concentration Cregan realised what she was doing.

Tilting his hips he made sure that on every thrust he was grinding up into her as she did down against him and that was what made the difference. Her pants and heavy breaths became moans, breathy sighs and when his lips wrapped around one of her nipples, she mewled.

“Cregan” she whimpered, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders and silently begging him to not stop. She lowered further, her hands not able to stay on his shoulders and her chest fell against him, her tits sliding against his chest, her nipples hard against the skin of his chest.

His hands grabbed her shoulders, his fingers more familiar now with the mottled, whirled feel of the burns across her back and shoulder. He slid them down, until he had her arse in his hands and he was exactly where he’d fantasised about being. His fingers dug in, driving her forward spreading her open wider for him and the way she whimpered against him, her lips finding his even with her eyes closed.

“Yes?”

 

It was all he could think, all he could articulate and she just nodded, her kisses messy but addictive.

“Yes, fuck yes” she cried, her nails sure to draw blood from his shoulders but he didn’t care as he fucked her faster and she surrendered to it all. He could feel her tightening, clamping on him and fluttering around him and it was right there for him too.

“Fuck” he gasped, knowing he was done when her teeth scraped across his ear lobe and she moaned into his ear.

Visenya saw stars and white light, her eyes squeezed shut and her arms and legs failing her but not before she lifted her hips high. Cregan felt it, felt her pull off him and felt his release between them across her stomach and his in spurts. The only sound their pants and her contented hum as she slid to the side, onto her side beside him.

She was smiling, an easy and soft sated smile he was growing way too attached to. Reaching a lazy arm over, she brushed some hair from his forehead that stuck with perspiration.

“How was it?” she asked, a lazy soft smile on her lips and her eyes only at a warm simmer.

Looking away from the mess they’d made on his abdomen and pelvis, he groaned at the sight of her. Soft, pale skin and rosy, pert nipples on full tits that were felt at home in his hands. Those wicked, lilac eyes and flushed cheeks. And she was good. She was funny and kind, she was good to his family and his people. And he hated himself for marrying her with a motive. But the way she looked at him and the way she had moved before he finished inside of her, perhaps she had her motives too.

But he didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to grab ahold of her and pull her closer. He wanted to taste her again, wanted to see how many times he could finish her in a night.

“The best I’ve ever had” he replied honestly, his grin so boyish she could be forgiven for forgetting who they were.

“I just stole your virtue” she laughed softly, watching him find a cloth beside the bed and wiping away the evidence on his stomach.

His back rippled and tensed with muscle as he turned away from her and she knew that picking a favoured part of her husband was a mammoth task but Gods she had to stop herself from leaning in and trying to bite him. The thought disturbed her.

Turning back to face her, he leaned over her until his forehead was almost against hers.

“You’ve ruined me” he replied wryly, pushing the hairs that had escaped her braid back behind her ear and sliding his fingers down her neck.

“I hope so” she whispered, her arms taking on a life of their own and wrapping around his shoulders.

She hoped he was ruined for every other woman. That touching them, feeling them would never be like it was with her. Because she had a frightening suspicion that that was what he had done to her for other men.

They lay like that for a few minutes, not moving. Her chest rose and fell quickly, his fingertips stroked back and forth across the skin of her back. Until she pushed closer, she wanted nearer. Her legs wrapped around his middle and sitting back on his heels, he slid back inside her, already hard again.

Her gasp and his groan collided between their lips and they found kissing while smiling difficult but Visenya didn’t mind. She just knew that tearing them apart would be much harder now, and she hoped that no one would. She hoped their vow was true. Cursed be he who tear them asunder. Because there wasn’t anything in life she wanted in that moment except to stay right where she was.

Notes:

Cregan losing his v-card to the missus <3 Let me know what you're thinking, love talking to you guys! xx M

Chapter 12: XII

Notes:

Sorry I'm late, hectic week! x

Sorry I'm late - had a really busy weekend that ended up the weekend from hell but I wanted to make sure I stayed somewhat regulur so here we are!

Sex with Cregan changed things. She had known it would make a difference but she had not realised that after that one time, her hunger for him would not fade. That every night she could not eat her supper fast enough before slamming the door of their chambers shut and letting him grab her up into his arms, against the wall or in the bath or on their bed if they made it there, each time better than the last as he learned her body and she learned his.

They wouldn’t stop, not until her legs were trembling and she had to push his head or his fingers away from her. Not until he was completely spent, his seed across her stomach or his, even that time she had slipped off him and caught it on her chest. They were always spent at this point, panting and slick with sweat. But she knew he was looking, that he was starting to see that her plan did not include allowing him to finish inside of her. He was starting to realise that there must be a significance of it although he had no idea who to ask about it.

He just knew that when he woke in the morning, she was always there against him whether her cheek pressed to his arm or her back rested against his front. She usually fell asleep first, fucked into a happy and sated state that made something pulse in his chest when he saw her like that. This woman of his who was wickedly clever and who made men twice her size feel like boys when she glared at them with her witch-like eyes could be made that calm, that happy and soft by him. When he saw her laying on her front, wrapped in his furs in his bed, her lilac eyes sleepy and her small pink lips turning up at the corners no matter how fierce people thought her to be.

It was something primal and dangerous in him. Something that made him think of how far he would go to keep her happy, to keep her safe and in fact, just to keep her.

Because she was good, she was brave and kind but she was fierce and volatile in a way he hadn't known girls could be. Above all, she believed in fighting for what was right. And when he thought of how she had flown to Bear Island, how she refused to be left at home or pushed back, something tightened in him that only released when he was deep inside her. She was more than he could have wished for when he chose her to be Lady of Winterfell.

And when she woke from the sunlight streaming in, she would push back against him and sigh a noise that made every part of Cregan wake. Sometimes she would push him back until she was astride him and riding him into bliss but the mornings where she was less energetic, she would just pull him against her back and let his hand slip between her legs until she told him she was wet enough and he hooked her leg around his and let him slide inside of her so slow and deep they both were unravelling in minutes.

Mornings like this, one could be forgiven for thinking there was something beautiful, something filthy but sacred between them. In his breath against the back of her neck and how he’d bite down on her neck to stop himself from saying something foolish. In her rising moans that none of the other boys had ever gotten from her no matter how experienced and endowed they claim to be and the way her hands always grabbed for his, wanting his fingers laced between hers when he got her to the peak.

Because Cregan asked. He made sure of things. He watched her and he changed pace or pattern, changed rhythm or even changed act when she didn’t seem to enjoy it quite so much.

“Yes?” he had asked when he had put his hand between her legs the first morning they had done it on their sides.

“Does that feel good, Princess?” he had asked when she had been on top of him and he had grabbed her hips, pulling her down, pulling her onto him and pushing himself as deep inside of her as he could.

He had asked and she had replied or moaned or just nodded until she heard him laugh, a smug sound that had started to make something liquify in her insides.

He had learned her. And she had learned him.

He liked when she grabbed onto him by the shoulders, when she sucked on his earlobe, when she teased him by grinding back against him.

He groaned when he first sank into her always pausing for a few moments before moving, when she pulled at his hair, when she pulled his fingers to her mouth sucking them deep before moving them down to where she needed them.

And it was easy. It was fun, often their intimacy broke for moments where someone slipped out of place or Winter opened her eyes and stared at them confusedly and they would laugh. He would start doing that laugh that came from deep in his belly and his eyes would crinkle, dimples appearing and Visenya would feel an even stronger physical reaction to him then when he was deep inside her.

It was times like this that made Visenya feel it. Fear.

Fear that she was getting in too deep. In with the Starks, into this game they were playing, into this person she was supposed to be that made sure the Starks would protect her. But it was too easy to be the person who Arrina liked, who Lady Alyssa smiled at, who Edric made jokes with, who Lord Stark bedded every night.

‘The Starks are wolves, become one of them. Wolves live in packs and they look after their own. Become a wolf, become whatever you need to be.”

That was what Rhaenyra had said. And Visenya had done her best. In truth, being with Arrina and Harrin even Edric now came so easily. And although she would claim to find Cregan Stark belligerent and displeasing, she thought of him with much more softness than she could have ever believed. Her Lord Husband was a born warrior, he was belligerent and fierce, he had a short temper and a distrusting nature. But he was good to her, he kept her warm and safe, he wanted her to be involved in everything in the North from planning for winters to preparing for war. He talked to her, about things no Southern lady would ever be consulted on.

But she still took her tea. She still drank it every morning as soon as Cregan had dressed and left her to her breakfast. Visenya’s mother had made sure she had plenty of the herbs dried and wrapped in muslin that she could use at her own discretion.

She knew that bearing children for Cregan Stark was one of her main responsibilities and that it would strengthen her claim as Lady Stark as well as her mother’s as Queen. But Visenya needed more time. She couldn’t let herself fall pregnant, not yet.

Not when all she thought of babies were birthing beds soaked in blood and Maesters deciding to cut women open just because the babe’s life was worth more than the mother’s. She wouldn’t let herself be reduced to that.

She would be no good to anyone in a war if she was pregnant. She would be kept ahide, kept ‘safe’ and protected far from the battle field and far from the Greens.

Lord Stark had wed her wanting a wife who flew a dragon into battle. Not a brood mare.

Or so she hoped as she hid the tea from him every morning just in case.

A raven came from Dragosntone of Jace’s safe return after a week of married life at Winterfell and Visenya found life to be much easier. Being Lady of Winterfell was becoming easier for her as was being Lord Stark’s lady-wife.

When he grabbed her from behind and pulled her into him or when he waited for her after a ride on Ghost, she had to stop herself from thinking how easy being in love with Cregan Stark could be.

She stopped it, would not breathe life into the idea. She wasn’t sent North to fall in love with her lord husband and hold hands and watch little brown-haired children grow up to be little lords and ladies. She was sent North to help turn the tides to a war.

And so, she took her tea every morning, after Cregan had left and before Ingrid or Corrina arrived.

Corrina held her tongue. She didn’t speak of Cregan or ask questions, she kept her eyes down while she ate supper and Visenya had not seen them even speak to each other since the wedding. Ingrid however had become something close to what Visenya would call a friend if Targaryens had things like friends.

Ingrid was clever with a quick wit and a sharp mind for reading people. She saw when Visenya was tired or withdrawn, noticed when she seemed to be in better moods and what caused them. She often helped Visenya, binging her a sort of lotion for her hands when the cold started to dry the skin out and even fetching a scissors and helping to cut her hair when it grew too long. Visenya liked having Ingrid to help her, quite happy to let her brush her hair and help her dress while Corrina scowled and fetched water or changed the bed linen.

Visenya was distracted the morning after Jace’s letter came. She had woken lying across Lord Stark, her cheek against his chest and his massive paw of a hand against her back. Stretching and rolling her joints she felt him wake too.

“Are you sore, princess?”

She could practically feel the smugness in his tone.

“Yes, my lord” she replied smartly, feeling his hand tighten over the back of her neck “You rolled over in the night and almost crushed me you brute.”

She felt rather than heard his laugh, his chest shake a few times as he pressed his face in between where her shoulder and neck met, a ticklish area that he always was drawn to no matter what protests she made or how she lifted her shoulder to keep him back.

“I thought the princess would like to be under me for a change” he remarked, his nose trailing up her neck and his lips following until he nipped at her jaw.

Visenya’s arms did entirely what they liked which was why they wrapped around his shoulders and her legs fell open until he was between them and lay over her.

“The princess does what the princess wants.”

She found even pulling off the high and mighty tone was no more use. She laughed, as did he while he flattened his body over hers although keeping weight on one hand so as not to crush her she sighed when she felt him against her.

“And what does the princess want this morning?” he asked his mouth muffled against the soft skin of her neck.

Visenya’s imagination ran wild. What did she want this morning? Him on his back? On their sides? His fingers? His tongue? To have him on top of her instead? Or something new like to have him in her mouth or to have him bend her over the bed?

Cregan laughed at her eyes lighting up with the possibilities she was clearly imagining, many more ways she was capable of and planned to shock and amaze her lord-husband who had never imagined that a lady-wife could do and be and say the things she did, was and said.

“I think she’d like to know what her lord wants” she replied, a knowing smile on her face.

Visenya had wanted to know what Cregan Stark wanted since the second a raven came to Dragonstone with requests of a betrothal to Rhaenyra Targaryen’s daughter. But when they woke in a bed together, when she found herself warm because of his body pressed against her and feeling safe because of his presence she didn’t think about why he had wanted her. She thought about it when she was alone, when she on Ghost or walking in the Wolfswood. But when she was with him, she didn’t often think of their motives and burdens.

“There isn’t a morning long enough for all the things I want to do to you, princess” he said, his head dipping and kissing against her neck, sucking and biting it for just a second long enough for her to start squirming and laughing.

“Get off” she complained, her laugh being too easy to leave her chest.

Three sharp knocks at the door was the first wake up call. Cregan usually was first to wake in all of Winterfell but the days of him sneaking out before his lady-wife had woken were behind them. And now, three sharp knocks from the beginning of the morning guards was his cue to leave.

With enough reluctance that Visenya felt rather smug, he left their bed and moved to dress beside the bed. Dark trousers, a shirt followed by a leather tunic that he laced and tied with ease as she watched him.

“Am I truly supposed to go about my day knowing that you look like that?” he asked, as he nodded at where she lay in just the slip she’d gone to bed in the night before.

Although Cregan had removed it without delay she had slipped it back on when they were going to sleep.

“Yes, you barbarian” she rolled her eyes at him, earning a grin that showed her his dimples again.

He tied his cloak around his neck and pulled his boots on ready to leave. When they left their rooms, things became incredibly civil and proper. Visenya knew that others had noticed the considerable thaw between the Lord and Lady of Winterfell as they no longer danced around each other quite so carefully or warily. However, the North were serious, private people and Visenya did not think to act any differently.

“Ser Darron and I must meet with Lord Cerwyn at Crofter’s Village, we will return quite late.”

He told her, fixing his sleeves.

She nodded, quite sure she could cope without him for a day so long as he was back by the time she was going to bed.

“Until then” she replied, climbing from the bed and wrapping herself in a cloak that she left at the foot of her bed. Ingrid would be along soon to help her dress and fetch her breakfast to her.

Visenya wasn’t expecting it, that was why she thinks she almost jumped when Cregan leaned over her and stooped, catching her cheek with his lips.

“Until then” he repeated, a dangerous looking spark in his dark eyes when he looked at her and took his leave.

Visenya admonished herself for the chidish and ridiculous feelings that she got in her stomach at him kissing her cheek before he left. But she was still smiling distractedly as she fetched her tea leaves and put them into her cup.

She should have been paying better attention, she usually did. But when Ingrid came to the door, entering after two knocks and greeting Visenya, she turned to greet her back and fumbled the jar in her hands.

The glass slipped straight from her grasp and shattered to the floor immediately.

“My lady, don’t move. There’s glass everywhere!” Ingrid exclaimed, noting her ladyship’s bare feet and the glass that had spread across the floor.

The pungent smell of the herbs wafted quickly around the room and what had been safely hidden away in Visenya’s things was now laid bare across the floor. By Ingrid’s wide eyes and stare, Visenya knew that Ingrid knew what Visenya had been taking.

A moment of silence and expectation hung between them. Visenya didn’t know what to do or say. If this was Dragonstone or King’s landing no one would dare betray the confidence of Visenya Velaryon but she wasn’t sure about being in Winterfell.

Ingrid was loyal to House Stark. And a Lady of Winterfell that took teas to ensure she would not fall pregnant with a child of House Stark was not only deceitful but it was almost treasonous. People lost their heads for less.

Ingrid’s green eyes were wide and almost frightened as she regarded Visenya.

Visenya could threaten her, she could promise to have Ghost burn her alive or let her mother’s husband take her tongue from her head. But that was not what she wanted.

“Ingrid... Please...” Visenya’s whispers didn’t sound much like a dragon.

But the way Ingrid’s wide eyes looked from Visenya to the floor, and back to her lady.

“We’ll wrap the glass in one of the linens from your bed and we’ll get rid of the herbs in a chamber pot” She promised, immediately going to her knees and gathering up the bits of glass.

Visenya didn’t have time to feel anything but relief and kinship for the girl she had not realised was a friend. She sank to her knees and started gathering it up too, sweeping it into a piece of linen and wrapping it as best she could.

They rushed, bits of glass pricking Visenya’s palms and drawing blood but she kept going. No one could see what she had been drinking.

“What are you doing?”

Visenya had forgotten that Ingrid didn’t come alone. Corrina stood at the door, fresh linens and towels in her arms, her eyes staring at the two girls on the floor. Corrina’s nose twitched and she smelt it immediately. Her eyes widened.

Visenya might have tried to speak to her, to appeal to her senses or sense of female loyalty had Corrina not smirked. A self-satisfied, smug, as though she had gotten exactly what she wanted type of smirk.

And she turned on her heel, marching from the room quickly.

Visenya dropped whatever she had in her hand, pushing to her feet and going after her. She hadn’t gone far, clearly not expecting anyone to follow her. Visenya caught up to her easily and Corrina clearly had never been confronted by anyone, especially not a Targaryen princess.

Corrina let out a loud ‘umph’ noise as she was pushed up against the wall, slammed back until her back hit the wall and she was pinned in place where she stood, her eyes wide in shock at anyone laying their hands on her.

“What do you think you’re—”

She gasped, trying to push back but Visenya had been trained in more than just needlework and poetry.

“—You don’t speak a word of what you saw to anyone. Do you hear me?”

“Get your hands off me!” She cried, feebly pushing back but Visenya just tightened her grip.

“What you saw was—”

“—What I saw goes against everything you swore to House Stark. You’re a liar and a traitor and he’s going to see you for what you really are.”

Corrina was not just a woman who’d seen her lady using preventative teas. She was a girl who had been ignored and cast aside for a princess that had taken every ounce of care and attention Cregan Stark had never given her.

“You dare threaten me” Visenya hissed, her forearm pinning Corrina further against the wall.

Visenya wasn’t sure what would have become of them, standing in a hallway arguing and pushing at each other.

Ingrid’s footsteps followed them.

“Corrina!” she hissed “She is Lady of Winterfell, you dare not make threats to her!”

But Corrina was not relenting.

“I knew you would be the ruin of him, you’ll be the death of him, I know it in my bones” she hissed, such convinction in her words as though she believed every word sent a chill down Visenya’s spine.

“You know no such thing, Corrina” Ingrid hissed, looking over her shoulders and theirs to be sure they were not about to be interrupted or seen.

The last thing anyone needed was for guards, be it Visenya’s or Cregan’s to see Lady of Winterfell pinning one of her lady’s maids to a wall by her throat.

“She was betrothed to Aemond Targaryen for all of ten minutes when her stupid brother took his eye! What do you think will happen to a man who is in fact married to her!”

Corrina seethed, knowing the rumours of the betrothal that Visenya had prayed against for nights on end until it was abandoned. That night when Aemond claimed Vhagar and Luke took his eye, Visenya knew it would come back to haunt them again and again.

She hadn’t been able to see much with the cut to her brow that leaked blood into her eyes from the rock Aemond had hit her with when she launched herself at him for hitting Jace. But she hadn’t needed perfect vision to know that Luke had taken Aemond’s eye. She would remember his screams until her last breath.

“I’ll take your eye next if you don’t learn to hold your tongue you wicked little bitch.”

She heard herself saying, heard her own voice being almost venemous.

And Corrina finally had the good sense to look afraid.

But she bounced back. Her little eyes narrowed in rage and her face screwed up, far from the sweet smiles she usually sent Cregan’s way.

“You ruined everything!” She cried, her rage untenable “He never cared and now he cares about you, of all people!”

Her hands shook with it. Visenya almost thought her quite beautiful like this. Quite real, if she hadn’t been directing her fury towards Visenya.

“Corrina, stop” Ingrid admonished, wanting her sister to stop before she said something truly regrettable.

“No!” she raged, pushing back against the princess but she was weak “He was supposed to be mine and then he chose you. And whatever you’ve done to him now, he doesn’t even look at me!”

Visenya almost felt sorry for her. Corrina clearly loved him, or whatever she thought was love. But trying to get him to stray from Visenya was going to be the last thing she ever did if she was intent on seperating them. Visenya didn’t share.

“He got married, Corrina. You always knew he would!” Ingrid tried to placate her sister, try to stop it from getting worse but Corrina was too far deep in her rage now, realising how wonderful it felt to excise it all.

“He was mine first!” She yelled.

Her eyes narrowed.

“What if I’m pregnant?”

Visenya blanched.

Cregan had told her he had lain with no one else. Corrina couldn’t be pregnant. But if he had lied, she could be.

Visenya would not talk of the secrets she shared with her husband but she would protect the family.

Her arm tightened against Corrina’s throat, almost subconsciously at the thought of Cregan with her. Cregan lying with her, kissing her, telling her that she was perfect, just like he did for her.

“If you’re pregnant, that babe will be raised here. They won’t be the bastard of Winterfell. They’ll be given the Stark name, I’ll make sure of it.”

Her calm, cold tone was worse than if she had yelled. It was chilling. Terrifying.

“And you will be sent North of the Wall. I don’t care where but we will never see you again. And your child will be raised with me as a mother. So, think again. Is it possible that you might be pregnant, Corrina?”

Corrina’s lip trembled slightly, her feet shifting and her neck craning to remove itself from where Visenya had her pinned.

With a final sense of self-preservation, Corrina shook her head.

“Now go” Ingrid cocked her head at her own sister, hurrying her along “Our lady needs new linens and there’s broken glass that needs to be swept.”

Visenya felt her hands tremble slightly as she stepped back. She was barefoot, her hands had blood from where the glass had sliced into her skin. She was so cold, and she wore nothing but her nightdress and a robe.

“Come, my lady. Let’s get you dressed and cleaned up.”

Ingrid said, being bold enough to put a hand on Visenya’s arm to lead her back towards her chambers.

Corrina was gone when they returned and she stayed gone while Ingrid bathed Visenya’s hands in water and an unscented balm that soothed the scrapes. They didn’t speak while she brushed Visenya’s hair and helped her dress in her leathers. Corrina’s green eyes stayed firmly on the task at hand and she didn’t seem to be thinking about what she had seen before.

“You did not ask me why” Visenya said, unable to go without saying it.

She was dressed and ready, her cloak being held out and tied by Corrina.

The young woman finished tying the cloak first before nodding and meeting Visenya’s eyes. There was something tough there, something that Visenya had seen when her mother looked at her.

“I did not need to, my lady” her voice was low for fear of anyone who eavesdropped “I lost my own mother to the birthing bed and then my eldest sister. You need make no excuses for wanting to delay your taking to it.”

Ingrid’s hand squeezed Visenya’s and that was that. They did not speak of it anymore.

And Visenya didn’t need to. For the first time she felt that she had a friend. A foreign but comforting feeling.

And yet she couldn't forget that she had an enemy too. An enemy that now knew her secret.

*

Ghost had grown used to the North. Visenya had worried for him but he had always hated the Dragon pit. And living on Dragonstone, he had hated the company of the other dragons. Caraxes always goaded him while Arrax, Vermax and Teraxes always wanted to play whereas Ghost wanted to be left alone.

Flying to Sea Dragon Point and back took the better part of the afternoon but Visenya was glad of the time spent alone. It gave her time to think and gather her thoughts.

She thought of the war mostly. Her mother and what would happen when it began.

Her mother had clearly been thinking the same for when she landed, Ser Jarrald had been there to accept a raven message for her.

'Alysanne. Dusk. Ghosts only. R'

If intercepted it meant nothing. But Visenya promised Ser Jarrald she would be back before daybreak.

“Your Grace, you cannot leave for that long without aid!” He protested, wishing he had a dragon of his own to accompany her. But he did not.

“Ser Jarrald, I promise you. I will be safe. It is my mother and she summons me.”

Ser Jarrald had no choice but to let her go.

Because Visenya read it and knew what it meant.

Alysanne. Visenya’s sister, her little sister.

At dusk.

Visenya was to meet Rhaenyra on the Little Sister island, of the Sister islands in the cove of White Harbour.

She was to come before dark and bring no one with her. Only Ghost. She was to fly on dragonback.

Cregan was not to return until nightfall. Visenya would surely have returned by then and the thought of seeing her mother was too much for her to think about the consequences.

Visenya scribbled a note on the back of the scroll Ser Jarrald had handed her and gave it back to him in lieu of her returning to Winterfell as he asked.

Ser Jarrald was left yelling at the sky, immediately lost as to where his charge had gone and what he was supposed to say to Lord Stark when he inevitably asked where his wife was and he had no answer for him.

Chapter 13: XIII

Notes:

It's a long one! Gotta get those communication skills warmed up!

The weather conditions worsened after White Harbour and Visenya and Ghost were accosted by a mist-like rain that seemed harmless but was ice cold and soaked them both on their journey. But the Little Sister was small and uninhabited therefore landing inconspicuously was easy, especially when she saw Syrax and unfortuantely Caraxes. Daemon had come too.

She should have expected it. She had hoped maybe Jace would come with his mother but when she landed on the beaches below the cliffs, Daemon and Rhaenyra were just visible taking shelter between two of the cliff edges which narrowed at the top for shelter.

“My sweet girl” Rhaenyra sighed in relief, getting her hands on her daughter for what felt like the first in years although it had only been a few months.

“Your Grace” Visenya remembered, dipping into a curtesy before her mother.

The last time they had been together she had not been crowned Queen. Things were different now and Visenya had to act accordingly.

“Come here” Rhaenyra said, immediately relieved at how well Visenya looked even if she looked so different from when she saw her last.

Visenya’s feet took her straight into her mother’s arms.

“Mother” Visenya sighed in equal relief.

She had forgotten what her mother smelled like, what the touch of her family felt like. Visenya was not a stranger to physical touch, not since Cregan and she had grown more intimate but the softness of family she had missed. The smell of her mother, the soft strokes she smoothed her hair with and the way she smiled when she saw her.

“I’m so sorry about the babe” Visenya sympathised, knowing her mother loved all of her children so much that losing one was almost unbearable.

She felt it when her mother held her. While she had grown used to feeling her mother’s round and swollen stomach between them, now there was nothing.

Her mother’s eyes twitched almost instictively. By all accounts, Alysanne should still be in her mother’s womb. But she was gone, burnt to ashes by Syrax and scattered to the wind off Dragonstone.

“Your sister was not ready for this world...” Rhaenyra stated, her hand moving to the ghost of her stomach as if to feel it empty and flat.

Daemon didn’t reach out for her, Visenya had not expected him to. He regarded her, watching her coldly with narrowed eyes and a tilted head as he leaned back against the cliff wall. He stared at her, his eyes catching on her cloak and her hair, seeing just how Northern she looked now.

“Daemon” Visenya nodded, glad to see anyone who she could call family after so many moons.

“Your lord-husband writes that the North prepares for Winter and for War.”

Daemon had never been a man who stood on ceremony or who indulged in pleasantries.

Visenya nodded, her eyes drawn back to her mother who tilted her head and watched her as if examining.

“Yes... Winter is coming, your grace and the North knows that preparations must be made for both.”

Visenya spoke to Rhaenyra although it was Daemon who responded.

“Cregan Stark swore an oath to the Queen not to Winter. He will come when called.”

Daemon’s narrowed eyes and wicked tone reminded Visenya who he was. But it also reminded her of who she was when men like him were around. Ser Laenor and Ser Harwin as well as Rhaenyra had done well in raising her. But the realm had made sure she knew that obeying the men in her life was of paramount importance.

Her time in the North had made her reconsider.

Jokes and jibes about the Lady of Winterfell’s parentage, about her appearance or what she would be like to bed were punishable. Giving orders to Lady Stark was both ill-advised and ignored by her only for a warning to be issued by either Lord Stark, Edric or even Ser Darron who had become a new addition to her defence.

“Lord Stark is well aware of his oath. He will not break it. But the North knows that Winter is inevitable and if it comes while all of the North’s men are fighting in the South and preparations are not made then there will be nothing to return home to when the war is over.”

Rhaenyra looked between her husband and the daughter she had been blessed with.

Ser Laenor had been thrilled by the arrival of their twins. Prince Jacaerys and Princess Visenya. Both pink-skinned and screaming, perfect. Ser Harwin had beamed when he finally met them two days later when Rhaenyra was allowed back in her own chambers. Ser Harwin had loved holding them, one in each arm, hogging them from their mother and being able to hold his children and walk them up and down the chambers until they fell asleep. Rhaenyra would never forget the way he had looked at her when she told him the Maester suspected there were twins.

Jace had been born for the crown. He was strong and brave, good and even-tempered. He was well-spoken and clear-minded with a strong sense of justice and morality. But he was born for the throne, for Westeros.

Luke came quickly after the twins, another dark haired and pink-skinned babe that everyone doted on. Luke was kind and good, he loved his dragon and his family. Luke had been born for Driftmark.

But Visenya was born for Rhaenyra, just for her. No one else.

And she had to be given away, to go away to be wedded and bedded.

Visenya was fierce, wickedly quick-minded and believed in what was better for the people not just herself. She was unyielding and quick-tempered but she had more patience than her brothers when it came to what she wanted. She was everything good that Rhaenyra had ever seen in herself, that Harwin had told her was there and that Viserys had told her would make a good ruler of her. But she couldn’t save her from the fate of being wed any more than she could save herself.

But the more Rhaenyra listened, the more she watched her now. It was becoming clear. Visenya had not been born for her mother. She had been born for the North.

With her hair braided back in one long dark braid, not adorned with gold like how she used to wear it on Dragonstone, with her dark cloak and riding leathers as well as the wolf’s symbol that was embroidered on the straps of her cloak and on the shoulders of her leathers. She looked just as Lady Stark should. She wasn’t trapped in Winterfell or resenting the North, she was blooming. The first Southern thing to ever bloom up there.

“Winter could be the greatest advantage for us. Once we have made the appropriate arrangements so that when it comes, no Green forces will march North. They are knights of Summer and dare not brave it.”

The winds were picking up, whipping around them but only Visenya didn’t seem to notice or care.

“So long as your lord-husband doesn’t choose to stay hidden up North when the time comes.” Daemon remarked, his threat going unsaid.

“We won’t.” she replied, not missing a beat and feeling her irritation growing.

Rhaenyra didn’t miss how her daughter referred to them as ‘we’, how plans of war seemed to come from and even include Visenya and Ghost.

Daemon laughed, that horribly chilling sound he made when he found something ironic or if he had been proven right in something.

“So you have the wild beast fully cunt struck well done”

Visenya blanched. Her temper had been well controlled when she was Princess, now she was Lady it was not.

“Don’t speak of him like that” she snapped, unable to stop herself.

“Like what? Like he is a beast from the ghastly North?” Daemon scoffed, flicking invisible dirt from his sleeves adorned with embroidered dragons.

“Don’t—” She began to fight back, to rush to the defence of who had been hers now for only a few months but felt like had been hers all along.

“Like he’s lucky to even be allowed associate with our House, the most powerful house in the realm? Because he is, Senya” Daemon hissed his venom, his eyes narrow.

“You don’t know anything about House Stark” Visenya hissed back, her feet pushing herself towards him because the way he leaned, the way he threw insults and accusations as though they were nothing would not stand.

“No, I don’t. Thank the Gods” Daemon scoffed, his eyes scanning over to Rhaenyra who watched them unnerved.

Visenya felt her mother’s keen gaze, and she felt herself shift beneath it. Daemon however just laughed. A horrible, empty sound.

“Do not dare tell me you’ve grown to care for him”

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra chastised, her tone harsh but her lord-husband did not take notice.

“And if I have?” Visenya hissed back “If I have grown an affection for a man I am forced to take to husband for the rest of my life, something I did for you, how will this disadvantage you? I have the North, they are loyal to my mother, the true Queen and we will march South when we need to.”

Rhaenyra looked between them, something akin to guilt and uncertainty on her face. Visenya had gone North to help them all, gone North to a man she’d never met for love of her family. She had signed away the rest of her own life to a place she’d never even seen.

“You forget yourself, Visenya. You were sent North to seduce him not to be seduced.” Daemon chastised.

But Visenya didn’t flinch or wear any signs of regret.

“Look at yourself” he sneered, his disgust evident as he looked her both up and down. His eyes snagged on the embroidery of her cloak. A wolf.

She might have her mother’s eyes but she looked like a wolf of the North. Dark cloak, a wolf pressed into the leather of the straps at her chest. Riding leathers made new and lined with fur by the armoury when the head armourer asked if he could do her the honour of trying to make something new for the Lady of Winterfell. He had been so full of pride when she wore it, when she lit with delight when she saw it and immediately gushed with pride and praise for him. It had made her realise that being Lady of Winterfell was perhaps much more than being Princess. Perhaps her lord-husband had been right.

“And what do you see, Daemon?” she snapped, her fire and fury uncageable for longer. And she had spent too long in the North where she was allowed to release it again and again for her to cage it now.

“A savage’s wife, like some war lord of Winter’s whore.”

Rhaenyra flinched at his words but Visenya didn’t.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra chastised hoping to intervene but Visenya stepped up against him, her fury painted across her face.

“If I am a whore, then you are a whore-monger Daemon. You sent me North, sold like livestock and now you rage at what you’ve created, what I did to ensure my own survival out there. I make no apologies for that”

Daemon shook his head at her, his chin tilted down to stare at her more closely.

“You even smell like him” he remarked, smelling the difference in her.

She still smelled of lilac and jasmine as she always had but something fresh, something woodsy and smokey clung to her like a cloak. Something that he had made a part of her.

“I suppose you didn’t take long to wrap your skinny little legs around him” Daemon laughed, his long fingers gripping her chin in a way that Ser Harwin used to as if in mocking.

“Fuck you” she snapped, jerking her chin from his grasp.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already squirted a little lord inside you. Gods willing, he’ll have at least one in you and one on the ground before the war starts.” He remarked, smirking mockingly.

“Shut up” Visenya snapped, pulling away from them both and wanting to return to Winterfell.

“Visenya!” Rhaenyra exclaimed. This was not how she wanted it to go. She had wanted to go without Daemon but he had insisted.

“I know you hold the North with us, but I need your help again.”

Visenya just nodded, she would always help. It was not even a question.

“Jace has secured the support of the Vale, Luke will fly for Storm’s End to treat with Lord Borros... we know that he is not a man easily swayed.”

Rhaenyra spoke carefully, the fear and worry for her children evident. But Luke wanted to go. He had said that if Visenya could go North for the rest of her life for the family then he could go to Storm’s End for an evening.

“Yes...” Visenya nodded, she knew where her mother was going.

“If Lord Borros knew that the North was with us, not the Greens I believe he would be swayed.”

Rhaenyra said.

“Lord Stark and I will send a raven to Storm’s End explaining the allegiance of the North.” She nodded, agreeing.

Daemon tutted.

“A raven will not suffice, Baratheons are proud and stubborn, he will take your raven as a slight. You will fly to Storm’s End and treat with him, with Luke.”

Daemon told her, his patience thinner than usual.

Visenya stared back at him.

“Is that an order?” she snapped, feeling the fire in her stomach much closer to her tongue than it had ever been when speaking to her family.

Daemon’s eyes flashed with something irrecognisable, almost as though he was pleasantly shocked.

Scoffing, he smirked.

“Yes actually it is. Unless you’d prefer to take orders from the Hightowers you will take our orders.”

Rhaenyra shushed her husband, waving her hand at him to dismiss him from their conversation with his attitude.

“Mother, I should be getting back. It is late.” Visenya reasoned, turning towards Ghost who was sick of Syrax and Caraxes already, preferring solitude to whatever strange relationship these dragons had.

Rhaenyra seemed unsure.

Visenya knew to reassure her.

“I will go with Luke, of course I will not leave him go alone.” she nodded.

Rhaenyra’s chest released a sigh of utter relief. She worried for all her children but Visenya was Lady of Winterfell now and Jace was well-trained and well-equipped for war. Luke was just a boy.

“I am glad you are well, you look...” Rhaenyra faltered, her hand smoothing over the braid that Visenya had learned from Ingrid.

“The North becomes you” Rhaenyra admitted, no matter how much it pained her to do so.

Visenya smiled back weakly. She wished her mother could come with her, wished Winterfell wasn’t so far away. But Visenya had to get back before they noticed she was missing.

“Is he good to you?” Rhaenyra whispered, her hands cupping her only daughter’s cheeks and scanning for a lie as if she could pull it out of her.

“Yes, mother” Visenya nodded, knowing that what Cregan was to her was undefinable with just one word. But he was good to her among other things.

But for all Daemon’s talk and insults, he followed Visenya to Ghost and grabbed her by the arm.

“You’re not lucky to have taken him to husband, Senya. It is the reverse. Do not forget he had his own secrets and motives for demanding you be his prize. Do not think you have no right to know it”

Daemon’s grip was tight on her arm but it was more of a reminder than a threat. Daemon would never tell her he cared for her or do something kind for her. But he did want what was best for her because it was usually what was best for the family.

Strong or not, Visenya was a Targaryen. And to Daemon, they were above all else. They deserved to be treated accordingly. Visenya should not be happy to be lady-wife of some Northern lord or to wear their sigil in his eyes. But she clearly had started something with Lord Stark that went beyond their marital duties. And this was dangerous. For the war, for the houses, for the realm.

Daemon had never seen a marriage between a Stark and Targaryen, and the maester’s records did not ever record one that went well. But the kinship that bonded wolf and dragon was something that could indeed turn the war, could turn the entire realm on its head if it tried.

*

In the courtyard of Winterfell, Visenya found them. In her absence, madness had clearly descended upon them. Because while she dismounted Ghost just outside the gates there was chaos and shouting to be heard although the place seemed almost deserted as they all gathered in one half of the courtyard.

Cregan was in a loud and deep argument with his uncle and with Ser Darron, Visenya could only see Ser Jarrald with his hands pulled behind his back and the beheading block’s presence striking fear into her heart.

“What in Gods name are you doing?” Visenya shouted, her voice surprising them all but not herself.

The men who held back Ser Jarrald faltered, clearly not sure of whose authority they were to be under. But Ser Jarrald sagged in relief.

“Thank the Gods” he sighed, laying eyes on the princess.

Whatever might have happened to her and where he had let her go without details was clearly about to be the act that Ser Jarrald lost his head for.

“Unhand him!” She yelled, furious that they would lay hands on her sworn shield.

“Senya” Edric exclaimed, relief palpable “Where were you?”

“What does it matter where I was, I said I would be back before dawn and here I am. Now unhand him!”

She found herself yelling again until Ser Jarrald was released and standing on his own two feet again, those feet gravitating until he was behind her.

Visenya was Lady Stark but Ser Jarrald was the only person who had been with her from the beginning. He was hers to protect just as she had been for most her life. She would not see him hurt because of her.

Edric seemed intent on arguing with his sister by law, but no one came near her because she was suddenly blocked from everyone by her lord-husband planting himself in front of her and grabbing hold of her by the elbows.

He looked down at her, his eyes scanning her over and up and down until he was satisfied that she remained whole and unharmed.

“Where did you go?” he asked, his voice stern and gruff but no more than usual.

The men behind and around them shouted and argued amongst themselves but Visenya did not take notice and nor did her husband.

“I went to The Sisters... my mother sent a raven asking to meet me urgently.”

The truth came easily from her. Meeting her mother was no secret nor was where she went. His gaze held, cold and unyielding and his grip stayed firm.

“And?” he asked.

Visenya shrugged her shoulders.

“She wanted to see me, to see I was well and hear of the North. All is well I told her.”

She tried at reassurance although after what she had spoken of with Damon and her mother, she wanted to wrap herself up in him and have him remind her that she was his now and he was hers. That Damon’s remarks were stupid and unfounded. But he seemed hard and unsure.

“You left without word. You are not to do so again.”

Visenya blanched. Cregan hadn’t given her orders like that since she had arrived in Winterfell and he had stalked around the castle glaring at her or avoiding her.

“I left word, a note, it was enough—”

“—It was not. The Lady of Winterfell cannot abandon Winterfell with nothing but a note that could be a forgery or have been written under duress, Visenya.”

Visenya stared back at him. He made sense. And the panic that she had arrived back into Winterfell to was proof enough of that. If she had been taken or had vanished, the North had every right to march wherever they thought her held and go to war for her and her honour.

She was their lady, their liege lord’s wife and wardeness of the North. The wolves of the North would never let her be taken, never let her be of the South again. A soberingly frightening yet comforting idea.

She had been gone for mere hours and they had almost beheaded Ser Jarrald and marched south. She did not want to wonder what would happen if someone stole her away.

Putting her hands out on his chest, letting them rest there for a moment she felt his deep breath of relief, felt his hands grip on her loosen even if only slightly. Although something was tight and troubled in his gaze.

“You’re right.” she nodded, her voice low.

Stepping out from his shadow the men in the courtyard quieted. All eyes appeared to be on her, on their lady.

“My lords, I’m sorry for the trouble I caused this night. I received urgent summons from Dragonstone to meet with messengers. I left on Grey Ghost with no thought of the confusion and dissonance I would cause. I hope you can accept my apologies, the ignorance I displayed tonight will not be shown again.”

The men nodded and bowed, eased and reassured by her. Something quite sobering settled in Visenya’s chest. They had almost beheaded Ser Jarrald and descended into chaos at the mere idea she had been taken or had vanished.

Daemon had not been correct in much of what he said that night but he was true in one way. Visenya was one of the Winter wolves now, something that did not change. Something that would not fade or melt away like ice when she went South. It was something in her now, something House Stark had put there, something she had allowed grow, something she had nurtured as had her lord husband.

The men didn’t answer her. They felt no need to. With nods and grunts in approval they moved to return to their chambers, to return to where they had heard the news of the missing princess.

Edric approached her on his own, his young handsome face tired.

“Don’t do that again.” he warned her, as only a caring brother could.

And she smiled weakly, missing her own brothers deeply but knowing that Edric was filling that hole in her heart that she felt every day she went without seeing Jace.

“I won’t” she nodded, in agreement for once.

The cold was becoming unbearable when she turned, hoping to have her Lord-husband to herself so they could go to bed. But all she saw of him was the back of him as he swiftly walked away from her, around the corner and towards the steps towards their chambers.

She moved after him, trying not to run so as not to look a fool. And when she made it to their chambers, shutting the door behind her he was already sitting at the foot of the bed without his cloak and unying his boots.

He didn’t look at her, but Winter who had been by the fireplace jumped to life at the return of Visenya.

“Hello, girl” Visenya said quietly, her hand sinking into the thick fur at the top of Winter’s head.

As if Winter could sense the tension, she retreated to her space in front of her the fireplace, tucking her head down between her front legs and staring up at them.

Cregan wouldn’t look at her.

“Cregan...” she started but he shook his head, as if he didn’t even want to hear her voice.

“Don’t. Visenya”

Stepping in closer to the room he almost flinched at her approach. Because he could smell her, because he could reach out and touch her, could reach out and taste her and he didn’t want to. And he hated himself because he did want to.

“Cregan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left without telling people but it was urgent and I thought I would have returned before you... I didn’t think...”

Her explanation fell on almost deaf ears as Cregan just laughed, not the warm, deep sound he made when they were lying in bed or when they walked in the Wolfswood. That hollow and empty sound that had no joy. She hated that laugh.

“You didn’t think...” He repeated, his eyes still down.

Visenya moved nearer to him. Standing while he sat on the edge of the bed, she was around his eye level not that he looked at her.

“What did they want?” he asked, looking up finally. His eyes were dark and cold.

“Like I said, they just wanted to hear from me, to see me and know I am well.” She replied.

It wasn’t an outright lie but the argument with Daemon that ensued was not something she wanted Cregan to hear. What her family thought of her, she wasn’t sure she could put it to the air from her own lips what they had thought of him.

Her lord-husband laughed again, lifeless and cruel. His grin was vicious and cold, the wolf of the North’s face.

“I fear I was foolish to expect you to tell the truth just now.”

The accusation felt like a slap.

“Cregan, I—” She approached him, her hand outstretched but he jerked away from her before he could be touched by her, be wrapped up in her again and lose himself as he had grown enamored with.

The rejection stung. Much more than Visenya had ever felt in her life. People didn’t say no to princesses of the realm. And she realised then how much it hurt to see him look at her like that.

“Do not!” he barked, standing to his full height which towered over her “do not tell me more of your lies and half-truths."

He turned away from her, unable to look at her and be sure what he felt. He was angry, he had been afraid, he felt betrayed and confused. But all of it just seemed to rattle around inside of him, unsure of which was the strongest, unsure of what was even real.

“Cregan, I do not lie” she began to say but he would not listen.

“You cannot even tell the truth when accused of being a liar.” he barked, his hands pulling through his hair angrily.

“What lie do you speak of now?” she questioned.

And he turned to face her when he said it, his face a mix of pain and fury.

“The lie you tell every time we go to bed together, every time you take a tea in the morning to prevent you ever falling pregnant with a child of mine.”

He was angry but Visenya knew that what she did pained him too. Cregan Stark was a man who people associated with anger but in a cold, efficent, powerful way. Not this open and raw display.

She did not respond, not quickly enough to get a word in before he continued with his anger sustaining him as he paced before her, anger and fury in every movement.

“Corrina came to me, told me that you threatened her to never speak a word of it to me. That she now fears for her life living at Winterfell.”

He recounted, clearly having received a full account of the morning from Corrina although it was undoubtedly an account that painted Visenya in the worst of lights. However, it was quite clear Cregan did not fully believe Corrina’s fear.

“Of course, you would place your trust in her, the girl who has done nothing but simper and smile in your direction” she snapped, her patience expired for Corrina Cassel.

“Corrina is of no significance here; it is you I am here with.”

But she was caught. She had been keeping it from him. She had been caught in her lie. But a cornered dragon was a dangerous thing. It lashed out, flames and screeching not caring what it did so long as it was free at the end of it.

“Can you truly blame me for not wanting that?” she snapped, her fists clenched “when a babe would mean me confined to my chambers, kept from Ghost and the real world. That I would be treated like a brood mare who was just the vessel that held the heir to Winterfell!”

Cregan’s brow furrowed, his handsome face still furious but bewildered too.

“Visenya, you would not be—”

“Do not lie to me, Cregan. If we are speaking truths now let it be all we speak” she interrupted, her own anger burning bright now.

“I don’t want that for myself, Cregan. To die like many of the women before me, surrounded by men who swear they know better and let me thresh and scream until the babe is the only one left screaming and I am long silent. I won’t be that, I won’t be reduced to a death as helpless as that. Not while I am disposable here... not while the babe’s life will always be chosen over my own.”

Cregan almost flinched at her words. Of course, he was not stupid. He knew that childbirth was a dangerous endeavour and that it could end tragically for both mother and babe. But he had not thought of it as a terror in the way Visenya clearly did.

Her grandmother, Queen Aemma and her aunt Lady Laena had died after the most excruciating labours and had been reduced to nothing. Queen Aemma had been sliced open, her wishes unheard and her screams unlistened to. The Lady Laena had taken her fate into her own hands but the labour had killed her.

The thought of Visenya pregnant, the thought of children had been a new daydream. It had been his uncle and his advisor’s plan since the betrothal talks began. But the thought of her screaming, of her bleeding, of her lying cut open on a birthing bed was enough to make him feel sick.

“Why have you not told me this before?” he asked, his voice lower now.

Her lilac eyes squinted at him in incredulity.

“Why would I tell you this? I am your lady-wife, my sole responsibility to the North is to give you children and my actions have been to stop this from happening. What I do is considered against the laws of the gods, of our marriage... it is a punishable offence.”

What she said was true. She had been careful until now, she had hidden the tea and had made sure he never finished inside of her. What she did went against the purposes of their betrothal. If he was king, it would be treason. He wasn’t king, but he was lord. Her lord.

“Visenya, I’m not angry because you do not yet wish to bear children I’m angry because you did not tell me, because you lie to me and keep the truth from me knowing that I am the one who bears this responsibility too.”

His hands moved with his anger as they stood across from each other, enough space to make sure no one did something foolish.

She laughed, a harsh and empty sound he hated because it was not a real laugh. It was cruel and cold.

“Yes, well I am in good company here as a liar.” she hissed, her hands on her hips.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He stopped pacing, standing in front of her and towering over her but she did not cower.

“That you spin your own web of lies too, Lord Stark and I am but a fly caught in it.”

He flinched. But he bounced back.

“And do tell me, dear wife what do I keep from you?” he snarled.

Glaring up at him she seethed.

“Whatever reason you had for asking for me as your wife.”

Her accusation slapped through the air and hit him like a blow to the face. She had asked many times but he had played the question off, had distracted her or ignroed it.

“What reason would anyone have for wanting a princess” he snapped, bouncing back but she had seen his fear in the moment he thought he would find out his real reason “It is good politics, for alliances and of course, you’re not terribly ugly or disagreeable when you’re not being so insolent.”

He joked as if she could be distracted with his flippancy but whether she was a wolf or a dragon it mattered not, she had her eye on the prey she wanted and she would not relent now.

“No” she snapped, stepping closer until he was almost against her and he could not escape her glare “You could have asked for anything, lands, titles, gold, men. There are dozens others who would have been all fine choices, but you wanted me, nothing else but me. Why?”

Daemon’s taunts had haunted her since the Sisters. Cregan had his reasons for needing her. He would tell her or she would never give up her secrets either.

“You cannot question me as if you are —” He snapped.

“As if I am what? Your wife? Your ally? Your equal? I can because I am, Cregan.” she snapped back, the heat his body radiated encroaching on her and the fresh smell she always associated with him started to push in on her.

“In this realm, I am the only person you can tell who has a responsibility to keep your secrets as my own.”

Her words hit him like a shield into the chest. He tried to deflect, to turn away from the truth and he moved away from her to sit on the edge of the bed and move as if to untie his boots.

But she stopped him, stepping into the space between his legs and crouching until his face was in her hands.

She knew that the only time where life felt fair between them was when they were on even footing. She wanted him to tell her his secret then she had to let out hers.

“I have taken a tea the morning after every time we are intimate because I do not want to be powerless, I do not want to be kept away from this war. And I shall be if your son is inside me.”

Her voice almost faltered but she continued, knowing that he was listening so intently his eyes couldn’t have been torn away from hers no matter what.

“I should have told you but I did not trust you with a secret that could have my head taken from my shoulders. But I am telling you now... I swear to you by the old Gods and the new I will give you children after this war. Dozens of them if that is what you ask of me but I need to be there with my family when this war starts.”

His brow furrowed and when he finally met her eyes, he saw her honesty and pain in them. How she laid it bare for him and how it pained her but she did it anyway. How her eyes misted at the fear she felt at imagining herself in a birthing bed and what she was promising. Her hands shook against his cheek but she did not falter.

“Lyraxes died and whatever child I was then, a girl who would marry Aemond Targaryen and be nothing but a pawn forced to squeeze out heirs for the Greens, that girl died too. Ghost and I, the woman I am now...” she gulped, her grit faltering before she inhaled and bolstered, saying something she had not really thought to admit until now “I am Lady Stark of Winterfell and I will not be absent from this war.”

It hurt to look at her, Cregan realised. It hurt to look at her and see her hurting. That part of his chest that seemed reserved for her ached. It felt warm and as though it glowed like embers when she smiled at him, when she moaned for him or laughed for him. But when she looked so close to tears it hurt.

“I understand, Senya... If there was a way for us to fulfil our duty with you never taking to the birthing bed, I would find it but our duty goes beyond just us...”

He said, his voice lower now and his hands reached out to take one of hers that was tightly gripping her own hip. She resisted at first, but he was warm and solid, and she felt the draw to him again like she always had.

She seemed faraway for a moment, lost in thought.

“Family, duty, honour...” she murmured, letting his hand swallow hers.

“House Tully?” he said, unsure of her thought process.

Her lilac gaze was still misty when she looked away from their hands.

“Lady Umber... when she came to visit, we spoke of Northmen... how they follow House Tully’s words regardless...”

“Go on” he urged her.

“I will always come last.” She almost whispered into the darkness only lit by the glow of the fire.

“Your family, then your duty, then your honour. On your honour as a Stark was why you married me, that is all you will admit as reasoning for asking for me. I will come last every time, after your family and after the North.”

“Visenya” he tried to interrupt but she wouldn’t be stopped.

“No, Cregan it’s true. I am not your family no matter what words we said in the Godswood. I am not really a Stark until I bear you children and if I cannot do that then we are where we have always been... on two sides, two families no matter if we are Greens or Blacks.”

She pulled her hand from his and he knew she was pulling away from him for good. She would keep pulling until she was gone back South to fight for her mother and her marriage with Cregan was in name only. He could not let it happen, he had to stop her.

And the only way he could stop her, apart from locking her in the crypt of Winterfell which he would rather die than do was to tell her the truth.

“I chose you.”

His words stopped her from pulling away. She stopped and she waited for more.

“Prince Daemon, when he wrote to ensure support of the North for your mother, he told me that the Queen would be forever in my debt and that I would be repaid in full as well as compensated heavily when the war was won.”

Visenya knew most of this story. She remembered how Jace had whispered to her in the meetings that there were fears of Cregan Stark asking for more than they could give him, asking for control of the North as their king not their lord. When he had wrote back with only one request, Jace had nothing to say except for one word. No.

“My Uncle, Ser Darron, Maester Fagan, my mother, anyone who had my ear in the North tried to tell me what I should ask for, what I could demand. But I told them that what I wanted was simple, I wanted you”

Hearing the story from his lips was different. Visenya remembered how Jace had raged against it and Luke had stood with his brow furrowed and his arms folded, how her mother had gone silent, running her hand over her bump constantly while Daemon had been enthusiastically talking of how many benefits would come from Visenya’s new position.

“It was not because I’d heard rumours of your beauty, which were true and talk of your intelligence and quick temper which are as wicked as promised”

Visenya felt her pulse jumping in her throat, her heart thumping in her chest. She’d lain awake thinking about his reasons, sat in the bath mulling over his motives, thought about it on dragonback, at supper, while walking with his mother. And he was telling her.

“Having a Targaryen princess in my bed was enough for some Lords to accept as reason, especially when they saw you”

His jealousy flashed for a moment reminding Visenya of what had happened to Hedgar Cerwyn, what had happened when she last stoked at that jealous streak of his.

“But I had never thought you would come North and... and do this to me” he spoke as if it pained him, his hand going to his chest and grabbing at his shirt as if he could claw her out. He had often wished he could, his life would be much simpler for it.

“One of my duties to my house is to produce heirs, to raise the next Lord of Winterfell with my lady-wife and ensure that the legacy of my house is safe.”

Visenya didn’t reply, only nod. She knew the duty he spoke of. It was all she’d been reminded of since she learned her betrothal was set.

“Which is why we cannot continue as we have, Senya”

She stood apart from him, her arms folded across her chest and her head tilted at him. She would listen, he knew she had a lack of patience when it came to many things but she was waiting for him.

“War is no time to leave the fate of a house up to chance, Visenya. We have no way of knowing what this war will bring. And if we march South, we could both end up dead...”

Cregan’s words didn’t make her flinch, she knew this already.

“I would take a death on dragon back any day over a death on my own back here surrounded by Maesters and midwives who placed the life of a babe over my own.”

She said stubbornly, beautifully but stubbornly. And although Cregan had thought of her having his children, having little brown-haired sons with lilac eyes and daughters who smiled like she did. Although he had thought of her, swollen in the middle and as a mother to Northerners, he admired her for it.

“I know you would, princess” he nodded, knowing she was brave and stubborn.

“But if we march South and we lose. The Greens will kill us both.”

“You have two brothers, Cregan. Two brothers and three sisters, one who is already having heirs of her own. House Stark can survive with Edric or even Harrin as its lord without me needing to squeeze one out before we march South, as if that is even possible!”

She argued, knowing that her husband was noble and good but that there was more to what he said.

“It has to be me.”

“What has to be you?” She snapped.

Looking down at her, he took a deep breath.

“You asked me why I chose you. I chose you because I needed you, because I have to be Lord of Winterfell and it must be my son who is Lord after me.”

Her stubborn expression didn’t fade. Her arms stayed folded and she scowled.

“Oh spare me your ballad of how you are the only man worthy of being Lord of the North or how you are the bravest, the biggest, the most brutish man of all of Northmen.”

She rolled her eyes, her tolerance at an all time low.

“It has to be me because my father swore me to this post, he made me promise I would never let my title pass to my brothers but that it would pass to my sons because my brothers cannot bear this.”

He said, his hands moving in front of him, so as to explain himself. But Visenya saw no problems. If something were to happen to Cregan before he had sons, Edric would become Lord of Winterfell. Edric was young and perhaps a little green but he was sullen and stubborn, perfect for the job by all accounts.

“You asked me why I wanted you, why I would only marry you... it was because I needed someone... someone strong”

Visenya flinched, her sullen expression wincing.

“Don’t throw insults at me, Cregan... don’t disappoint me now.”

Her voice was small, smaller than he had even thought possible.

“I’m not” his eyes pleaded with her, his head falling into his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed again.

“Gods damn you, I am not trying to insult you...I have something... different with me, I was born with something... something different”

He wrestled with it and Visenya had no more time for it.

“Oh please, I am a Targaryen and I was born with the biggest defect of all, being a woman. Spare me the tale of whatever malady you have that does not stop you from being the greatest warrior in the North as well as more clever and handsome than most.”

The compliment was given almost by accident but Lord Stark couldn’t help but feel a heat in his neck and ears from her admission. But he had to explain.

Looking up at her, she was still before him stubborn as ever but she was within reach.

“Senya...” he sighed, his hand reaching out for her and glad when she did not pull away. She let him take her elbow and pull her a step nearer.

Visenya stared, growing impatient at whatever he would not say.

“Cregan...” she sighed, wanting him to look her in the eyes she dropped down to her knees in front of him and pulled his hands away from his face so she could see him.

His breathing quickened and his eyes widened as he looked. Lilac eyes and brown strands curling down across her forehead, creamy skin and small pink lips.

“Cregan” She whispered, her hands squeezing his “Tell me... who could I even tell?”

He almost laughed, as did she. It was a brave thing for her to admit that she didn’t even have enough allies in Winterfell that were not more loyal to her Lord Husband. But she did, and she wanted him to tell her.

“The Gods blessed the Targaryens with dragons and they blessed the Starks with the direwolves. We have spoken of this before.” He said, remembering their conversations in the Wolfswood.

“I remember” she replied, her voice just a whisper.

“We do not just use it as our sigil because the wolf is of the North, we use it because we are the Wolves of the North.”

Visenya’s brow furrowed, her grip becoming unsure around Cregan’s hands but he turned his wrists and held onto her smaller hands.

“I am the Wolf of the North... Winter, she is my direwolf and we have a connection, just like my father did with his and my grandsire before him... Its difficult to describe but I can... become Winter... I can shift into Winter’s mind and be her, for a few hours or days when I like...”

Visenya’s hands went slack in his. But she didn’t look away from him, not until he had waited for almost a minute of silence.

She laughed, low and breathy as though it was a joke.

“I am not joking, princess.” Cregan said, his eyes drawn over to Winter who sat looking at them.

And Visenya turned her attention to the direwolf too. The direwolf who Visenya had admired countless times, who she had taken walks in the Wolfswood and slept in the room with when Cregan had been gone.

Who had been sitting where she was now when Visenya had been in the bath or changing her clothes.

Cregan followed her eyes, knowing that Visenya would have read about wargs before. She was no fool and she would know what it meant.

“So when you went to the Vale... to search for Jace and you left Winter...” She murmured, her eyes still glued to the direwolf who stared back with icey blue eyes, her head tilted.

Cregan scoffed, drawing back his princess’ attention.

“I was a perfect gentleman, princess. I only have used it to ensure your safety.” he promised, only being mostly truthful.

But the severity of their argument in the first place didn’t take long to resurface.

“So what has this got to do with you choosing me?” she asked, dragging her eyes from Winter and looking to her lord-husband again.

“You are a Targaryen. You are a dragonrider who claimed one of the largest dragons in the realm. You are a warrior, fierce and strong... Your father was the strongest knight in the seven kingdoms and your mother will be the first Queen of the Seven kingdoms.”

Visenya waited, listening intently.

“Bearing children of House Stark is not a task for ordinary women... I needed someone like you, someone who was strong enough... A woman like you and there are no women like you, believe me I have searched.”

Visenya blanched, her face turning in disgust.

“So, all your talk of wanting a wife who was your equal, who fought alongside you... it was lies, lies to make me what? More agreeable? More easily seduced?”

She ripped her hands away from him, pushing him away from her with her very best efforts but he was much stronger and more solid than her.

“I brought you here under those pretenses but when I met you, it was different you were not what I expected at all... you made me see you differently”

He tried to explain, tried to justify himself. But Visenya only saw what she wanted to see, that Cregan had wanted one thing from her. Heirs. The one thing she didn’t want to give.

“I wanted you because I knew that a Targaryen princess whose father was Harwin Strong would be the most capable, strongest woman in the seven kingdoms. But I met you and then I wanted you because you are good and kind and stubborn and you have the power to put the realm to the torch if you so wished but you want nothing of the sort...”

He told her, knowing that if he didn’t speak fast and speak now she would leave him, leave Winterfell and call their marriage a sham to be anulled. She was wicked when she was angry and he had made her angrier than he had ever seen her. But it wasn’t like the anger she had held when he called her ‘strong for a Targaryen’ or when he had forbidden her from leaving Winterfell or even when she had heard he had not told her of Jace’s movements. It was a look of betrayal that marred her pretty features and it pained him that he had put it there.

Making her smile and laugh had become all too much of an addiction of his and to have her like this now, made something ache inside his chest where he never felt anything.

She paced. She had lied and hid the truth from him and come into their marriage with secrets.

He had lied and hid the truth from her and come into their marriage with secrets.

Visenya had been raised to believe that she was a Targaryen which meant she lived above the rules of men and ordinary folk, that she was unpunishable, infallible. But living in the North had changed that. She saw her family differently, her house and her legacy. She saw herself differently, glad of the change. Glad to be someone that people looked to when they needed help not just when they wanted to be in favour.

“I don’t want to bear children because I am afraid, that is true... but also because I think I can contribute more than just heirs.” she said, unable to keep the truth behind her lips.

Cregan inhaled deeply, so relieved to hear her speak and speak the truth. To tell him what went on behind her wicked eyes and believe he would listen. He would never treat her choice and faith in him lightly because he knew how few Visenya trusted with anything, especially her innermost thoughts.

“I know that” Cregan nodded solemnly.

He had known since he had that first conversation with her in the courtyard that she was not some Southern princess who would come North and lie on her back to do her duty once, maybe twice a month until it was done. She didn’t want to be that and when he offered her that hand, that help out of the role Daemon and whoever else had wanted her to play. She had taken it. And he was glad of it. So he could not expect her to be someone he had known and hoped she wasn’t.

“You might know it” she nodded, her bottom lip reddening. Not from him this time, but her own nervous ministrations “But do the rest of the North? What happens when I don’t produce a babe, when I turn two and twenty without having produced an heir for you! What then?”

He didn’t reply quick enough.

"I know what I agreed to when I came here, Cregan...” She said softly, temper and ire not feeling as relevant any longer.

“To being this half-man half-wolf's lady-wife and secret keeper?” He joked dryly, his truth laid bare.

“To being Lady of Winterfell... being the mother of your children. It does not upset me to know that it is you who will father my children, Cregan... just that I will have to have them in the first place.”

Cregan winced at her words. He had seen her with Arrina and Harrin, watched her write letters every day to her brothers, even for Aegon and Viserys’ nurses and included stories of the North for them. For Viserys’ name day she had sent a book of Northern children’s stories. She wanted them to remember her. She was beautiful with them. She would make a formidable mother. And he knew this but it didn’t stop his guilt at having imagined her pregnant, imagined her holding their child or teaching them to fly on dragonback. Because she did not want to take to that bed no more than Cregan wanted to put her there.

“Would you like children, Senya?” He asked, his question causing her eyebrows to shoot up and her brow to then furrow.

“I don’t... What...” she stammered, unsure if her answer could be damning or could be used against her somehow.

“Forget our Houses and our duty. Forget about the war and our families. If you were free to marry whoever you wanted, live whatever way you wished, would you one day like to have children?”

The imagining of Visenya as someone else’s wife, as the mother to someone else’s children was enough to make Cregan deeply uncomfortable. But he wanted to know her unbiased and unfiltered thoughts.

She thought about it for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek and looking into the fireplace.

Turning back to face him she nodded.

“I think so... I’ve always imagined having them... choosing dragon eggs for their cradles and raising them all the same, whether they were boys or girls. Having little girls that I could raise the way I wanted to be, the way my mother tried to raise me. To be strong and brave, to be intelligent... to be just the same, if not better than the boys.”

Cregan had a kind of softness in his face when he regarded her.

“But I am just one and twenty, Cregan... what do I know of being a mother?” She wondered aloud.

“More than I know of being a father, I’m quite sure” he remarked, his hand drawn to her until it cupped her cheek.

“I have to stop taking my tea... don’t I?” she whispered, apprehension and uncertainty shaking her usually strong voice.

“Not if you don’t want to, princess.” Cregan told her sincerely “If people hear of how we avoid making heirs we could stand to be questioned, our honour impeached. But mine own mother struggled to fall pregnant with me, it is not an irregular problem up North. We have time.”

Visenya nodded slowly, unsure and nervous.

“I need you up and about for this war” he remarked, hint of a smile on his lips “I don’t believe I will survive a day without you fighting for me and mine.”

But her wounded pride goaded her.

Sticking out her chin she refused to let herself seem hurt but she was deep down.

“You didn’t marry me for that.”

Cregan almost flinched, nodding in the wake of her cold but true words.

“You’re right” he nodded, his eyes locked on hers “But not in the way you think.”

She let him continue, something she did not give to everyone. A chance.

“I didn’t ask for you with the intentions I have now. But I met you and I realised who you were... who you could be.”

She remembered that conversation they had had like it was yesterday. They had been spending time together in the Wolfswood, walking and talking about the North and his family and his duties. And then he had made a comment about her lack of power as princess. And he had spoke of how he imagined her as Lady of Wintefell, a beautifully wickedly poweerful force the likes of which the realm had never seen. And things had changed.

Being Lady of Winterfell hadn’t sounded like the manacles she had once thought and being his lady-wife had not terrified her as much.

“I married you in the Godswood with full knowledge of what I was doing and what I wanted. I wanted you to be Lady of Winterfell. Not to give me heirs or earn me money or titles or favour from the crown. But I wanted you because you were everything I had never thought to ask for and everything I ever wanted.”

Visenya’s mouth dropped open and she wasn’t sure where to look but there was no way she could look at anything but him. The next breath she took seemed such an effort it almost ached. He had knocked the wind from her chest and whatever smart comment she had planned to make, vanished.

Standing, he went straight to her. Standing chest to chest, the difference in their height was jarring and awkward instead of the usual advantage it gave them especially when he picked her up.

Visenya watched him and she felt her pulse hammering when Lord Stark went to his knees for her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, her eyes scanning over him until he spoke.

“I’ve made oaths to you. I intend to keep them. But I make this one too.”

His dark eyes bore into hers as she dared not even blink. She didn’t want to miss a single second of it.

“No one will ever put a life before yours, not even mine own. Whether you’re on the birthing bed or the battlefield, we will do this together for your house and for mine and you will not be taken from me.”

His voice was low but not a whisper, as if he did not care who heard him because it was a vow like many other he made. And Cregan Stark was a great many things but he was not an oath breaker.

But she still seemed afraid, her eyes misty and her teeth worrying the delicate skin of her bottom lip.

“There will not come a day when I choose another over you, not a babe nor a king, I promise you this.”

Her eyes stayed locked on his but the little v shaped frown on her forehead did not disappear.

“Why?” she asked.

He took a breath, the words escaping him. Why did he make this promise to her? Why would he do this for her? Why would he promise that he would put her above every other vow he had made except that to be Lord of Winterfell?

“Because you’re my wife.” he answered, both he and Visenya knowing it was the only answer he would give.

Visenya felt it. She’d felt it before but never this strong. Almost like a weight in her chest, a burning glowing sort of heat that he had put there. Something that had latched itself as if to one of her ribs and grown unbeknownst to her until she could feel it throbbing when he laughed at something she said or when he promised her things like now.

And having him on his knees, while might have made the likes of Daemon smirk arrogantly it did not please Visenya as much as it perhaps should have. Once it might have. When she had arrived and hated him, when he had scowled at her and watched her with disinterest. But not anymore.

No one was more surprised than she when she dropped to her own knees, back on even ground with him.

Almost knee to knee and chest to chest, it was too close to not be touching. And her hands moved just as his did until she had hers on either side of his face and his held her waist.

“Cursed be he who tear us asunder” she said it back to him for the first time, her forehead coming to rest against his.

And she felt his deep inhale, felt his tension fade slightly at her hands on his skin, the way she moved closer and closer as if she couldn’t get near enough to him.

“Now, come on” he gave in, his arms wrapping around her and getting to his feet with her in his arms.

“It’s late and you need to sleep, princess.Telling the truth can be an exhaustive endeavour ” he reassured her softly, undoing her cloak, his fingers brushing against the underside of her chin, making something shiver through her before moving to pull off his own heavy clothes.

Settled in her bed, the warmth of him to her back Visenya forgave herself for being content. Daemon had been enraged to find his step-daughter had become something of a Northerner. But pushing back against Lord Stark and glad when his arm went around her, tightening across her waist and how he sighed almost contentedly when she stroked her fingers over his forearm, she didn’t think of life on Dragonstone. She thought of what they fought for. And she realised that maybe for the first time, she wasn’t just fighting for her mother’s birthright. She was fighting for her life, her life here in Winterfell. A life she was only just beginning to realise that she wanted.

Chapter 14: XIV

Cregan was not enthused at Visenya being sent to Storm’s End. When she told him the following morning, sitting up in their bed which he stood in front of as he dressed, he had stayed silent. He listened, he dressed and then he stared.

Stared at her like he was still processing.

“Jace is a boy grown, Cregan he is perfectly capable. Luke is still a boy... I don’t want to go anywhere but...”

She trailed off, she hoped he heard her words and believed them for the sincerity she felt. She meant it. She didnn’t want to go anywhere, not when the North prepared for war and her place was here.

When he looked at her, she felt herself warm just under his gaze. While she had grown used to that hot feeling around her neck and chest when he looked at her, the warmth was something different. It wasn’t burning flames and fire, it was warm, steady and low like embers. Something she hadn’t known fire was capable of.

Cregan had taken her to bed the night before but they had slept. That was all. The decision that sat in front of them regarding children was perhaps too much of a mountain to tackle in one night but Visenya felt better having him know and having herself know his secrets too.

“Was it an order?”

Visenya’s brow furrowed at the question.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean did Prince Daemon or Queen Rhaenyra ask you to go to Storm’s End or did they order you to go?”

Visenya thought about it for a moment. Daemon had ordered her but her mother had asked her. And she knew that if Cregan knew how Daemon spoke to her, she would be dealing with war between her own husband and her youngest brothers’ father.

“My mother asked me... for Luke.”

He paused, taking it in.

“Ok.”

He nodded, so simply she had not been sure she heard him right.

“Ok?” she questioned, wanting to be sure.

“You’re my lady-wife, Senya” he said, unaware of the effect it had on her when he said those words “not my prisoner. You’ll fly for Storm’s End.”

Visenya had not expected her husband to forbid her but she had expected something more of a push back, a reluctance even. She almost felt a little disappointed.

“Ok.” she nodded, watching him tie the strings of his shirt and admiring him as much as she always did.

“And if Daemon had ordered me?” she asked, curiosity winning out.

Cregan’s tongue ran along the inside of his cheek as he thought of it. The more he thought back on his correspondence and treating with Prince Daemon the more he realised how little the man had thought for what Visenya’s life could be.

Daemon didn’t know if Cregan would be rough with her or cruel to her, he didn’t know if he would ever let her visit Dragonstone again or have her family come to stay when she missed them. He hadn’t bothered about the details, all of which would mean the difference between Visenya being the best Lady Stark Winterfell had ever seen and a dragon chained in the North.

“You’re Lady Stark... you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” he nodded, a sense of confidence about him when he said it that made Visenya want to climb from her bed and wrap herself up in him.

“But you come as far as Moat Cailin with us.” he added, her eyes snapping back to his from where they had drifted down south of his chest.

“What?” she questioned.

Cregan leaned forward, his fists coming down on the bed either side of her and looming over her. Times like this she realised why people called him the Wolf of the North and why rumours of him being a beast circulated the capital. Visenya was not a slight woman but she felt it with him.

“We take you as far as Moat Cailin and we make camp there. You can continue on Ghost and if you’re not back within an agreed upon days, then we act.”

Visenya’s heart thumped in her chest. Of course, he would not allow her to leave indefinitely and without protection. She had imagined that he would not let her out of his men’s sights for the purpose of keeping her North. But she hadn’t imagined that he would come with her, even if a part of the way.

“But...” she protested, wondering aloud. But his lips on hers shushed her confusion.

“We were going to make camp at Moat Cailin anyway for when the Winter hits, princess. We don’t want to be kept North by the Winter so when the time comes, we’ll be nearby and we’ll be ready.”

Visenya felt a smile at her lips.

“The Northern forces are going to make camp at Moat Cailin and blockade the North?” She asked.

Cregan nodded, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek in a cocky smile.

She grinned.

“That was my idea.” she stated.

And he grinned back.

“Yes, it was.”

Not only was her lord husband allowing her at war councils, but he was also listening to her.

Visenya had put it to them that setting up base for the North at Moat Cailin would essentially barricade off the North. It would make the Barrowlands, the Rills, the fishing villages of the coast west of Winterfell unreachable by land. It made White Harbour, Widow’s Watch, the Karrhold and the Dreadfort and Winterfell itself only accessible by ships and attacking by sea. The Blacks had the Velaryon fleet as well as the modest amount of ships the North maintained a secret.

Dragons might be sent North but the skies would be monitored, none would pass North without their knowledge and if they did that was what Visenya and Ghost were for too.

“You like my straetgies, Lord Stark?” Visenya said low, knowing that when she spoke like that he shivered as if the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Her hands looped up around his neck and her fingers played with the hair that grew longer and curled at the ends.

“We’ll leave for Moat Cailin before nightfall.”

He said, knowing the plans by heart as he had thought them through until his head ached. But the way his wife pulled at his shoulders and pushed herself up until she was clinging to him like an animal climbing a tree, he couldn’t think of Moat Cailin only the beautiful, soft and heavenly smelling princess who nuzzled at his neck.

Something about knowing he was using her plans, was listening to her strategies and was not overly bothered about her impending trip to Storm’s end as well as the reality that this was the last time they would be sharing their bed in Winterfell, drove her to wrapping her legs around his middle and sighing contentedly when he finally did straighten up and pull her up into his arms securing her against his with a hand splayed across her ass.

“Our last night for a while in our bed and all we did was sleep.” she murmured wistfully, her mouth muffled against his neck but the sound he made when she mouthed at his earlobe was enough to placate her.

“We were both tired, princess.” he reasoned, knowing that after everything they had talked of last night, sleep was what they had needed most.

What had been shared the night before had seemed insurmountable at the time. But in the hazy, dark of dawn with warm hands and soft sighs, it didn’t seem enough to keep their hands from each other. Nothing seemed capable of that anymore.

“Too tired for this?” she asked, her voice a little breathy already from the way he squeezed at her ass and pulled her tighter against him.

Her hips rocked forward, encouraged by the push and pull of his hand and his own body that responded to her.

Cregan didn’t know much of women but he had heard that the marital act was often a chore and necessary evil for the woman. But not for his wife. He was determined for her never to feel this and going by the way she sighed happily in his ear and her eyes fluttered back and shut, he was achieving this.

He couldn’t imagine fucking her and wondering if she enjoyed it, doing something to her and not being certain she loved it. He didn’t ever want to do it like that with her, unsure of if she was even feeling safe. He wanted her to want him, he wanted her to want him so mich she couldn’t resist him. He wanted her to feel even a fraction of that heat and desire he felt for her, had felt since soon after she arrived.

“We have a war to plan, princess.” he reminded her as if she needed reminding.

“I know” she nodded, her head tilting back and her neck looking too appealing to be ignored.

Cregan seemed powerless to resist and his lips and teeth found purchase in the soft skin of her neck quickly.

“I’ll bed you ten times over when we are somewhere safe, I promise.” he reassured her, feeling his erection pushing against the seams of his trousers and aching to be inside her again. It hadn’t been more than a day since last he was inside her but a few hours seemed too much to bear even now.

Sighing dejectedly, she pulled her face from his shoulder where she had been directing her attentions.

“Fine. But don’t forget you promised to honour me.” she sighed, almost petulantly but it made Cregan smile. She might be a brilliant Lady of Winterfell but she was still a spoilt princess at times, especially when she was denied something she wanted.

And she wanted him. A thought that sustained him throughout many unpleasant parts of his days.

“I know, princess. I don’t forget my oaths.” he said, her grip relaxing until she shifted in his grasp to be put down.

He set her on her feet reluctantly, wishing he could stay in their chambers rather than make plans to leave their home. But he had no regrets over pledging to her.

“Good” she smiled, stepping aside to where her clothes were kept.

Hooking her leathers over her finger she turned over her shoulder to him.

“Maybe its time I make some oaths of my own.”

Cregan smirked. Curse those dimples, Visenya thought to herself as she felt her own stupid smile.

“Oaths are generally made on ones knees, princess” he retorted, thinking that he could shock her.

But his ladywife was nothing if not quick.

“Maybe I would be happy to go to my knees for my lord husband.”

Cregan nearly went to his own knees at the thought. His wife, his princess on her knees for him. Her lilac eyes looking up at him, her tongue coming past her lips to taste him, her hands trailing up his thighs and abdomen.

Whatever hope he had had of going soft in time for his council failed. And the grin she tossed over her shoulder made him know that she knew exactly what she was doing. His beautiful, wicked, princess.

And the squeal of laughter she made when he grabbed for her, pulling her in against him once more and catching her lips with his was better than any other noise he’d ever heard her make.

*

Leaving Winterfell was harder than Visenya had ever imagined it could be. She was shocked at how similar it felt to leaving Dragonstone not many moons previous. Maester Fagan promised her that they were ready. Lady Alyssa would stay at Winterfell with Maester Fagan, Arrina, Harrin and Torra.

‘There must always be a Stark in Winterfell’ Cregan had told Harrin when he had protested and wanted to come.

If anything happened to them, Harrin would be Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan’s eyes were stone cold the whole day. Visenya watched him say goodbye to Harrin, watched him pick Arrina up into his arms and promise her he’d bring back a gift. It reminded her too much of saying goodbye to Joff, Aegon and Viserys that she felt tears in her eyes.

“Be careful, my dear” Lady Alyssa begged of her when she wrapped her arms around the princess who had become her daughter.

It had gone from cordiality and correctness, ‘your grace’ and ‘my lady’ to ‘Senya’ and ‘my dear’. A drop in station Visenya was grateful for, almost as much as she was for the so-called ‘demotion’ from Princess to Lady Stark.

“I will... we’ll see you all soon.” Visenya nodded, blinking back tears and knowing it was a lie. She had no idea when she would see them again.

“Come now, child” Lady Alyssa hushed her youngest daughter who was starting to cry audibly “Cregan and Senya will come back soon.”

Just like leaving Dragonstone, Visenya felt unsure of what lay ahead. But she didn’t leave alone with Ser Jarrald this time. Cregan walked with her to her horse, a dappled grey mare that she had chosen for her similarities to Ghost who flew ahead by himself.

“I’m not sure I would have believed the words myself a few moons ago but it grieves me to leave.” She admitted, trying to meet her husband’s eyes. He did eventually look at her.

A ghost of something warm lingered in his gaze.

“Good.” he nodded.

Her husband of few words. But she knew that what he didn’t say was all she felt through his gaze.

“This feels like home now.” She stated, as if they needed to hear it out loud.

And it did. Winterfell, with its stone walls and long draughty corridors had become home. And the blacksmiths, the forgers and the welders, the cooks and the scullery maids, the knights and the bannermen who trained in the courtyard. Maester Fagan with his wrinkled hands and greying hair. Ser Darron with his grim expression and his eternally straight spine. Ingrid with her soft hands and pretty face that looked back at Visenya in the mirror as she brushed her hair.

What had once conjured up images of Jace and Luke, Dragonstone and her mother, home now seemed like something else entirely.

And Cregan could see it. His grin wasn’t even that smug. The dimple was in his left cheek that was grazed by the scar that went straight down his face. Something so boyish with something so fierce.

“Good” he nodded again, leaning in and kissing her cheek and forehead before helping her onto her horse, his smile still pulling at the edges of his lips.

Moat Cailin wasn’t far. But with horses and wagons, bannermen and armies that all moved to barricade Moat Cailin so it would stop any Southern forces from ever making it North, it was a slower journey than Visenya was used to.

Three days went by and she knew that she would have to leave for Storm’s End as soon as they made camp. She was so grateful to arrive into Moat Cailin where the war camp had been set up and her tent was waiting along with a bath and Ingrid.

“Ingrid, I wish you had heeded your father’s advice and stayed at Winterfell.” Visenya had said although the comfort of having Ingrid with her was palpable.

“I’m handmaiden to Lady Stark. What use am I in Winterfell when my lady is elsewhere?” Ingrid had replied, almost insolently but Visenya felt all the fonder of her for it.

Visenya bathed and dressed in her night clothes, hoping to see her husband. But war councils and ravens that came what seemed like every few moments kept him from her just like they had in the last three nights. She slept fine but cold. She was always cold without him.

“I suppose we shall have to grow used to spending time apart” she had sniped coldly when he had found her dressing one of the mornings.

“I can grow used to many things, princess but being apart from you I will never bear well.” he had said, his voice muffled against her neck.

He was behind her, his large figure hulking over her and his knees bent slightly so he could rest his chin on her shoulder, his arms looped around her middle.

“You seem to be bearing it rather well.” she snapped, her patience too thin for his kindness.

But like always, her fire didn’t burn him. It just seemed to warm him.

His chuckle made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as his breath skimmed her skin.

“Gods you’re so soft” he groaned against her shoulder, his teeth scraping gently over the tendons in her neck before his tongue laved over them in a carress that made her shiver.

“And warm” he growled, his hands running down either side of her until his nails scraped against the outside of her thighs.

Visenya pushed back against him, her back nestled into the centre of his chest and her ass pressing back into the cradle of his lap where she felt him hard against her. The rotation of her hips back and forth and back again was enough to make him hiss through his teeth.

“Three days, Senya.” he said, his voice strained but his arms tightening around her middle so that he just held her, not in the salacious way they might have preferred but in a much softer way.

Her hazy mind took a moment to clear. Three days? What was he talking about? And why had he stopped touching her?

But her senses came back to her.

“Three days.” she nodded, her hands gripping onto his arms that held her.

Three days was the time she was allotted. She would fly to Driftmark where Luke would be waiting for her. They would fly to Storm’s End and treat with Lord Borros, convince him of the Black’s worthiness of his commitment and she would fly home to her husband.

“And if three days pass?” she wondered aloud.

His arms tightened around her whether subconsciously or not, she didn’t know. But they wrapped tighter around her, his heartbeat quickening against her back.

“Then the North declares War.”

He said so calmly, with an almost earnest eagerness that should have terrified any woman. But Visenya was fire and blood, and it struck a match in her.

“On who?” she asked.

“On whoever would dare to take Lady Stark from where she belongs.”

The dragon inside Visenya wasn’t sure. Dragons had riders, not owners.

“And where does she belong?”

She could almost feel Cregan’s smirk when his lips brushed her ear.

“With me.”

Visenya shivered, her hips rolling back against his and her heart double beating.

There was something about Cregan Stark that fanned the flames inside her. He didn’t own her, now did he want to. He didn’t order her nor would he ever have to. But there was a relishing, a thrill, a heat in belonging with someone, dare she say belonging to someone.

He was hers.

He’d never touched another woman like he had touched her. He had never been inside another woman or been brought to a peak by another woman like she had done to him. He didn’t listen to other plans like he did hers. He didn’t sleep beside anyone else or bathe with them or let Ghost walk the Wolfswood with them. That was hers. He was hers.

And knowing this made it very easy for her to admit she was his.

But it also made it harder for them to pull away from each other. But daylight was breaking and the sooner she left, she sooner she could return. That was what she told herself as she pulled on her warmer riding cloak over her leathers, black with a red trim for her mother but the wolf’s head pin on her chest and cloak straps.

“Three days.” he reminded her, his large hand on the side of her head and drawing her into him where his lips pressed against the side of her head.

The men around them were busy, bustling and preparing for the arrival of more bannermen from House Dustin and Ryswell. Ser Darron and Ser Jarrald wished her well and wished her luck, promising to see her in three days time.

No one’s eyes wandered to their liege lord when he leant down and stole a kiss from the Princess. It was short and chaste but Visenya was growing as fond of these moments as she had the passionate and rushed franticness of their earlier kisses. There was something soft and familiar about these ones, as though it was just a moment and that the next would come soon after.

But nothing was certain in war. And whether they were ready or not, it wasn't just the war that was coming for them. The Greens were coming for them too.

Chapter 15: XV

Notes:

I promised you guys angst, I can't let it all be sunshine and daisies 3 Love love love reading your comments, makes my day to see people have left a comment or a kudos!

Visenya made Driftmark in good time. And although she had only stopped for water, food and a rest for an hour here and there she was not tired when she landed. She was so full of nervous, excited energy to see her brother she couldn’t contain it.

Arrax was still a baby, something she dared not say to her brother since they were the same age. But the dragon was still small and only fit for short journeys. Ghost was much larger and much more capable of the journeys he was undertaking.

Had Lyraxes still been alive there would not have been much of a difference in size between her and Arrax. But Ghost was monstrous in comparison.

Arrax was no fool, shying back from Ghost when he landed and screeched out his arrival. But Luke rushed towards her same as she did to him.

“Senya!” Luke yelled out, sounding so boyish in his excitement she wanted to weep for him.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulder she felt him slam against her. And he was much higher up than she remembered.

“Luke, you’ve gotten so tall!” she exclaimed, her breath catching in a mixture of laughing and hiccups.

“Mother says so too. I’m almost taller than Jace now” he exclaimed, his hands clinging to her a moment longer.

Stepping back she took another look at him. He looked so grown up in his riding gear and house sigils.

He was taking stock of her appearance too and while Visenya knew it had been only a few moons, she certainly knew that she looked slightly different.

Her hair was braided back neatly rather than lavishly. She didn’t wear expensive jewellery or a tiara any more. The only adornment that caught his eye was the wolfs head pin in the middle of the chest.

“Daemon was right, he must really like you.” Luke nodded, his smile almost innocent.

Visenya rolled her eyes and huffed at her mother’s husband.

“Why should he not like me, Luke?” she questioned him rhetorically, the weight on her chest that had descended when she lost sight of Moat Cailin fading slightly when she saw her brother’s smile.

“What’s it like?” he asked, having never been North.

Visenya shrugged her shoulders slightly. She wanted to do it justice.

“It’s so different. It's so cold and hard up there but...” she thought about it for a moment, feeling his keen stare “It’s...”

Visenya did not know how to do the North justice to her brother who had never been. She wanted him to love it as she did, to see the Wolfswood and Winterfell and gasp, to feel the cold winds and marvel. But Luke was a true child of Summer with light and warmth in his laugh, in his eyes. Perhaps the North wasn’t for everyone. But Visenya liked that. It could be just hers.

As a twin, as one of many Targaryen children she had had to share almost everything from the moment she was born. She shared her cradle and her nameday with Jace. She shared her mother with all the realm. She shared her name with her iconic ancestors. The North could be just hers.

She wanted to say ‘it’s home’. But she didn’t. That was not what her brother who yearned to see a sister who missed home as much as he missed her needed to hear.

“How is Jace?” she asked, wishing she could see him “And Aegon? And Viserys?”

“Good, Jace acts as though war will start every time we leave Dragonstone although I still think there’s time for the Greens to yield.”

Luke replied, his innocent nature shining through. Visenya wanted for him to never lose it. He had seen the good in everyone since he was born. It was why him taking Aemond’s eye had been even more shocking.

“Cregan and our bannermen are encamped at Moat Cailin, Luke... the time for surrendering is expiring quickly.”

She replied, feeling each second passing like another grain of sand in a timer. Peace time was running out.

“Daemon wants us to strike now, to take King’s Landing —”

“—Daemon isn’t King, Luke. Our mother is the only person who can make that decision now. And she’s asked us to go to Storm’s End.”

Visenya tried to soothe his nerves. Daemon was undoubtedly stoking flames of war at Dragonstone to the extent Visenya was quite glad she wasn’t there.

“Mother doesn’t trust me.” Luke said, so despondently Visenya felt it in her chest.

“What are you talking about? Of course, she does.”

“Then why do you have to come?”

He wasn’t being petulent or even rude. He was glad to see his sister. But Jace had been trusted to go alone and Visenya had been sent North alone. Why did he need a babysitter?

“I’m not here to coddle you, Luke. I’m here because Lord Borros needs to see for himself that Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and that the North will follow him.”

Luke seemed slightly placated at that, his dark eyes softening. Those eyes that Visenya vaguely remembered as being those of her father.

“Ok” he nodded, seeming slightly more sure of himself as he turned to Arrax.

But he turned back.

“You’re here to protect me too though, aren’t you?”

Her words were muffled against the side of his head when she replied, squeezing him into an embrace. The winds picked up around them, biting at their faces and whipping at their cloaks. It was so cold even this far South. Winter was still coming.

“Always” she nodded “Just like you’re here to protect me.”

*

Arrax was smaller than Ghost which delayed their journey slightly. Luke and Arrax were incredibly well bonded, something Visenya was glad to see. Luke needed a dragon in this war, it would keep him off the battlefields and away from harm.

The rain started as they passed Massey’s Hook, continuing until the sun set and dusk turned to darkness. They were soaked through when they arrived at Storm’s End. But Ghost and Arrax didn’t notice the rain or the cold, they were too busy noticing the largest dragon living that was narrowly fitting into the keep’s courtyard in front of Storm’s End.

Vhagar.

And with Vhagar, came her equally as tempermental and volatile rider. Their uncle, Prince Aemond.

Visenya couldn’t hear Luke or see his face as they landed and dismounted but she would have bet the war on Luke feeling the same anxiety she did in the pit of her stomach. They were not to fight. Her mother had made them promise, they were messengers not warriors.

“I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon, I bring a message for Lord Borros from the Queen.”

Six guards stood before them in full armour, none of whom seemed surprised at the two dragons that had landed in their courtyard.

One of the guards approached them with some hesitation. The dragons ensured nobody came too close in general.

“If you would follow us, your graces.”

Visenya took an uneasy glance over her shoulder. Vhagar had put her head back down as if to sleep whereas Ghost and Arrax waited on edge for them.

“umbās Ghost” She said over her shoulder, her eyes catching her dragon’s. Sometimes it felt like speaking to a person as she told her dragon to wait, to stay there for her and the dragon tilted its head, blinking back at her with a low growl rumbling from her throat.

 

Storm’s End was a true battle and weather worn castle with barricades and battlements lined with men. Visenya doubted many houses of Westeros lived as Storm’s End did, eternally in wartime never loosening for a moment. It led for a cold and unfeeling atmosphere in the castle, one that unfortunately extended to their Lord.

“The Prince Lucerys and Princess Visenya Velaryon.”

The guard announced as they walked closer to the head of the cold, dark room.

Visenya had not time to note the calling of her old title, her old name. Someone she wasn’t anymore.

She made out Lord Borros and his daughters immediately. His son was on the other side of him, standing sullenly. Both were short, strong men with dark beards and beady eyes. But they were incredibly fierce looking, as though the rain and storms that lashed in Storm’s End had fortified them each day.

But Luke was not the only Prince in attendance.

Visenya hadn’t seen Aemond since the feast before Grandsire had died. He looked the same with his long black cloak, leather patch over his eye and long white Targaryen hair. He used to mock Visenya and her brothers endlessly for their dark hair, only made to stop when septas or guards overheard.

Aemond stared at them, like a cat who had just seen a mouse walk straight into its home. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She hadn’t been surrounded by so many enemies in a long time, she feared Winterfell had made her complacent but the bow on her back and knives Cregan had strapped to her thigh were strength enough.

‘Mother said absolutely no fighting’ she told herself in her head again although her hand skimmed her leg just to be sure the knives were still there.

“Lord Borros I have brought you a message from my mother, the queen” Luke announced

“And yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the king. Which is it? King or Queen? THe house of the dragon does not seem to know who rules it. What’s your mother’s message?

Luke held out his hand, the scroll tightly sealed and wrapped in his hand. He would not approach Lord Borros himself, he was a prince.

A guard took it for him, passing from the Prince to the lord’s hand.

“Where’s the bloody maester?” Lord Borros yelled, sending his people scarpering to find him.

But Visenya felt it pulsing beside her, the glare unbroke between her brother and uncle. A debt that Aemond clearly felt he was owed hung there also.

Visenya tilted her chin up at Aemond, her eyes glowing lilac as her dragon’s did as she glared back at him. He would be a fool to do anything. But Aemond was a man and men were too often fools.

The Maester had come, reading the message and whispering in Lord Borros’ ear until he understood and he seethed.

“Remind me of my father’s oath?” He snarled, tossing his head in Aemond’s direction “King Aegon at least came with an offer. My swords and bannermen for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids which one my daughters will you wed, boy.”

Visenya should have known when she saw Aemond there, standing flirtingly near one of the Baratheon girls he was not coming empty handed.

“My Lord, I am not free to marry. I’m already betrothed.” Luke replied, his voice projecting louder than Visenya knew he could.

Lord Borros scoffed. His disinterest clear.

“And what of your sister? Is she going to beg for my son’s hand?” Lord Borros laughed, a hollow and dry sound.

“Or maybe I could take her for my own?” he grinned, his eyes trailing over her invasively.

Visenya bristled.

“My Lord, your consideration and hospitality are appreciated. You honour me. But I’m afraid I am not free to marry either.”

Aemond’s eye whirled in her direction, staring in surprise. They clearly had no knowledge of where Visenya had been, clearly thinking she had been hiding out on Dragonstone.

“Oh?” Lord Borros asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her.

“I did not want to interrupt your men, but I am no longer Visenya, my Lord.” she replied, knowing that Aemond stared like a cat waiting to pounce.

“I am Visenya Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North. I come on behalf of my mother and my Lord Husband who fights for the Queen.”

Aemond’s glare lit with the same fire of Vhagar, Gods how he hated them.

“Cregan Stark has no wife.” Lord Baratheon said, his confusion and slow response was slightly tiresome.

“I can assure you, my Lord. He does. We were married in front of the Old Gods and the New in the Godswood of Winterfell. Maester Fagan, Willum Stark, Lady Alyssa Stark and Ser Jarrald of House Dustin were present.”

Visenya could almost see Aemond’s confidence waver. He had had the upper hand. But the cards had somehow slipped from his own hand into Visenya’s, the princess he hated enough to be glad of a betrothal with her just so he could spend the rest of his life vexing her. But the betrothal had never been set in stone and it was nullfied when Rhaenyra took her family to Dragonstone.

“So, you come with empty hands?” Lord Borros asked, unappeased.

“We come with a reminder of your father’s oath and a reminder of who fights for the Queen. The Vale, the fleet of the Sea Snake and the North. And that is just the beginning. Not to talk of our dragons, my Lord.”

Aemond grinned at her words, remembering the sickly child who wasn’t allowed out of her quarters and how the dragonpit smelled after Syrax had to burn Lyraxes remains.

“Yes, your dragon in the North. This one seems to be lasting longer than the last golden whelp.”

Aemond’s flippant tone and tilted head mocked her as it always had, mocked her poor, beautiful dragon who had perished.

Rage burned inside her, her shoulders squaring and her hands itching to throw a dagger this time hoping it would take the prince’s other eye.

“Who knew that dragons could survive in the North? Something tells me they live on borrowed time.”

He crooned, in that sickeningly smug tone that always seemed to be insulting someone. Not unusual, this time he directed his barbs at his only and least favoured niece.

“No need for hard feelings, Uncle. Just because I was both born with a dragon and claimed one.”

She smiled back, a taunting and wicked smile that held as much threat as his words had.

“Ahhh” he laughed, almost excitedly “The little dragon found her fire in the North, how charming.”

Whatever Visenya had found, it had been inside her all along. Perhaps Cregan had stoked it but only because those in the South had always let it die out.

“We came to speak to Lord of Storm’s End, not bicker with pathetic princes who will never be King, Aemond.”

She snapped, turning her attention back to Lord Borros. But she didn’t miss how Aemond’s eye burned with hatred.

She had always managed to get the most of a rise out of him.

“Go home pups, tell your mother that the lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.” Lord Borros barked, his disinterest too much.

“We shall take your answer to the Queen, my Lord.” Luke nodded, quite graciously Visenya had to admit. Perhaps more grace than she had now.

“My Lord, my Lord-husband has pledged his armies, bannermen and house to Queen Rhaenyra. We have more men, more dragons and we have the Gods on our side. My mother is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. And she will sit upon it.”

Lord Borros glared at them both, his brow furrowing and his face starting to turn slightly red.

“I pray that our realm will find peace but if the Gods are just those who support my mother will be rewarded. And those who oppose her-” her eyes slid to the cold eye of her uncle, the one Luke had left him with- “shall perish.”
Luke had more patience than his sister, he always had and he didn't like the looks Aemond was throwing at them. So he moved towards an exit strategy.

“Thank you for your hospitality and consideration, my Lord. Good fortune to you and your House in these unsteady times.”

Luke spoke, his voice sounding like that of a man in how calm and steady he spoke. But his fingers that grabbed Visenya’s wrist and tugged were still those of a boy.

She had pushed her luck. But she had not wanted to leave Lord Borros thinking he could sit out.

Visenya relented, letting her little brother make their exit. But she should have known Aemond would not let the opportunity slide.

“Wait, my Lord and Lady Strong. Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

Visenya whirled to face him as he gained on them quickly. He moved like a predator, quick and smooth with his hand already gripping the pommel of his sword.

Luke tugged her hand as if to pull her behind him. Her little brother, forever her champion.

“I will not fight you, I came as a messenger not as a warrior” Luke said, his chin up.

Aemond smirked, like a cat.

“And what of your sister, the Winter whore?”

Luke bristled. Questioning the honour of the realm’s princess was treason enough to lose your head. But Aemond just wanted to goad them, to taunt them into a reaction just like he had ever since the night he’d lost his eye.

“We are not here to fight you, Uncle.” Visenya seethed, stepping shoulder to shoulder with her brother.

Aemond scoffed.

“A fight would be little challenge. I don’t want you to fight me I want you to give me your eye. As payment for mine. One will serve, I would not blind you”

The knife he pulled from his belt clattered to the floor between them.

His eye looked up at Visenya.

“I’ll even allow your sister to do it for you. She remembers that night just as much as anyone.”

Visenya remembered. Luke’s broken nose. Her mother’s arm dripping red. Aemond’s cries as the Maester sewed his eye shut. How her own hands shook, still holding the blade that Aemond had pulled out.

“No” Luke retorted.

It was not an eye for an eye anymore. Aemond had claimed Vhagar and attacked them. Luke had fought back. It wasn’t Luke’s fault that Aemond had lost an eye in a fight he started with a knife he had brought.

“Then you are craven as well as a traitorous whoring bastards.” Aemond spat, advancing on them quickly.

But Visenya had known he would. She moved just as Aemond did, but she held Luke back with a hand against his armoured chest. She hadn’t known they would meet in the middle but her hand was at Aemond’s neck just as his was at hers.

It was a warning, to ward him away from her and her brother. But the grip he had on her neck was no warning. It was a sentence being carried out.

“Not here” Lord Borros roared from his seat, knowing that if royal blood spilt under his roof he would have declared war on House Targaryen, regardless of if the blood spilled green or black.

“Give me his eye or I will take yours bastard” Aemond screamed, years of his own anger spilling out of every crack in his cold façade.

Aemond’s hand spanned across the whole front of her throat, his fingers digging in at her pulse points and she could feel the palm of his hand crushing against her windpipe.

She could hear Luke pushing forward and his shouts of protest.

“Get your hands off of her!” he ordered, his hand about to draw his blade.

But Aemond only grinned.

“She enjoys it, nephew.”

His taunts made her sick and made her own hand tighten into a fist, slamming into her uncle’s throat so he was momentarily disorientated and his voice box seized up. It was a trick Ser Harwin had taught her.

“Not in my hall! The boy came as an envoy! I’ll not have blood shed under my roof. Take the Prince and princess back to their dragons. Now.”

Lord Borros ordered, his cavalier disinterest in the war fading fast when he could see how deep the cracks in House Targaryen ran.

Aemond let go of her first. Her lungs burned for air which she tried to take in steadily but she knew her throat would be bruised and tender for days.

Visenya turned and grabbed Luke, followed by guards and whispers into the courtyard.

The weather had grown even worse for the Stormlands. Wind whipped around them and rain fell in sheets, soaking them to the skin again for whatever they had dried off.

“Luke, go straight home to Dragonstone. We don’t have time to delay” she ordered, finding it coming more naturally than it ever had.

“Senya, I think he’s coming after us!” Luke replied, his head spinning to check over both shoulders.

The doors remained shut but Visenya didn’t trust Aemond. He wanted his revenge.

“Quickly, now.”

She promised, pushing him towards Arrax who was already voicing her own anxiety at being apart from her rider. She watched Luke stroke her neck and speak to her, calm her until he climbed atop.

“You’re not coming with me?” Luke asked, his beautiful brown eyes making her chest ache at having to be apart from him again.

“Not this time, brother.” she shook her head, knowing that Ghost was too big to go unnoticed. Arrax could vanish amongst the clouds with Luke.

Not this time.

Again. Not anymore.

She never seemed to go with him anymore. She never seemed to go anywhere with her family.

“I’ll see you soon?” he asked, knowing that time was running out and goodbyes were nonsensical in times of war. People say more goodbyes than ever in wartime and they never know when the next time they’ll see each other will be.

“What a silly question, of course you will.” she nodded, a melancholic smile on her lips and knowing that tears were well concealed by the rain down her cheeks.

“Now go!” she urged, “sōvēs Arrax!”

Arrax made no delay, stretching her neck and taking to the sky immediately with two beats of her wings.

Visenya heard the doors behind her, knowing who was following but she had to delay him. Aemond wanted Luke’s eye. He would not get it, even if she had to give him one of her own instead.

“Ghost ynot” She yelled against the crashing winds and thundering booms that hurt her ears. But Ghost would find her. He always would.

“Lady Strong!” The taunts followed after her, the wind making it almost impossible to know from where they came but she knew from who.

Ghost had kept low, beneath the inner wall so Vhagar could not see him and Visenya sighed in relief when she saw him. His lilac eyes saw her instantly, narrowing and blinking back at her as she ran to him.

“rāpirī Ghost” she shouted against the elements, hoping he could hear her calming order.

Ghost growled low in his chest, tossing his head and stretching to stare behind. Visenya knew from Ghost’s protests, something was behind her or rather someone.

“Your brother owes me an eye” Aemond roared after her, watching her mount her dragon and do her very best to avoid looking up at the skies.

“We owe you nothing!” she yelled back, soaked to the skin now but Visenya knew cold now she didn’t feel it like she once did.

“Vhagar!” she heard him yelling, and while Vhagar rose up to her frightening height and screeched, Visenya knew that Luke had not yet gone far enough to be free of them.

Visenya urged Ghost into motion, pushed up into the sky and clouds with a beat of her enormous, grey wings. The rain and wind was worse the higher they went, making it almost impossible for Visenya to keep her eyes open let alone look around for traces of her brother or uncle. She couldn’t even hear them. All she could hear was Ghost’s wings slicing through the air and her own blood thundering in her ears or was that thunder?

Her neck still hurt, her hands and face were numb from the cold as she hadn’t even had time to pull on her gloves but it was too late now. She couldn’t let go even for a moment, not with visibility so low and Ghost moving so fast.

It was so dark and her eyes stung from the rain and cold, Visenya had to trust Ghost entirely. She had to pray that they were going in the right direction whatever that was so long as it was away from Luke and away from Aemond.

Lightning forked through the sky, lighting everything up for a moment. Just a split second where Visenya’s eyes didn’t work fast enough to see clearly. But the next flash was enough to see them ahead.

Vhagar was chasing Arrax, and Aemond was not stopping her.

She could hear Aemond’s laughter and Luke’s frightened commands to Arrax. Visenya didn’t think about what she was doing only surged Ghost on forward, faster and stronger.

The cliffs in Shipbreaker bay cracked open all the way to the bottom, leaving deep ravines and cracks in the clifface. Luke had clearly spotted them, forcing Arrax into them. It was clever. And Visenya knew that Vhagar could not follow.

“You owe me a debt, boy” She heard him shouting over the rain and thunder, the lightning flashing again so she could make out him overhead.

Visenya could see him, could see Arrax and her brother almost escaping. And then Arrax pulled against her brother’s reins.

“No Arrax!” she heard him yelling, her heart freezing in her chest when she saw the flames Arrax spat at the dragon so much her senior and so much larger it was almost inconsequential.

But it bore consequences. Because neither rider had control anymore. The dragons took over.

“Luke go!” she screamed, not even sure if they could hear her or whether it would give up her position but she didn’t care.

Vhagar screeched, an old and frightening noise Visenya had never heard the dragon make. Like a war cry.

And Vhagar set out in pursuit of Arrax with only one thing on her ancient mind. Kill.

Visenya felt panic clutching at her chest and she couldn’t let it happen. She would not.

Pushing forward in her saddle she gripped harder and tilted Ghost in Vhagar’s direction, something she had never planned or wanted to do.

Vhagar was bigger, stronger, older. She had seen more battles, fought in wars and killed dragons much bigger than Ghost. But Visenya had no choice.

“Ghost” she yelled, knowing that Aemond below her could hear them and now hear her commands approaching.

Aemond looked up for a split second, in time to see Ghost and his rider. With the flash of lightning and thunder he didn’t so much as hear Visenya’s command as he did see it leave her lips.

“Dracarys!”

Ghost obeyed. And opened his jaws to let fire spew through the rain and wind and hit Vhagar and her rider, regardless of how old or battle hardened or tough she was.

Ghost pushed on, his wings pushing him and his rider up through the final clouds to break through the storm. And it was almost unreal.

Perfect, soft white clouds and a milky dawn. Utter quiet. Like Ghost had slipped himself and his rider into another dimension where Green and Black were just colours and brothers and sisters had no need for wars about crowns and seats.

“Senya!” Luke yelled across the open sky, clouds and sunlight behind him.

“Go, Luke! Don’t look back!” she yelled, sure that Vhagar would not be stopped by her and Ghost’s best efforts.

She saw Luke’s little face nod.

And she felt relief flood through her as they pushed onwards, farther from danger.

But the relief turned cold and foreign, ice in her chest and it sank.

A shadow over her. Beat of wings and her uncle’s yelling in protest.

She couldn’t do anything. Ghost couldn’t get there in time or do anything that could have stopped it.

Vhagar’s jaws closed around Arrax. Around Luke.

And the sound her jaws made when they snapped shut would be a sound Visenya wished she could unhear, knew it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

The sound of teeth clamping around flesh, snapping bones and skin into pieces before the rest fell away. The rest of Arrax. The rest of her baby brother. Falling from the sky, unidentifiable and untraceable.

Gone.

Visenya’s lungs seized and breaths were unattainable.

She could hear Aemond screaming “No Vhagar, no no no!”

But it was too late. And his regret did nothing to soothe or quench her fury and her pain.

Pieces of cloth, blood mist and flesh that Visenya did not want to be close enough to recognise. Vicious and violently vivid. What was left of them. Almost nothing.

Ghost must have felt his rider’s anguish, her pain, her fury and grief that stole the air from her lungs and the very light from her life. Because he did not stay, he did not wait for orders or commands but surged downwards, away from falling pieces of baby dragons and away from Vhagar warring with her rider.

Ghost must have felt that rage, an immeasurable unquenchable anger that Visenya would have brought into a battle with Aemond. Because he sat atop the oldest dragon in the world, Ghost knew they would not win. And so he took his rider away.

Visenya knew minutes passed but she did not think of direction or dangers still imminent. Just Luke. He had been so brave and strong.

Ghost hit the ground rough, barely managing to stop himself from skidding across the shore of whatever beach he found first to land on.

Visenya slid from his back and fell on her hands and knees, retching into the sand. Her bile was yellow and burned when it came up as she coughed and screamed against the sand. Her fists made piles in the sand, shoved away only to be grabbed again.

Luke was dead. She was not stupid enough or innocent enough to believe he could have survived it.

Their mission had failed on every level. She was supposed to get Lord Borros to fight for the Greens. She was supposed to protect her brother. She was supposed to be just a messenger.

She vomited again, the sand wet under her hands and knees but she was soaked to the skin already. She couldn’t feel anything but the ache inside her that was grief, pain, loss, guilt and a rage she had no energy for.

Ghost groaned beside her, having no idea what could stop the pain he felt from his rider. But it was of no use. Visenya’s fists hit the sand again and again, her cries like nothing the dragon had heard before.

She didn’t hear any approach. She didn’t particularly care either. She would have been quite resigned to it if someone had grabbed her from behind and cut her throat. What sweet relief it might bring.

But when a hand covered her mouth and nose with something, when arms seized her. She had nothing left in her. And she left them take her. If only for the possibility they might send her where Luke had been sent so this guilt and grief could stop. If only.

Chapter 16: XVI

Notes:

Sorry for the delay <3

The moment Visenya woke, she didn’t feel anything only the cold. She cursed the North for its unforgiving temperatures. Until she felt no soft bedding beneath her, no fur blanket over her and no Lord of Winterfell at her back with a large hand resting on her stomach or her chest with a type of possessiveness she didn’t know sleeping men could have.

But she was alone. And cold. And she was not in Winterfell.

Jerking awake and trying to sit up quickly, Visenya realised she had no idea where she was. Cold, grey walls that were damp and dripped from the ceilings. There was a smell of damp, like a riverbed and moss. But she was alone in the tiny cell. And she was chained.

Her hands were bound together by chains and she was tethered to an old hook embedded deep in the concrete wall.

Someone had taken her. They had found her on that beach, crying and screaming like a pathetic princess and they had taken her.

Visenya would have cursed herself for being so stupid if she had had any interest in being kept alive. Her brother was dead and whether the Greens surrendered or not, she did not care. They had started this war and she would make sure that they were not the ones to finish it.

But she had to get out. If only to tell Jace and her mother, to tell Cregan and the Northmen that war had begun. And chains and solitude were not conducive to her leaving.

There was a grate in a hole in the wall quite high, like a window above the slab of concrete that she had been put on as a bed. But it would not budge no matter what she did and there was no one out there. Even if she could get through the space, she was still chained to the wall. The stairs opposite her could have led anywhere but she couldn’t reach them anyway with her tether being so short.

So she waited. To treat with whoever had taken her.

They came before dusk, footsteps on the steps rousing her.

She was not surprised to see the shock of white hair of her captor when he descended the stairs.

“Come to finish the job, uncle?” she asked, feeling her blood boil at the sight of him, her fingers itched to gouge out his remaining eye.

Aemond seemed to lack his usual air of aloofness and swagger. He seemed unsure of himself, even nervous.

“Visenya, it was not meant to happen like that.”

Visenya’s bones ached at the thought of it again. The noise Vhagar’s jaws made as they had shut around her brother and his dragon.

“What was not meant to happen?” she seethed, her hands shaking with it.

Aemond’s eye stared at her. He would not say it.

“Say it.” she whispered, the chains rattling from her shaking hands.

Aemond’s shut his eyes. He had tied back on his eye patch, facing away from her.

“Say it” she demanded, her hands rattling the chains again.

“Stop it. I’m not here to discuss it.” Aemond shook his head, holding his hand out as if to calm her.

“To discuss what?” she barked “To discuss how you killed him. You killed the heir to Driftmark. You killed your own nephew. You killed my brother.”

Her voice cracked at the word brother but she was not just some heartbroken woman with tears and delicate sobs. She was terrifying, so full of rage it spilt from her eyes in tears and vibrated through her hands.

“Don’t!” He shouted, pushing forward and forgetting himself when he put his hand over her mouth as if to stop her, to calm her.

But she would not be calmed. And with her hands bound and her dragon too far to help her, she had only her own fire, her own venom. And her teeth.

Her teeth which sank into the fleshy skin between Aemond’s thumb and forefinger. He yelled and tried to pull but it only made it worse until she spat him from her mouth and knew that what she spat on the floor was his blood.

“If you lay a hand on me again, I will have your hands eaten by wolves.” She warned, knowing that princesses were not to threaten such things. But Ladies of Winterfell did.

Cradling his hand near his chest, blood staining his armour Aemond cursed.

“Mother always said you were no better than a wild dog. It should stand that now you lie with them.”

Visenya didn’t care much for Queen Alicent’s opinion. But knowing his mother had been feeding him this poison since they were children was no excuse.

“You killed Luke, your own blood, all for a throne you’ll never sit on, for a throne he wouldn’t have killed you for.”

She hissed at him and it seemed to rattle against his ice-cold exterior, seeping in and doing something to him. Good. She wanted it to rip him apart. She wanted him to feel disgust and guilt and shame every time he thought about who he was or saw his reflection or was honoured.

“War brings about unique —”

But Visenya interrupted him.

“This wasn’t war. It was a boy being sent as a messenger for his mother. Whatever war that follows, know that you began it by drawing the blood of a child first.”

Aemond paled. He shook his head and pointed his finger in her face but not close enough to get bitten again.

“It was not I who started this.”

But he didn’t even sound convinced. She just fixed him with a cold and furious gaze, one that put him on edge.

“You plan to finish it though, do you not?” Visenya almost laughed. Aemond had always fancied himself as the anti-hero. The dark horse. The underdog.

“I shall.” he spat, his patience with her running out.

“You have nothing, Aemond.” she snapped.

He laughed, coldly.

“I’ve got you.”

Her blood ran cold. He laughed again, much harsher this time. A laugh that made her wish that Ghost had let her fall into the waters below rather than land her safely.

“I’m nothing in this game.” she tried to say, but Aemond grinned.

“Oh, on the contrary, dear niece. Marrying Lord of Winterfell may have been your mastermove.”

Visenya blanched, she did not know what he talked of. Marrying Cregan had never been her choice. It had been Daemon’s plan that she agreed to in order to secure the North. It hadn’t been a play for power for Visenya, nothing was back then.

“What do you think would happen if your Lord Husband met an untimely end?” Aemond wondered aloud, the dagger in his hand twrling between his fingers taunting her.

She tugged at her chains but it was no use. She didn’t reply which displeased him.

“Come on, niece. Tell me, what do you think would happen if the Wolf of the North was killed in battle?”

Visenya could not picture it without wincing. Cregan falling from his horse with a spear through his chest. Cregan coughing up blood with a sword in his stomach. Cregan with his throat cut lying face down on a battlefield.

“Life will go on, Aemond. That is the nature of these grand houses.”

It pained her to say it but she could not let Aemond see how much it would pain her to lose her lord husband. She didn’t even want to see herself how much it would hurt.

“Ah yes!” Aemond remarked, his finger pointing at her “Lord Stark has two brothers, two little pups to take his place.”

Visenya thought of Harrin back in Winterfell, of Edric at Moat Cailin. They were just boys.

“And if the pups were put down?” Aemond’s head tilted, a grin on his face.

Visenya felt even colder.

Harrin with his throat cut in his bed. Edric with a spear to the heart. Lady Alyssa screaming in grief.

"And if any pups still in the bitch were put down too" he hummed, his knife stopping its spinning only to be pointed towards Visenya herself. Towards her middle which she knew for a fact held no heir of Winterfell but nobody else knew this except for Cregan.

“House Stark is not at risk of extinction, Aemond” she snapped, wanting to banish the idea forever.

Aemond shrugged, the knife still spinning.

“No, perhaps not. But it is at risk of ruin if I were to take it.”

Visenya’s brow furrowed, her anger bubbling inside her again.

“The North will never bow to you”

Aemond sighed, coming nearer to her until he was crouching in front of her. His long fingers grasped her chin and tilted her head up to him.

“Maybe not to me, but to my wife”

Visenya froze for a moment. Aemond had no wife, he had promised himself to one of the Baratheon girls but they had no influence of the North. The only woman in the North who he could force to marry him—

Aemond started laughing when he saw it hit her. When she realised what his plan was.

“I will never say the words.” she spat, feeling herself shaking.

“You don’t have to say anything, niece. Just let the words be said for the wedding and just lie back and don’t fight me for the bedding. I promise it shan’t be unpleasant.”

Visenya felt disgust roll in her gut. The thought of Aemond lying with her. No. The thought of Aemond taking her. And how she would fight him every second of the way. It seemed to excite him. His eyes were burning, his fingers tightening on her chin until her lips moved from the force of his grip. His eyes were fixated on her mouth. And she thought that he was going to try kiss her. This man who had slaughtered her brother only hours before, with his hands on her and his plans to take her to wife.

Visenya was going to be sick.

“A man can take two wives but a woman cannot take two husbands.”

She scrambled for sense, her tone staying cold and distant as she ripped her chin from his grasp.

“Yes” Aemond nodded, trance broken as he stood and stepped back from her “But she can if her lord husband is dead.”

Aemond planned to kill Cregan. He planned to take the North using her and Ghost as his weapons and his way into the North.

“I will never be your lady-wife. I will starve myself, I will throw myself from the first window I find, I will have Vhagar eat me alive, I will cut your throat if you touch me.” She spat, the chains rattling again as she tried to pull free.

“I will not stand here and take insults from a bastard.” he snapped, clinging to the only thing he could throw at her anymore.

She laughed, a dry and empty sound that echoed through the dungeon.

“Bastard I may be but from today on the realm will remember you for what you are.” She hissed, enjoying the fact he still held his hand that bled ceaselessly. Blood that slid onto the floor. His blood. Targaryen blood. Their blood. Something Visenya had been told was sacred. Precious. Royal. Godly. Something that was just red and viscous and spilled just like everyone elses.

“And what is that, Lady Strong?” he snapped.

But Visenya saw the word slice into him. For all he had done, Aemond had trained to be a Knight, to fight with honour and be a man for his mother, his house and his family. She saw the word hurt him, but it would never hurt him enough. Not for the pain Visenya wanted him to feel. For the pain he deserved to feel after taking Luke from them.

“A kinslayer.”

*

Cregan did not like to exist in utter silence. He found noise comforting. Wind bouncing off the windows in his chambers of Winterfell. Winter’s panting when she was particularly pleased with herself. His family’s chatter at dinner when Arrina would argue with Harrin and Edric couldn’t stop himself getting involved. His wife. The noises she made when she was asleep. The noises she made when she was awake. When she was particularly happy with him. When she was furious with others. All of it brought him a sort of ease.

But the noise in their war tent was going to drive him to insanity.

Arguing. Back and forth, back and forth.

“That Manderley prick is going to start asking to be put in the Vanguard again.”

“If a Manderley marches into war in front of a Glover, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“And if you interrupt me again, it’ll be the end of you, you insufferable oaf.”

Back and forth, back and forth.

And none of it came from the one voice he wanted to hear.

His wife.

She’d been gone for two nights and dusk was creeping in on the third day.

Three days. She had promised she’d be back after three days. And Cregan’s patience was growing thinner and thinner.

Edric had been rather calm until the afternoon was setting in and his restlessness had sprung into full bodily movements. Edric wanted to go after her. Sooner rather than later and although Cregan had promised her three days, he had wanted to leave moments after her.

He knew she was capable. She was formidable and brilliant. She was fire and blood. She was a wolf in dragon skin.

But wolves needed a pack.

“Creg, Ser Darron says there’s a raven approaching.”

Edric said in a low voice, enough for his brother to hear and break himself from his reverie. His mind deep in thought of what relief it would be to see his wife landing on dragonback and having her back where he needed her.

Bursting from the tent in a flap of canvas, Cregan saw Ser Darron immediately. He had been right. And the proof was in his hand.

A tightly rolled message, a sigil in red wax. A dragon.

Cregan ripped it open, unfurling it and scanning it rapidly with his eyes.

“The Prince Lucerys has not returned to Dragonstone. Lord Borros claims they left the same evening they arrived. It has been almost three days. What news of Visenya?”

A scrawling letter, signed at the end with the panic of a brother not a prince.

Something Cregan was feeling in his chest. Not the panic of a Lord who may have lost his lady, but a man who lost his wife.

Whistling over his shoulder, Cregan ignored Edric’s hand that tried to grab at the note. Once Winter had trotted up to his side, her grey paws filthy from the boggy ground of Moat Cailin Cregan handed it to his brother.

“She could be on her way back, Cregan!” Edric tried to side with reason.

But Cregan had no time for it.

“She could be on her way back. She could be lying in a ditch dead. She could be chained in the dungeons of King’s Landing. She could be the Green’s prisoner or taken back to Dragonstone.”

He snapped, making his way towards his tent. He heard the whip of the entrance behind him, knowing Edric followed him, as did his uncle.

“Cregan, be reasonable.” Willum Stark tried to air on the side of caution.

“I am being reasonable. She said three days, she hasn’t returned. If I’m not back in three days send Lord Umber and Lord Manderley to Dragonstone with our terms.”

Edric looked between them, eyes wide at his brother who packed to leave and his uncle who was going to let him.

“Terms?” he asked, unsure.

Cregan secured his sword and tightened his cloak.

“If the Greens have murdered Prince Lucerys the Blacks may declare war with the Greens. But if they’ve touched a hair on Lady Stark’s head the North will have war with the Greens regardless of who march with us.”

Cregan’s voice wasn’t shaking with anger or threat. He was cold, so frozen in his rage and emotion it was almost missable. But Edric saw the hard set of his jaw and tension of his shoulders. War was something Cregan could do. It was something he craved now. Green blood on his hands if they’d drawn a drop of discomfort from his lady wife.

“Yes, My Lord” Willum nodded, disregarding age for status. Cregan was his lord. End of story.

“Edric?” Cregan checked, turning to his brother again.

His brother who had promised to fight alongside him no matter came. But who he now expected to stand in for him for the days he would be gone. And if he never came back, would be Lord Stark.

Edric bit at his lip, the skin red and peeling from his bad habit.

He nodded.

“Yes my Lord.”

“Edric, I need you to stay here.” Cregan said, his gaze unwavering and cool.

Edric nodded again.

Cregan’s men moved aside, not knowing where he was going but knowing exactly what he was going to do. Ser Darron clearly had not thought it through when he approached Lord Stark, his arm outstreched as if he could stop him.

“My Lord, don’t act in haste. The Greens want—”

Cregan spun on him, his eyes ice cold and furious. Lethal.

“The Greens will want for mercy and nothing else, Ser Darron. If a single hair on Lady Stark’s head is out of place, they will wish for the days of a war with the Blacks.”

Ser Darron relented. He let Cregan go, as if anyone could have stopped him. Winter followed. And the Northmen prayed he would find her as soon as possible. Yes, for they had grown in their affections for their Lady but if she was not found, or worse she was found hurt, they would march South, whether the Blacks were ready or not.

*

Aemond came that first evening with a bowl of what she assumed was some sort of stew. She would never know how it tasted since she flung it at his head and tried to rip her chains from her wrists. Did he honestly expect her to accept kindness from the man who had killed her brother?

He tried to talk of surrender but Visenya would not hear it.

Dawn broke and her stomach ached. But when Aemond brought food again, she glowered at him. She didn’t speak. She would not eat the food he brought nor drink the water he offered and when she denied he poured over her face. She choked and spluttered, spitting it back at him even when he shouted at her to just drink it, when he raged at her for being so stubborn.

But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He wanted to keep her alive. For what? To trade for peace? To force her mother’s hand? To push at the Northmen and take to wife like a slave? She’d rather die than be left so like a pawn in their game.

She waited until he had gone to lick the water from where it had splashed onto the stone floor. It was humiliating and debasing but her mind was playing tricks on her already from hunger and dehydration. She thought she heard dragon wings at some point in the night. And then when the dawn broke again, she heard men and marching. Water flowing quickly, river and streams.

The Greens had allies in the Riverlands and so she guessed that was where she was being kept. But she had no further clues. No one came to her except for Aemond and after the next dusk, he didn’t come again.

She tried to keep her mind occupied. She recited stories her Septas used to tell her. She tried to go through the exercises Ser Harwin taught her but the weaker she got, the less of them she could do. She tried to list as many Houses as she could in each of the old Kingdoms but eventually, she had to resign to just lying there. Just waiting for death or Aemond, whichever came first. With only the noises of Luke’s murder for company.

Once when she woke, she heard footsteps but nothing came of it. And then again, when she opened her eyes she saw beautiful eyes of ice-blue staring back.

“Hello you” she whispered, feeling her lips crack from the first words she’d spoke in days and her voice rough like a crones.

And she felt the skin of her lips cracking at her smile.

Winter’s coat was soft and warm as the direwolf came closer to her. She whined, a sad sort of lonely noise that Visenya had never heard from the animal before.

Visenya didn’t even really believe what she saw. She had stopped believing her eyes when she’d seen Ser Harwin standing by the doorway like he had when she was sick as a child. Watching for every rattling breath hoping the next breath would come easier to his only daughter who he was only ever allowed to guard not cherish.

“Tell him I’m sorry” she whispered, her eyes growing heavy again, the soft fur of the wolf a comfort under her hand.

Tears would be too much a luxury to her, so weak from dehydration now but she would if she could. The idea of crying made her eyes heavy again, dropping shut until she was quite sure she couldn’t open them again, even when she heard footsteps and panic.

Whoever came for her, death or the Mother, the Greens or Aemond, she didn’t care. They were warm against her and their voice soft when they told her that she would be fine. The voice soothed her but not the sentiment. How could anything ever be fine again?

*

She slept for hours, hours and hours after Cregan had found her. After two days of searching he had found her in the Riverlands from the help of a most covert nature. And with Winter, it had been too easy. They had left her practically open to be taken. No guards, no armies, nothing to keep Cregan from taking her back. It was almost too easy, but Cregan would not complain if it meant he had her back.

She was weak. For the first time he had ever seen. But she hadn’t eaten or drank in days, she had suffered an enormous shock and loss and her adrenaline had worn off. Cregan just wondered how permenant her state was.

He carried her for a while, until they were back with his horse and then continued on horseback until they were near Rushing Falls. Cregan had been many times in these parts with his father before he died and with his uncle since then. The Riverlands were loyal to the Greens therefore, he had to move at night with just Winter and a horse. And of course, his barely conscious wife.

Rushing Falls was one of the only upland areas in the Riverlands. Sloping up towards the road to Harrenhal, the roads became narrower and windier until the falls were right in front of you. Water crashing from above into the bottomless black pools below. Cregan had to stop for a while, needing to rest and needing to actually look at her.

He had avoided looking at her for more than a minute since he’d found her. Once he’d been sure she had no injuries that needed urgent attention, just rest and care. He had avoided looking at her. It made his insides curl to look at the bruise on her throat or the cut on her lip and wonder how it had gotten there. It made him think of thoughts too violent to even imagine when he should be thinking about her.

Dawn wasn’t far off when he stopped and set her down on a roll out bed. It wasn’t much but it was better than the cold or damp of the ground. She curled in on herself immediately, drawing her knees up to her chest and her arms locking around her legs until she could turn her face away from him into her chest.

“Senya” he whispered, his hand smoothing over her hair that was still wound into a braid but had become messy and disheveled, dust clinging to it.

She groaned, a wounded noise as she tightened up and curled further in on herself.

“Shhh” he whispered, his hand smoothing over her head, down the back of her neck “It’s me, it’s Cregan you’re okay.”

But she didn’t wake. Her eyes remained closed, her shoulders and arms locked in place so that she barely even moved. He had to check her pulse to be sure she was still breathing.

Cregan let Winter off to hunt. He made a fire and removed some of his armour.

The rising sun painted the sky a blood orange, coming up over the peak of the waterfall opposite them just as Cregan had taken some broth off the fire. And he heard it.

A soft, watery kind of noise that sounded as though it came from a wounded animal. Cregan had spent his life hunting in the Wolfswood but he’d never heard an animal sound this in pain, this desperate.

Checking over both shoulders, his hand gripping his spear he realised where it came from.

Visenya’s shoulders shook with the force of it. Her knuckles were white gripping onto her own hands.

“Senya, wake up, it’s a dream wake up!”

He moved in front of her, to his knees until he was close enough to pry her hands open and move his cloak that he had laid over her as a blanket.

She jerked awake, her lilac eyes wet and shining, her cheeks streaked from the tears leaving tracks in the dirt that clung to her. She turned rapidly, fear in her eyes at her unknown surroundings and what had happened.

“It’s okay, you’re safe” he nodded, his hands still holding onto her wrists even as she tried to jerk away from him but he felt her realise it. Felt her recognise him and calm.

“Cregan” she breathed, her relief like a balm across his frayed nerves.

“I got you” he whispered, his voice low as if speaking to a wild animal he didn’t want to spook.

His grip tightened, as if on instinct just to be sure she was really there. But her hiss in pain, her wince made Cregan drop her hands like they had burned him.

“Ow” she winced, turning her palms over and seeing the red welts across her delicate wristbones. Purple bruises and newer red sores where the iron had dug in when she had tried to wrench herself free.

As if testing it, she pressed a finger against the new bruises, wincing when she pressed too hard before looking back up at him.

“Who?” he asked, reaching for the cloth he had soaked in the solution Maester Fagan had sent with them to keep infection at bay.

Wrapping a cloth around each wrist with such gentleness, tying the knots delicately Visenya wasn’t sure the look in his eyes matched at all.

Stone cold. Ice. Hatred and rage.

And yet his touch was gentle, his hands so careful with hers.

“Who did this, Visenya?” he repeated himself, something Cregan did not often do.

“Aemond” she whispered, his name like vinegar on her tongue.

“I saw him.” her voice cracked, the bruises around her throat still making it hard “I saw what he did. He didn't want anyone to know it was his fault...”

A shiver ran up through her spine, making her whole body shudder. She was so cold and Cregan had always known what to do when she was cold but he did not want to see her pull away from him.

He slowly moved to pull his cloak back over her shoulders, the same way he had done in the Godswood that night. And she sighed in relief.

“The Prince Jacaerys wrote to me at Moat Cailin. He wrote that the Prince Lucerys had not returned and that he is missing.”

Cregan explained, wanting nothing more than to let her sleep, let her recover. But war was creeping in and in and in. Time was running out.

“He’s not missing.” she whispered, her eyes heavy and heartbreakingly empty when she looked at him.

“He’s dead.”

Cregan inhaled sharply. If Luke was dead, the Blacks had no choice but war. Rhaenyra had wanted to keep the realm at peace. But they had murdered her son who acted as an envoy. They had declared war on the Blacks, on everyone who stood with them.

“I’m so sorry, Senya.” Cregan sighed, his hands going to her head.

She fell in against him, her eyes glossing over again but she didn’t just lean on him. When she felt the heat of his hands, a sob wrenched itself from her chest and she couldn’t bear it. She pushed up further until she was wrapped against him, clinging to him.

“He killed him and I couldn’t save him” she sobbed, knowing that for the rest of her life she would feel the guilt and pain that wracked through her.

“It wasn't your fault, Senya.” Cregan nodded against her, her hands gripping at his shirt, her head pressing in against his chest, pushing in almost painfully. But he wanted to take it, he wanted to take her pain away.

Her sobs turned into shaking and then just silent tracks of tears until she was quiet again, the only sound Cregan’s fire snapping beside them and his whispers against the side of her head. Until she could breath in her chest without feeling like it burned and she could feel it weighing on her mind. And she told him.

She told him how Lord Borros had received them and what new Luke brought of Dragonstone. She explained how Aemond had been there from the beginning, antagonising them, itching for a fight. She managed to tell him what had happened once they were all on dragonback. What had happened to her baby brother.

He listened, nodding and holding her tighter when she spoke of Luke. He listened and watched her heart break inside her chest all over again.

“Where is Ghost, Senya?” he asked, knowing that Visenya had left Storm’s End on dragonback. But there was no sign of him in the Riverlands.

“I don’t know” she croaked back, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“If Ghost has been missing for this long, there is a chance someone will have spotted him and they will know he’s not up North, that we’re not up North anymore.” Cregan acknowledged but Visenya blanched, staring up at him.

“For how long?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

“You were missing for seven days, Visenya.”

She startled.

“Seven days? No, it was only... Only... only three?”

She was sure it had not been so long. How could it be?

Cregan flinched, his hand smoothing over her shoulder and arm. His eyes were so deep and he was looking at her in a way he never had before. It wasn’t pity, Visenya could have smelled that a mile off. It was something like hesitation. Hesitation to break it to her.

“Visenya, look at yourself. You were there for more than three days.”

Only then did she look at herself, properly. Her skin was ghostly, it felt thin almost rippable under her rough fingers. Her stomach felt empty and almost concave, her hipbones and ribs protruding slightly. Her lips were dry and sore, her throat felt raw. As though she had been crying or screaming, perhaps both.

“I left Moat Cailin four days ago to find you. I sent word to Edric that I’ve found you but we have to be careful where we go from here.”

Visenya couldn’t stop looking at herself. The bruises on her wrists, the way her bones felt under her fingers, the way her chest seemed to struggle for breaths.

“Oi” he said, snapping her from her harsh thoughts and taking her head in his hands “We’ll keep Aemond in chains in Winterfell until the next Winter comes and goes if you want, he will pay for this.”

His eyes were burning like coals, his jaw clenched tight so sharp looking she wanted to reach up and run her fingers against it, expecting blood to be drawn.

“Cregan” she whispered, almost sighed as her hands reached up for his.

What she wanted to say, whatever it was hung between them for a moment before Cregan nodded and took her hands in his.

“I know.” he nodded, her fingers cold under his lips as he kissed the tips “I know.”

Turning towards the fire, Visenya felt herself shiver at the loss of his warmth. The cold of her confinement in the Riverlands had seeped into her very bones. Her jaw still hurt from the incessant chattering her teeth would do, keeping her awake through the night.

“This should help.” Cregan offered her the bowl and spoon, placing them into her hands and watching as she stared between them.

“It’s just broth.” he nodded, urging her to eat.

“Okay” she nodded, lifting the spoon to her lips. She seemed unsure until she took her first sip, a sigh of relief coming past her lips.

The idea that the Lord of Winterfell, one of the most feared men in Westeros had just heated broth up for her was enough to almost make her smile. Almost.

After a dozen or so spoons, Visenya felt like she would be sick if she swallowed another mouthful and Cregan didn’t want to push it. He had sat beside her, his left shoulder against her right and as she ate, she had slowly started to put more and more of her weight behind her shoulder until she was leaning against him.

Taking the bowl from her once she was sure she had had enough, his arm moved out behind her checking that she didn’t object first. They had been sleeping in the same bed for over a month in Winterfell but this was different. This wasn’t sliding into a more comfortable position after they’d found their pleasure or waking up to his hardness against her back. This was much more intentional, much more intimate.

But she nodded, her eyes fluttering closed again and the top half of her body settling down until she was lying across his lap, her head against the solid weight of his thigh, her arms wrapped up in front of herself.

He wanted to let her sleep undisturbed but he couldn’t help himself. His fingers found their way weaving through her hair, smoothing it away from her face and feeling the relief wash through him with every breath she took.

The very possibility that she had been dead had been a weight inside Cregan’s chest since she had been gone for more than three days. Finding her had been such panic to free her, to get her away and safe. Now she was there with him, the panic and the frenzy dissipated.

What remained was relief and gratitude. And something else, something quite light and warm. Something that felt much too dangerous and much too hard to keep ahold of in times as dangerous as the ones they lived in.

Loving one’s own lady-wife was not supposed to be so difficult to admit nor so surprising. But Cregan Stark couldn’t even put a word on it, the warm and soft feeling inside his chest that made him want to tear Aemond Targaryen’s head from his neck and put Oldtown to the torch.

The War had been his duty, on his honour as a Stark as a man loyal to his word. But Aemond Targaryen had made it personal. Stupid boy. Cregan would destroy him. He would destroy all of them.

Chapter 17: XVII

Travelling with only one horse was slow but Cregan doubted Visenya had it in her to travel much quicker. Two days went by as they moved slowly back towards the Crossroads Inn where a legion of Cregan’s would be waiting for them to continue onto Dragonstone with them. Willum Stark and Lords Cerwyn and Karstark would hold Moat Cailin with almost all of the Northern forces, ready for war. Ser Darron, Lord Umber and Edric would be waiting at the Crossroads for them.

Visenya didn’t say much. She didn’t say anything apart from ‘thank you’ when he passed her something to eat or fixed his cloak around her shoulders. She was pale still, her eyes and cheeks lacking that flush of anger or passion he’d grown so used to sparking in her. She would sit in front of him in the saddle, her hands holding onto the reins under his hands and Cregan could hear her sniffle and clear her throat to clear her tears but they still fell. He held her tighter, he gave her space, he kept watch while she slept and was there when she woke.

Cregan didn’t know the first thing about being a good husband but he wouldn’t let her slip away, not when he didn’t know the first thing about getting back to a life that felt bearable where he wasn’t her husband.

Ser Darron, Lord Umber, Ser Jarrald and Edric met them at the Crossroads Inn where they kept moving from until they stopped and made camp just before Maidenpool. Edric sighed audibly when he saw his sister-by-law. Cregan saw her flinch when he hugged her, saw how her hands gripped at Edric’s shirt reminded only of her brother. Ser Darron and Lord Umber looked slightly unsure when they saw her, like they were frightened or nervous. Perhaps even worried that their Lady Stark who had flown to Bear Island spewing fire and gone toe-to-toe with Cregan multiple times was gone.

They moved quickly. With fresh horses and supplies from Moat Cailin they made Rook’s Rest in a matter of days. They only stopped where they could sleep for the night completely hidden and they stuck to the unofficial roads. If anyone bumped into them, they didn’t look like Lord or Lady of anything, just weary travellers. Cregan didn’t sleep much, he couldn’t.

The small ship that waited for them bore no crest or banners, sent by the Queen but covert and quiet. It was an old smuggler’s bay, no harbour or docks. Just a sheltered cliff face, battered from wind and rain with a rope ladder nailed into the cliff wall.

Lord Umber and Edric went first, then Ser Darron and Ser Jarrald until it was just Visenya and Cregan left on the cliff.

“You’re almost home” Cregan tried to comfort her, knowing that seeing her brothers and mother could be a comfort.

But Visenya shook her head. Her lilac eyes met his and she held his gaze for the first time in days.

“This isn’t home.” she nodded in the direction of Dragonstone that could be seen in the misty distance.

Ingrid had sent clothes with Edric for her lady. And after days of wearing whatever clothes Cregan found in the Riverlands after he’d found her, seeing Visenya dressed in her Northern clothes again, wolf pin on her cloak and heavy Stark cloak around her made something feel less tight in Cregan’s chest. Something eased in Visenya too, feeling more like Lady Stark again if only like she was dressing up as her.

Looking out at Dragonstone, they stood almost shoulder to shoulder.

“You look more like yourself.” Cregan noted, her familiar clothes bringing a familiar shape and form back to her.

Visenya pulled her cloak in tighter, it hung loose on her but it was still warm and comfortable.

“I look more like a Stark, you mean.”

She said, surprised she answered. Cregan hadn’t gotten many responses off her in recent days.

Cregan didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure how she had said it, whether it was a lament or compliment.

“It’s a good thing” she added, her hand ghosting across her husband’s arm if only for a second.

He looked across at her, glad to see she watched him as closely. Her lilac eyes, bewitching as always but easier to read now. She pained, grieved and broke for Luke but she wasn’t gone.

“I certainly think so.” Cregan nodded, his hand resting on the centre of her sternum for a moment, the bronze wolf’s head pin under his large palm and her beating heart beneath it.

“But you’re still a dragon.” he reminded her, breathing in the sea air .

“But I’m still a Stark.” she added, her feet stretching up until she was on her toes, her forehead against his and he heard her sigh in relief.

“Thank the Gods, princess.”

He sighed, feeling her nod against him and her shoulders ease beneath his hands.

“Daemon readies for war, Cregan... he will want to send the Northmen first so he won’t have to lose any of his own.”

As if her body knew what her mind didn’t, her hands fell into his fur cloak, her palms against his warmth.

“I know, princess. But our men aren’t going to be cannon fodder for Prince Daemon. We’re here to plan a war, not bend the knee to Daemon.”

Visenya was nervous about Daemon, Cregan could feel it. It was Daemon who had signed Visenya’s betrothal, signed her away to a man he’d never met or had no idea if he was kind, would be gentle or good to her.

“Daemon will do whatever is needed for House Targaryen.”

She said, her voice low even though there wasn’t a soul around to hear them.

“Then why do you still fear his decisions?”

Visenya worried her lip with her teeth for a moment, her fingers gripping his cloak tighter.

Her gaze bore into his, reminding him so much of how she had looked at him back home it sparked something warm and familiar.

“Because he will do whatever is needed for the honour of House Targaryen... and I’m not a Targaryen any longer.”

Cregan could feel her anxiety, could feel it being more than just the tension she’d held for days and the heartbreak that she would hold for ever more.

It was her first time stepping foot on Dragonstone as a Stark, not a Targaryen. When Targaryens married they didn’t often come home, especially not so soon after marrying and certainly not without an heir and spare made for her lord husband.

But this was different. Cregan hadn’t married her to be his prize or his brood mare.

“You’re a Stark of Winterfell, Senya...and that means your home is in the North, and your men are at Moat Cailin waiting for our command and that anyone who lays a hand on you will have their hands ripped off by the wolves of Winter.”

With his hands on her shoulders slipping up to the sides of her neck and his fingers through her hair, he made sure she looked in his eyes and she listened to him. And Visenya felt it in her chest, that tug of warmth that Cregan seemed to have learned how to light in her chest when she had thought fire and heat would be the death of her time and time again.

“I promised you once that being my Lady-wife would mean a life better than being their Princess. I’m many things, princess but I am no oathbreaker.”

Cregan vowed, his voice strong and his eyes set on hers, glinting like wet coal.

“You came for me.” she whispered, the words beyond her lips before she had known she was going to speak as it so often happened with him.

She found herself telling him things, asking him questions or for his opinions when Visenya had been raised to hold nobody but Targaryens in high regard.

“Aye” he nodded, the mist around them making a wet sheen on his face that didn’t make her shiver anymore because he had his hands and arms around her “I came for you.”

“I would have come back” she said, knowing that if she had been in any position to escape, she would have. And she would not have fled for Dragonstone. She would have gone home, back to her husband and her people.

“I know.” he nodded, and he did.

Cregan would not have moved if she hadn’t. But his lady-wife pressed up on her toes in a way he had experienced enough times to know what she was doing when her lips pressed to his. It wasn’t the hungry, heated type of kiss they had grown accustomed to in the beginning. It was soft and brief, lingering for a second before Cregan kissed her again and she would let her forehead rest against his, a relieved exhale passing her lips. It was the type of kiss Cregan would have seen no sense in before he had been on the receiving end of one.

And Visenya knew that her husband was indeed many things. He was a warrior, a northman, a son and a brother, a lord beloved by his people. What he might not have known was not she thought of him often and with such affection people would doubt their ears and eyes when they saw how she looked at him or spoke of him. But how she thought of him was hers alone. She thought of him in simple terms.

“After you” Cregan nodded towards the rope ladder beneath them, knowing that he would feel better seeing her descend and be safely with his men before leaving the mainland behind.

Visenya Velaryon had been raised to share many things. Her mother with the realm, her nameday with her brother, her name with her ancestor. But Cregan was not to be shared.

She thought of him as hers. And wolf cloak of not, she was always a dragon. And dragons didn’t share or let what was theirs out of sight or out of reach. Dragons fought for what was theirs and burned anyone who came too near. No one would come near her or her lord-husband again or risk burning to death for the sins of touching them.

*

Cregan Stark didn’t like Dragonstone. Not for its neverending steps and winding corridors that always led to more fucking stairs. And not even for that sea salt spray that clung to his clothes and skin constantly. But as seat of the House Targaryen, it was where Queen Rhaenyra’s war council gathered and it was where Cregan saw for the first time why Visenya had perhaps been so content in Winterfell when she finally was won over by the Northerners.

It had started when they arrived. Rhaenyra and her sons, Jace and Joffrey had been so relieved to see her Cregan saw tears in the Queen’s eyes. Aegon and Viserys stayed back with their Septa, not fully recognising their big sister until she’d removed herself from Jace’s gripping hug and bent down beside them.

Cregan heard her speaking softly, her hands out and open and watched as Viserys and Aegon realised who she was, falling into her open arms and gleefully screeching a babble of ‘Senya’ among words in High Valyrian and the Common Tongue.

Visenya had rushed over to them, leaving Cregan paces behind with Edric, Lord Umber and Ser Darron.

Cregan knew Prince Jacaerys already but the way Jace fixed him with a heavy glare, Cregan would have been nervous if he wasn’t bigger, stronger and stood over a foot taller.

“Lord Stark” Queen Rhaenyra acknowledged, coming towards him as Cregan bowed. She was his mother-by-law but she was his Queen.

“My Queen” he nodded, only coming up from his bow when he knew it had been long enough to not show disrespect.

She nodded. But Cregan could see the redness to her eyes, the pain she carried behind her eyes just as his wife did.

She knew that Luke was dead.

Visenya moved from her siblings, straight to her mother who held her tighter by the shoulders and scanned her face and form for signs of harm.

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, zoning in on the marks that Visenya had been left with. The split in her lip was healing over but the bruise on her cheekbone had gone a yellowish colour that was more visible in the sunlight. Her daughter felt smaller, slighter, like her bones were closer to the surface.

Jace must have noticed too, his eyes narrow and glaring in a way that Cregan had been the subject of too many time from the prince’s twin sister.

They thought it had been Cregan who harmed her.

The thought made his stomach twist. The thought of his fingers tightening around her throat or his fist making contact with her. It made him sick.

Visenya was no fool and she felt the tension growing around her, looking over her shoulder to where the residents of Dragonstone were glaring. This giant, beast of a man in furs and armour. A man who had taken her to wed, taken her up North and donned her in furs and wolf pins, and seemingly, harmed her.

She saw what they saw for a flicker of a second. A man who was not at home on Dragonstone, a warrior brutal and fierce.

But then she saw him again. It was Cregan. The man who had fed her broth and let her sleep across his lap, who had banished Hedgar Cerwyn for her and refused to hold War Councils without her.

“What happened at Storm’s End, Senya?” Jace asked, his doubt lingering although Cregan Stark had come to his rescue once before.

Cregan could sense the Dragonstone men lingering nearby, around their queen with their hands ready to jump to arms. But Cregan was not alone and Edric, Ser Darron and Lord Umber were close at hand while their weapons were even closer. It was Visenya who stood in the middle.

“Princess” Cregan said sternly, his voice low and almost growl like but Visenya recognised the doubt in his eyes as he watched the Targaryen lines drawing in. They were entirely outnumbered but Cregan would not back down, she knew her husband enough to know this.

Visenya pulled back from her mother, but Rhaenyra’s grip on her tightened. It was unfortunate but Cregan saw his wife hiss in pain at her mother’s tight grip. Grip on the wrists that were still red and chafed from chains the Queen’s brother had put her in. But they didn’t know this and Rhaenyra heard only pain from her daughter.

Cregan almost flinched at the sound of it. Her discomfort, her pain, her anguish. He despised it.

“Stop this” Visenya snapped, wrenching her hands from her mother and not seeming to take notice of the pain this time.

And she took steps back, away from her mother and brother and in Cregan’s direction.

“What did he do to you?” Jace asked, honour being all that he could think of when he saw his sister harmed and a man he deemed responsible.

“What?” she snapped, her gaze dragging from her mother and brother who only glared warily at her husband to her husband whose eyes scanned from her to her family. Cregan had his sword strapped to him but he had more. Visenya knew he always had more weapons on him. And Winter at his side, growled and bared her teeth.

“Senya” Jace said again, his hand reaching for her. And Visenya knew in her bones he was her brother, he would never harm her. But she jerked out of his grasp. She didn’t want him to touch her, she didn’t want anyone to touch her.

“Stop it” she ordered, the force in her voice being louder than she’d spoken in days.

“Stand down.” she snapped at the men behind her mother and brother who moved forward, drawing their swords as if in her defence.

“No one ever laid a hand on me in the North” she snapped, her eyes burning.

Cregan could disagree, knowing that he had laid his hands on her many, many times but never with the intention of doing harm. And so, he let the half-truth slide.

“Prince Aemond was waiting for us at Storm’s End. When we left, he pursued us and we didn’t escape.”

Visenya said, her voice betraying her only at the word ‘we’. If it had been a story of her own she would not falter. But she couldn’t speak of him without thinking of her own guilt and shame, of the noise that Vhagar’s jaws had made when they clamped shut around her brother.

“Aemond killed Arrax and...” her voice broke but she clenched her fists and continued “And Luke... and then they pursued me until Ghost and I landed on a beach near Tarth... Aemond took me prisoner and I haven’t seen Ghost since.”

It was not a story Visenya wanted to tell nor did she even want it known. She had failed her brother and she had failed herself.

Swords were still drawn, eyes guarded and wary. But when Rhaenyra went to grip onto her daughter, she moved out of reach again.

She moved back to the person she trusted most. Surprising to everyone, including herself if she’d thought about it for long enough she stepped back beside Cregan until Winter stopped growling and put her head underneath Visenya’s palm.

Cregan didn’t touch her, he didn’t reach for her. But her elbow bumped his hip and he heard her exhale as if she breathed deeper suddenly.

But Cregan hated the way they looked at her. They had seen her injuries, had seen her next to him and they had seen a princess who had been controlled and hurt by her lord-husband. And Cregan hated how little they knew of her.

He hated how small they made her, how powerless they saw her. It made no sense to him. Since he’d met her, she was fierce and furious, she was this gloriously wicked woman who was quick witted and sharp, who could read his men better than he could even after spending mere days in Winterfell. And then when he got to know her intimately, she was soft and loving and she smiled and she wanted to touch him constantly, she would let Arrina take her hand and joke with Edric so easily.

Cregan seemed to realise that perhaps Lady Stark and Princess Visenya were different. That Visenya Stark and Visenya Targaryen was not the same woman.

This only became more and more clear in their first war council. Daemon Targaryen was cold and calculated. He spoke of war as Cregan had often thought of it, with excitement.

Queen Rhaenyra watched Cregan warily and she often looked at her daughter too although Visenya watched on silently beside him. He had never seen her so quiet in a war council. It was bizarre and foreign to him to have her beside him and have her silent. But Daemon Targaryen asked her nothing. He didn’t speak directly to her only to Cregan and even that was minimal.

Rhaenys Targaryen and her granddaughters were there as well as Cregan’s men behind and beside him.

When talk of the North began Visenya and Cregan both leaned forward, their ears practically pricking.

Rhaenyra was quiet and distant, undoubtedly mourning her son with every passing second but when she spoke, she spoke concisely.

“The idea to intern at Moat Cailin is good, it provides a blockade to the North and keeps the Northern forces close enough to march at a moments notice.”

Daemon rolled his jaw, as though he didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Yes, a stroke of genius by our Lord of Winterfell.”

Cregan narrowed his eyes across the table at the Prince and he felt his fists tightening. He was growing tired of the Prince already.

“A stroke of genius indeed.” he nodded, his tone thick with frustration “But it was my lady-wife's idea, not mine own.”

Visenya bristled beside him, as if not wanting the praise. And her eyes drew up towards her mother and Daemon who watched her closely.

“An excellent strategy” Rhaenyra nodded, the ghost of a smile at least the effort of one for her daughter.

Visenya seemed to be surprised at the attention, attention from everyone at the table. Cregan wasn’t sure what kind of quiet girl had left Dragonstone many moons previous but the woman who shouted and swore at him, who challenged him at every opportunity was very different.

Talk continued for over an hour and while Cregan spoke up, he answered questions and gave his opinion on things he knew about. Visenya stayed very quiet. She stood next to him, her eyes fixed on those who spoke and those who reacted. Cregan knew that she had to have always been an observant and clever person to have made so many shrewd assumptions and observations about people but he hadn’t realised that her being outspoken and opinionated was a characteristic that she had learned in the North.

Cregan wasn’t sure what he thought of Daemon. The prince undoubtedly loved his wife and he held the Targaryens in such high regard that he saw them as a sort of Gods. They were infallible, irreproachable. No one was even close to them.

But he knew that was what made Visenya nervous. Aegon the Younger and Viserys were just children but Cregan didn’t trust Daemon enough to not want them on the throne instead of Jacaerys and Joffrey. There was a line of succession. And Visenya had been removed from it by becoming Lady Stark.

There was something bubbling beneath the surface of the Prince. Something that there may have been glimpses of in Visenya and her mother, and brothers. Something dangerous. But the way Daemon regarded Visenya, how he watched her and how his eyes moved over her when she stood away from the table or turned. Cregan knew what he was looking for, he just didn’t know why.

*

When Cregan returned to his chambers, having taken Winter outside for a while to clear their heads, he found something he had always been glad to find. A hot bath. And his wife in a robe.

But she wasn’t smiling coquettishly at him or disrobing tauntingly slowly. She was wrapped up in her robe, her arms folded around herself staring down at the bath lost in thought. Her whole form jumped when the door opened, having forgotten he would be returning.

“Sorry I... I didn’t realise it was you” she apologised, embarrassed for her reaction.

But Cregan shook his head, regarding her carefully.

“Don’t apologise to me, princess.”

She smiled at him, but it wasn’t the big and brilliant smile he was used to. It was pained and weak.

“Would you rather I leave?” he asked, shocking even himself with his gentleness.

She was clearly still unsure and nervous after everything she had been through. And Cregan wanted nothing less than to make her feel more so.

“No, I should rather that you stay” she replied quickly.

Cregan nodded, turning his back to her as he took off his sword and cloak.

He could hear her robe hit the ground and water moving, her soft sighing and a settling sound. He couldn’t help his reaction which made him the rarest sort of bastard but his lady-wife in a bath as he’d seen her before. Shining, wet skin. Dark hair piled onto her head and pink cheeks. The way she’d lean over the edge to talk to him and taunt him, the way she’d arch her back so that her breasts would come up over the waterline.

“Your home is a strange place, princess.” he said, hoping that conversation would distract him and ease her.

“Most Southerners would say the North is strange” she said, water sloshing slowly behind him.

Cregan almost smirked.

“Why?” he asked, his cloak and furs abandoned at the foot of their bed.

“Northerners are stern... they’re a lot more conservative than Southerners for one thing.” she said, her voice coming up to more than a whisper.

“We’re conservative?” he doubted, his back still turned.

“Some say backwards and traditional...”

Cregan smirked, he had found her so refreshing in her southern ways when she first came North. He hadn’t realised she might have found him backwards and traditional.

“In what ways?”

He asked, turning finally to face her and she didn’t seem displeased at his attention. She sat in the bath, her head tilted back and her knees drawn up so all that stuck out from the water was her shoulders and head and knees.

Her lilac gaze slid to his.

She shrugged.

“Northerners don’t let girls train.”

Cregan stepped forward, under the pretence of warming himself by the fire but he wanted what he always wanted. To be closer to her.

“Neither do the South, you were an exception to the rules, princess.” he remarked, knowing that girls weren’t trained anywhere in Westeros, that Visenya had been trained in secret and in haste.

Cregan warmed his back at the fire, facing where she sat in her bath. And she watched him, turning on her side until she rested both hands on the edge of the copper bath, her chin on her hands.

“What is it?” she asked, sensing his hesitation.

Cregan rolled his jaw back and forth as he did whenever he wasn’t sure if he should say something or not.

“I don’t care for it.” he said, his eyes looking up at the ceiling.

“For what?” she asked, her cheek against the back of her hand and her hair starting to curl around her face and the nape of her neck from the steam.

“For the way he speaks to you, the way he looks at you...” he said finally, showed his irritation finally.

Her brow furrowed.

“Who?” she asked.

“The Prince Daemon.”

Visenya’s brow scrunched in confusion.

“Daemon loves my mother, he doesn’t have any great love for me but—”

“—But he watches you as though you are the main obstacle he faces.” Cregan finished her sentence for her.

And by her reaction, it certainly was not what she had been planning to say.

“What?” she asked, her confusion clear.

“The Prince watches you, he watches when you don’t speak, when you react, when you look at me, when you don’t look at me, when you move towards Edric or move towards me.”

Cregan had been watching Daemon throughout the council and something was strange. He just couldn’t know what the prince’s motives were.

Visenya clearly did not know either as that v-line that formed when she frowned appeared beneath her dark brows.

“He has been watching you, hoping to catch a glimpse of what you might be hiding beneath your cloak, princess.”

He said, lowering himself to his haunches beside her bath until he was at her eye-level and he could see her confusion clearing like a fog lifting.

“Why would he have concern for whether or not I am carrying a child?” she asked, unsure.

Cregan had missed being this close to her, not just physically but having her face inches from his was a balm. One of the tendrils of hair that curled down her face was the perfect size for him to wrap around his finger and watch bounce back into place.

“I don’t know, princess... but I fear that he sees you as some kind of threat to his plans. And I don’t think he takes well to threats of any kind.”

Cregan said, his voice low. The walls could have ears and he needed his confession to stay between them.

As his hand fell away from her face, her own hand turned and opened, letting his slip into it just as it had many times before. She let them rest there, between them.

“I am no threat to my family.” she shook her head in disbelief.

But Cregan had known that she was capable of much more than her family had ever thought. He’d known it since the first time she went toe to toe with him.

“You are a threat to the entire realm, Senya. And it’s time you start remembering that.” he reminded her, his lips finding the soft, warm skin of her cheek when he kissed her there.

“Cregan?” she whispered, her eyes questioning.

He didn’t care what she was going to ask. He'd say yes. He knew he would. Whatever she wanted.

“You can say no but... would you get in here with me?”

He couldn’t say no. Never in a milllion years, in a million lifetimes would he say no to that.

“Aye, I would” he nodded, his lips drawn to her cheek once more before standing to get rid of his clothes.

She smiled modestly at him, sliding forward in the bath. It was large and she was small, they would certainly fit although he had never gotten into a bath with someone.

She slid forward until there was room for him and once he was naked, she busied herself with tying up her hair. He stepped in behind her, his chest loosing a groan at the heat of the water against his muscles.

Once he was sat and his elbows propped up on the sides, she started to move back into the cradle of his lap.

“Senya, just to warn you—” He began but Visenya took no notice.

“Cregan, I know” she replied casually, unbothered by the way his erection lay between his stomach and her back.

“I didn’t want to...offend you” he offered, unsure.

He felt her chuckle slightly through her back against his chest as she rested back against him.

“I should think me more offended if you had no reaction at all, Lord Stark.” she remarked cheekily, sighing contentedly when his arms came around her middle and wrapped her up in him.

In the peace and quiet of their room, nothing for noise but Winter’s breathing and the crackle of the fireplace it almost felt like Winterfell for a moment. And Cregan missed it wholeheartedly. Somehow having her there helped although he wasn’t sure how that was.

Her fingers stroked over and back his forearm, the gentleness and softness that she touched him with like nothing he’d ever had.

“How could I be a threat to anything at all?” she whispered, her voice almost fragile as his cheek pressed against her head “I don’t even have a dragon anymore...”

And Cregan had been waiting to tell her, knowing that tomorrow when they woke she would be ready for it. But she needed rest now, she needed him to hold her and let her rest. Because tomorrow she would be exactly who Daemon and the realm feared. A dragon. The Lady of Winterfell.

Chapter 18: XVIII

Notes:

Things are heating up for the Dance of the Dragons - don't hate me for my version of Aemond being so unlikeable!! Let me know what you're thinking, what you're liking, love reading and replying to comments! <3 M

When morning broke, Visenya was already awake. Her lord-husband was still fast asleep. He had stayed awake for the better part of the last week watching over her and letting her rest, she knew he was in need of a proper rest. One that he seemed to be getting in her bed chambers on Dragonstone.

A strange thought. She’d never had a man in her bed there. It would have been much too risky and when she’d been with men before him, it was never a romantic endeavour with terms of endearment and flowers. It was something else, something rather empty and impersonal. Something she had never had with Cregan thankfully.

He slept behind her, one arm stretched out under her and the other wrapped around her middle, banding across her chest so that his hand held her shoulder and his chin rested in the crook of her neck.

On their way from the Riverlands to Dragonstone they had been sleeping on roll out mats beside small campfires. There was no time for pitching tents or making camps with beds and privacy. Lord Umber and Ser Jarrald had been sleeping mere feet away from her and although she trusted them with her life, it wouldn’t have felt right to be sidling in next to Cregan. She had slept next to him, often pulled a bit closer by him when she couldn’t get comfortable and he put her head against the solid middle part of his thigh. She’d feel his hand ghost over her back while she tried to sleep, just over and back.

Now she did the same for him, her fingertips back and forth over his forearm the way she did when they were drifting off. His deep and steady breaths didn’t change. Not even when she slipped out from under his grasp and dressed.

Visenya had brought nothing with her. Cregan had brought some of her things from Moat Cailin but she could not find them and what she had left behind on Dragonstone was not even worth mentioning. The amount she had been eating since Cregan had found her and helped in gaining back what weight she had lost but she had changed in Winterfell. Her hips seemed rounder and fuller, her legs stronger, her shoulders too.

When Visenya tried on a dress she had often wore before marrying Cregan, the seams wouldn’t even touch. A knock on the door from a lady’s maid brought a dress from her mother. A red dress. With stitching reminiscent of flames on the bodice. How Targaryen.

Visenya didn’t like it but she had nothing else so with her wolf pin attached, she made do.

Jace was easily found in the mornings. After breaking his fast he spent a few hours practicing his High Valyrian and studying the histories, battles, strategy, and stories. Anything and everything he could one day need as King.

He was born to be a King. And mere minutes later, Visenya was born. In her youth, she had often wondered for what.

“You’re getting much better than me”

Visenya said as she descended the stairs, her accent a little rusty.

Jace turned from where he paced. He nodded at her in greeting.

“I always practiced more than you so that would make sense.”

He remarked, his sharp tongue something Visenya had missed. She almost even laughed.

When she stood on the same footing as him, him only inches taller they were alone for the first time since she had returned. And things felt so nostalgic in their old rooms where they had fought and studied and bickered and laughed and made jokes at their brother’s expense and learned how to be two sides of the one coin.

But there was something cold about it now.

“Did you know?” she asked, needing an answer.

Jace winced slightly, his dark eyes looking away from his sister. His eyes that had always been a reminder of who their real father was.

“I feared the worst when you both didn’t return... Mother held hope, as did Joff...”

Visenya nodded. Jace had always been the first to face reality. Hope was too dangerous in times as dangerous as these.

“I am so sor-” She began but her brother caught her by the elbows.

“You are not to apologise. You are not responsible. This was no one’s fault but that Kinslaying swine, Aemond.”

Jace almost spat when he said his name, his eyes burning like coals.

“He pulls all of Aegon’s strings, Jace. Aemond plots for much more than just taking King’s Landing”

She told him, her knowledge of what Aemond had wanted to do with her burned into the part of her mind that held her nightmares.

“It makes my blood boil to think he still breathes after what he did.” Jace seethed, a kind of anger that Visenya hadn’t known he had. Jace was always the calm one.

But losing his brother had been too much.

“I know” she nodded, feeling that same hatred but something had been stewing inside her that she needed to tell.

“I have information, Jace. Information that could change things.” she told him, her voice low although she didn’t know why.

Jace nodded, listening.

“It’s about Vhagar.” she said, looking around her before telling him “I don’t think Aemond can control her, not entirely. When she went for Arrax... Aemond tried to stop her but he couldn’t.”

Jace’s brow furrowed. A claimed dragon was dangerous. But one that was not under the control of their rider was lethal.

“So you think we should be more lenient on Aemond?” he said, his emotions and temper too high to see what his sister meant.

She blanched, pulling her elbows away from his grasp.

“What? Of course not, Jace I am just saying-”

She tried but Jace waved his hand.

“I can’t listen to this, Aemond is a murderer and a traitor, he is a usurper and a kinslayer and I will have justice for my brother.”

Jace yelled, days of unheard silenced grief spilling from the seams of how tightly Jace held himself together.

“I know that, Jace. I do not speak of leniency but of his dragon. This could change everything on a battlefield!”

She tried but he wasn’t listening. Like all men, Jace saw a women upset and thought of hysterical females not people who had something to say.

Hearing the raised voices, Visenya was not glad to see her mother and Daemon join them from the stairway.

“What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenyra asked, her nerves frayed already.

Visenya was not surprised at her mother’s quick approach to the situation. And she was not even remotely surprised when Daemon chose to stay back by the doorway, leaning against it on one shoulder and watching them with a cool expression.

“I am just explaining that when we were at Storm’s End, I noticed that Aemond is not as in control of Vhagar as we think... as he thinks either.”

Rhaenyra seemed unsure, her eyes looking to Jace as if to confirm or deny. But Visenya had seen it with her own eyes.

“Mother, if Vhagar is not controlled by Aemond she is not controlled at all... Aemond will know this now.”

Visenya said, knowing that the number of dragons on each side was a very significant figure in this war. And Visenya felt her own loss more than ever.

“Rhaenys leaves to patrol the Gullet This morning, be sure to wish your grandmother a safe journey.” Rhaenyra told her first borns, her palm cupping Visenya’s cheek and then Jaces’.

Visenya frowned.

“Why the Gullet?”

Rhaenyra shared an unsure look with Visenya’s brother over her shoulder and Visenya knew they were hiding something from her already.

The Gullet was the patch of land between Dragonstone and the mainland, somewhere where troops would gather before attacking Dragonstone.

“What is it?” she said, her tone flat. She was utterly sick of being ignored and she had not even been at Dragonstone a whole day.

“It’s nothing, my sweet girl-”

Rhaenyra began but Daemon’s narrowed eyes at her and the discomfort in Jace’s eyes made Visenya sure she wanted to know.

“Tell me” She said.

Jace avoided her eyes.

“Jace” she ordered, fixing him with a stare until he relented.

“It’s Aemond... he left Ser Criston Cole to guard the empty mill in the Riverlands where...”

Jace trailed off, unsure if not to continue.

“Where he kept me chained like a wild dog.” she snapped, her voice surprisingly steady.

Jace nodded.

“Aemond sent Ser Criston there to stop you being taken or escaping but he stopped around Stone Hedge where he ate in a tavern... and he was heard speaking of...you”

Jace told her, the protests of his mother falling unanswered and unlistened to. Visenya wanted to know and Jace had been her companion, her ally since the moment they came into existence. He wouldn’t fail her now or ever and when she fixed him with her stare, she knew he would tell her.

Visenya was cold again, not like the cold she had felt in Winterfell which had been so crisp and refreshing. It was cold like she had felt alone in the dungeons she had been chained in. Debilitating and frightening.

“What did he say?” she asked, her voice cold and unfeeling even if she felt it all.

“Senya, you need not--” Rhaenyra tried to save her daughter from it, tried to reach for her but Visenya pulled from her grasp and grabbed Jace’s hand and squeezed.

“What did he say, Jace?”

Jace relented, a deep breath and slow blink before he spoke again.

“He said that Aemond had finally gotten what he’d always wanted. The Bastard princess who had needed her wings clipped was his. And that he was going to break them off one at a time, was going to quench every flame, spark and ember you had by taking you to wed and to bed and that once you had given him an heir and a spare Ser Criston said he hoped...”

Visenya felt sick but her voice persisted.

“Go on.”

Jace persisted, although even speaking the words aloud made him want to find his Uncle and give him the slowest death he could imagine.

“Once you had given Aemond an heir and a spare Ser Criston hoped Aemond would give you to Ser Criston and his men, and when they’d finished with you they would give you to their horses and what was left to the dogs.”

Ser Criston was cruel. Visenya had always known this. But even she hadn’t thought him capable of such atrocities, such vicious acts against the family he was sworn to protect. But Visenya had seen her Uncle kill Luke, she should not have been shocked to hear what he had told his men but it made her sick to her stomach.

What they would do to her was beyond what she had even imagined. And she couldn’t help but think of the North, of Cregan. Of what he would have done to get her back, to avenge her if he knew.

“Who will go with her?” Visenya asked.

Rhaenyra looked almost withered when she looked at her daughter.

“No, Visenya.” Jace answered.

“Let me—” She protested but her mother and Daemon would not hear of it.

“No, Visenya. You’re more of a risk than anything now.” Daemon remarked, and although it was the truth it stung.

She was a risk, a liability, a weak link. That’s what they saw now.

“Mother, the wild dragons remaining on Dragonmount, they are still —” Visenya began although Daemon’s steps forward and her mother’s interruption stalled her.

“No, Visenya. Aemond will be dealt with for what he has done to us, the Northerners will stay where they are and so shall you!”

She said, her voice cold.

“Mother, we cannot wait—” She pushed, but Jace’s pleading eyes with her didn’t stop her.

Rhaenyra could not listen any longer.

“No, Visenya! You need only concern yourself with recovering. You’re home, you’re safe and that’s where you’ll stay.”

“Mother, no! Let me...I have knowledge, I can fight—”

“I said no, Visenya! You have no dragon and I will not send you on foot into a battle. I have lost enough of my children.”

Rhaenyra yelled, her voice catching at the final word. Children. First her daughter, now Luke.

She would not lose her little girl who had been brave since the moment she came into this world, who had defied every odd and survived and endured and recovered and always came back. Too many times had she sat at her bedside and prayed for another breath, she would not risk her again.

But Visenya had been told too many times in the North how singular, how influential, how important she was in this war. But her family clearly did not see it anymore. But she had been told it too many times, shown it, proved it that she couldn't be anything less now.

*

Visenya tried to leave the castle but she was turned back by guards who told her it was safer if she stayed indoors. She tried to visit Joff and her little brothers but their Septas told her they were doing their lessons. She asked to speak to Rhaenys and she was told that her grandmother wasn’t taking visitors while she was at prayer in the Sept.

She had been sent North for her family. She had married for her family. She had flown to Storm’s End and fought her uncle for her family. She’d lost her brother, lost days of her life to rot in a cell. And all anyone wanted was for her to be safe. To be well. To rest. To take it easy.

Well, Visenya was sick of it.

When she burst through the door above her head and climbed onto the battlement she was almost shaking with it. Bright blue skies above her, skies that went for miles and miles that she had no access to. Training arena below that she wasn’t permitted into. Rooms that stayed locked, doors that shut in her face after welcoming in her brothers.

She felt him behind her before she heard him.

“I know that look, princess and it usually comes when I’ve done something regrettable.”

Visenya didn’t laugh, she wasn’t sure she could make any noise without spitting in anger at that moment.

But Cregan knew it when he saw her face. She was not in a gaming mode, not even for him.

From the looks of it, he had been training by himself up on the quiet, private battlements. Blue skies and no clouds, the sun beat down coldly on her back and on Cregan’s face, shining on the sheen of sweat he sported on his forehead that he wiped away with the back of his arm.

“Tell me” he said to her, stowing his sword and folding his arms across his hulking chest.

And Visenya shocked herself when she started talking. She had always been a brooder. But she didn’t anymore, she found herself seeking him out to vent at, to talk to, to hassle and pester.

“They won’t let me out of the castle. They don’t want to hear what happened at Storm’s End. They don’t want anything from me, after everything I’ve done they want me to stay home, to rest and do fucking nothing as if that’s all I’m capable of.”

She snapped, tugging her hair at the scalp with her fingers and being even more bad-tempered when her rings snagged in her hair.

“Seven fucking hells” she snapped, yanking her hand out and flinging the offending ring to the floor.

“What are the reasons they give?”

He asked, not liking the idea of anyone telling his wife what to do. He dared not even do that himself. And if he did, he expected her to tell him to go fuck himself. So, why when it was Daemon or Jace did she take it as law.

She scoffed, a dry and irate laugh as she rolled her eyes.

“They say I have already been through a lot.”

She almost spat it. As if she didn’t believe a word of it, as if they didn’t understand it in the slightest.

“You have been through a lot, princess.” Cregan said carefully, leaning back against the wall until he was almost at her eye level when she spun on him, her fists clenched, and her eyes lit with flame and fury.

“I’ve been through much worse! Have they ever thought about how it was for me?” she yelled, safe in her rage that they were alone “I lost Ser Harwin, I lost Ser Laenor. I lost my dragon and with it my place in the sky, my place as a Targaryen dragonrider. I lost my freedom and my agency, I had no choice for so much and yet I still gave up more for them, always everything I had to give I gave and now they don’t want it! Now when I’ve given them all I had, they say no more!”

“Maybe they’re right, Visenya”

He said plainly. And she hated him for it.

“You don’t get to say that! Not after everything you promised.”

She yelled, stepping up to him and slamming her hands into his chest in an attempt at shoving him. He didn’t move, not because she lacked force but because it was like trying to shove a brick wall.

“Maybe I was wrong to promise so much. Perhaps the North and I expected too much” he shrugged, an innocent look on his brutally handsome face.

And she burned, fumed, she was furious. More than he had ever made her. She shoved him again, both heels of her hands slamming into his chest and feeling a sense of triumph when she heard his breath catch from the blow.

Stepping up right against him until they were toe-to-toe she looked him in the eyes when she said it.

“I am Lady of Winterfell and a Targaryen Princess, I am a dragon-rider and I have men waiting in Moat Cailin for my signal. If you want to bury your head in the snow, be my guest Lord Stark. But if you break faith with me, you better hope for a long winter. Because after we end this war with the Greens, I will come for you and I will take your head from your shoulders in the courtyard of Winterfell so that everyone knows you are a traitor and an Oathbreaker.”

She was furious. And Cregan was enamoured.

He hated to see her upset but he had hated seeing her heartbroken more. But that fire inside her had burned low and he had needed to stoke it.

And when he started smiling, dimple appearing in his cheek and the vicious white line of his scar meeting it she knew he had done it all on purpose.

“There she is” he grinned, his hands slipping down and his fingers ghosting on the edges of her hips, tops of her thighs as she stood up against him in between his legs as he leaned back against the low wall.

“What?” she snapped, her brow still furrowed.

He had done it on purpose, aggravated her, made her think he was losing faith.

“I thought I’d lost you there” he remarked, his fingers pressing into her hips and squeezing against the soft skin of the curve.

Visenya had been lost in grief for her brother but Cregan could shelter that storm, could weather it and shield her. But being the quiet princess who wasn’t asked questions or listened to, was told to wait, to be quiet, to do as she’s told and rest. She wasn’t that princess and Cregan had known it. The woman he had taken to wife was not the kind to take orders.

“You shouldn’t provoke-” She began to say but her husband interrupted her, another ill-advised action.

“Yes I should,” he said plainly “Especially when you forget who Lady of Winterfell is. Let them argue over titles and alliances and tensions. We fight the real war, princess and we fight it for our own reasons.”

Their own reasons.

For honour and oaths and promises. For home and family and Winterfell. For him, for her, for them and all that would come after them.

“There’s something else afoot here, princess” Cregan murmured, his eyes flitting over her shoulders and scanning their surroundings suspiciously.

Visenya felt it, like a cold chill and the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

“What?” she asked, unsure.

Cregan’s jaw tightened.

“I’m not sure yet. I think your House are none too pleased that the North seems to have won you over.”

Visenya nodded, humming quietly in agreement although not sure what to say.

Daemon was not pleased at Visenya’s growing affections for the North and its Lord. But Jace seemed nervous too, as though it was perhaps not in everyone’s best interest. Although Visenya knew that Jace wanted only the best for his sister, she hoped his hesitation was simply his high standards.

“They realise their dragon in the North is more Wolf than puppet on strings.” Cregan said, his words cutting deep but that didn’t make them untrue.

Daemon sent her North wanting her to have Cregan Stark as the Targaryen’s war dog. What had happened instead... she did not want to try clarify, not even in her own head.

“Shut up” she chastised, although it was only half-heartedly, her heart still pounding from her temper, but the heat Cregan exuded from his fingertips and the way he tugged her nearer did wonders for her irritation.

“Threaten me again, princess” he asked of her, his hands squeezing her hips in his large hands and his face burying itself in against the skin of her neck, his teeth and lips against the soft skin that was right under her ear.

She rolled her eyes at him and made a weak attempt at pushing him off of her although she didn’t want him to get off her at all. She smiled, properly for the first time in what felt like too long.

“You’re ridiculous” she sniped, feeling his heat against her chest that he tugged her in against as he kissed her neck and caught her ear lobe between his teeth.

Cregan groaned, clearly unhappy with the dress she had been given. He was used to the soft leather of her riding clothes that she usually wore under her cloak in Winterfell. At least when she wore them he could get his hands on her easily, slipping under her cloak to grab a hold of her.

“I hate it too” she replied, not even needing him to say it as she fidgeted in the dress and its awkward, stuffy collar.

“Ingrid sent some clothes for you, you’ll need to change.”

He told her pulling back from her neck but not before pressing a kiss to her jaw and the corner of her mouth.

“For what?” she asked, her hands drawn to his chest as they always did.

Winking at her, a squeeze of her hip and catching her chin between his forefinger and thumb he stole another kiss.

“I was going to wait but...I think you are more than ready. Edric has been doing some scouting for me, I had an idea when we left the Riverlands and I was right.” he said, checking over his shoulders and knowing that they were truly alone.

“You have business on the Dragonmount.” he told her, watching her carefully when her eyes widened and she understood.

And he got another smile, a relieved and hopeful smile. Before she stood back and grabbed his hand and pulled him after her with a new determination in her eyes.

*

Cregan was not a man who knew much of Dragonstone or the Dragon Mount. Targaryens kept most of the information and customs they had surrounding dragons private and secret for fear that the world may see them as anything but Gods.

Lord Stark didn’t believe the Targaryens were anything but men. His father had told him that dragons were special but those who sat astride them were just men. And men died, men bled, men could fall, could be felled. They were men just like those who stood on the ground or sailed a ship around the world.

But when he saw Visenya Stark reunite with her dragon on the Dragonmount, she was more God than woman and he would go to his grave swearing something otherworldly ran in her veins.

They had left before dawn broke, wanting no more pushback from House Targaryen. Visenya was quite sure she would not be allowed to leave should she have mentioned it to her brother or mother, or Gods forbid her stepfather.

Visenya had woke Cregan with a hand over his mouth and a finger pressed to her lips. It was still dark but he could make out his wife instantly, her shape recognisable beneath his hands and even in the dark. She had her cloak hood pulled over her head and her leathers and boots already on.

He dressed quickly, under the watchful scrutiny of his wife who passed him his sword to secure across into his belt and the other weapons he secured to his person. Visenya put a bow and quiver over her shoulder although she hoped not to need it where they were going.

Cregan also discovered his lady-wife was stealthy. She had clearly snuck out from the castle before, knowing each step that creaked and where guards rotated and where they didn’t. Closely following her, they slipped out from the castle unnoticed and silently and headed for the Dragon Mount.

It was perilous, large and dark even with the sun creeping up into the sky. And it was cold but Cregan and Winter were used to the cold. Winter had been waiting at the door for them when they rose, clearly refusing to be left behind. Visenya had just nodded in the direwolf’s direction, clearly content for the wolf to come along.

“Come on girl” Cregan whispered, allowing Winter to overtake them as they climbed.

They had started climbing perhaps three hours previous. And while the air was getting thinner and Cregan was beginning to wonder if his sources had been mistaken, Visenya would not stop. She let Cregan stop and pass her some water, but each time they stopped it was not for long before she would push on.

“Princess, maybe I was wrong, maybe-” Cregan began to question but her raised hand was enough to stop him.

She cocked her head, as if sensing something because Cregan heard nothing.

They had reached a flat inlet into a section of the mountain where the sun caught the white caps and glistened.

“Visenya” Cregan tried again, but his wife shut her eyes and held her hand out still.

She breathed in slowly through her nose, her head tilting and her voice finding itself at home in the eerily silent mountains.

“ynot” she called out, not shouting or yelling as Cregan had expected but soft, almost like a plea to the wind.

Cregan heard it then, a rumbling and echoing like an avalanche and snow shifting. He had heard all of the stories of the wild dragons, Sheep Stealer, Silver Wing and the Cannabil still roamed the Dragonmount. And since the death of Ser Laenor, Seasmoke had apparently returned to Driftmark. Cregan moved towards his wife, not knowing what he could do but knowing he would not do nothing.

But his actions were not needed. His lady-wife snapped open her wild eyes, knowing exactly when to do so apparently because as she did, the clouds burst open and appeared to spit out a dragon.

Not just a dragon. Her dragon.

Grey Ghost screeched, like the fury of her absence could not even be contained. Cregan had never heard a dragon make that noise, something so enraged and shocked.

But he had nothing to fear for Ghost skidded to a landing, kicking up snow and ice all over them until he landed in front of her. And he shoved his head into her middle, knocking the air from her but not hurting her for she smiled and she wept, her tears glittering against her pink cheeks.

“hegnīr Ghost” She shushed him, her arms reaching around his large head until she could rest her forehead against him in a way that Cregan recognised, an action she often did with him.

Ghost panted against her stomach but Cregan could feel the emotion between them, the tension that had clearly affected Ghost. Aemond had stolen her and with Vhagar as his dragon, Ghost had been bullied and threatened until he left her, something he had never wanted to do.

That was what Visenya had believed and it was what she knew when she noticed the marks and charred scales on her dragon. Something that made her even more furious than the scars that had marred her own body.

“I’m so sorry, Ghost” she sighed, her fingers gentle over the scales where Vhagar had ripped at with her claws.

But Ghost seemed as though he understood, nuzzling in tighter against her.

Cregan could feel it. As though Ghost wanted nor needed no apology but wanted only for his rider to be back with him. It was something Cregan often felt with Winter, a type of connection that went beyond everything he knew.

“We will destroy them” she whispered against her dragon’s scales but said in the Common Tongue for the benefit of her husband too.

And he nodded.

“Aye, princess. We will.”

*

Cregan waited where he had seen her take off on Ghost’s back. She hadn’t told him when she would be back but he knew she would be. And after just under an hour she returned, more life in her eyes and pink in her cheeks than he’d seen since they’d left Winterfell.

“Alright?” He asked, not hesitating when she reached her hand out and he grabbed it, holding it as she jumped down onto her own two feet.

She nodded, an easy smile on her lips even if it wasn’t as big as it used to be.

“Thank you” she breathed, almost sighing it as she looked up at him.

Visenya may have found Ghost on her own but it was Cregan who had gotten her back to him. It was Cregan who had rescued her and tended to her until she could tend to herself.

Cregan just nodded, his forehead resting against hers for a moment.

“We should get back before they miss us.” She said, almost mournfully.

Cregan nodded, knowing that her family would not react well to their disappearance. But Cregan didn’t react well to people wanting to know his comings and goings either.

“What of Ghost?” he asked, very aware of the giant dragon behind them who stared intensely at him.

“He can stay up here until we are needed.” She said, her gaze stuck on her dragon no doubt thinking about what he had seen when Aemond stole her, what he had felt when he watched Vhagar kill Arrax.

“There’s something else I want to show you,” Visenya said, her grip on his hand tightening as she started in the direction that they had come.

Ghost took to the skies again behind them, vanishing almost instantly into the mist and clouds in a way that Cregan would never tire of seeing. Almost like his rider, the dragon could blend in until the last moment, until it was too late for you to draw your weapon or call for help because your assailant would already have the better of you.

Visenya led again, picking down the mountainside carefully and slower than they had ascended. She was in no hurry back but descending was definitely a more dangerous and boring journey. But when they reached an inlet to where the path would curl back towards the castle Visenya moved towards the beach instead.

“I thought you had abandoned your dreams of killing me, princess?” he questioned, almost laughing when she led him further along the beach and into the cliff face, further into the rock until he noticed where she took him, almost into the cliff itself.

“If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t do it here” she remarked, parroting exactly what she said to him the first morning she woke beside him.

“Good, you’d never get away with it” he replied, his same reply as always but his gaze pulled upwards until he realised what he was looking at just inside a crack in the cliff.

It was a tiny space, barely wide enough for them to stand shoulder to shoulder so they stood chest to chest, or rather with the height difference between them chest to face. But she looked up and he dropped down a little.

“When we married, we made oaths and vows” she said, her voice sure but quiet in the small, dark space “We promised many things to old Gods and new... and you have made oaths to me now too.”

Cregan nodded, not sure what she was asking of him. But he realised as she held out her hand and showed him what she held. She wasn’t asking anything of him. She was giving him something.

“Our words... I didn’t truly believe what I said at our wedding, at least not all of it. And when we lay together that first time... it felt as though from then on, we have been bound together...”

Her words didn’t surprise Cregan, he had known that their wedding was not the love-struck affair that many girls had dreamed of. But feelings like that were for children he had been told and what he had with her now felt more than some silly romance like in the songs. It was more real, more visceral, more everything.

Because she wasn’t some princess and he wasn’t some charming knight.

But looking at her then, sweat on her brow and mist clinging in her hair, leathers for war not a silk dress and the smell of smoke and ash clinging to her hair rather than lemons and vanilla. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted the idea of a princess or a lady or anything at all.

“Aye we have.” he nodded, not sure of his own voice when he could feel his pulse thrumming in his neck and he couldn’t help himself from reaching out, his hand going to her neck and his fingers tracing along her own pulse that hammered beneath her skin.

“In the old days, Targaryens bound themselves in the tradition of Old Valyria... with blood drawn from dragonglass.”

She said, almost unsure of herself as she held open her palm. A jagged piece of black, glittering dragonglass sat in her open palm.

Cregan had heard of their wedding traditions, knowing that it was how Aegon the Conqueror bound himself to both of his sisters and presumably how Targaryens wed Targaryens. But it was not a custom extended to other Houses when Targaryens married others.

“It’s to promise to continue the bloodline between us...” she said, her eyes locked on his.

This was no empty vow or promise. This was the closest thing in Visenya’s world to an unbreakable oath that she could do. It was hers, it had been a Targaryen custom to higlight the Targaryen blood strength.

And she wanted to do it for him, with him. She wanted him to see her as making her own oaths, her own promises.

Cregan had never been made a promise like this before. No one had stood before him and pledged themselves to him alone. Yes, many had pledged themselves to Lord of Winterfell, to Warden of the North. But none to him alone knowing all of his burdens and secrets, knowing what and who he truly was.

But Visenya took up the piece of dragonglass and with her eyes on him, she dragged it against the middle of her bottom lip until he saw a ruby red drop of blood squeeze out. And he nodded when she reached her hand up to him, dropping down on one knee in front of her so she could reach easily.

She hesitated for a moment.

“Don’t be gentle with me, princess.” he reminded her of the first time they had laid together, making her eyes ease slightly as she drew blood from him.

And she gestured for his hand, which he held out immediately.

She didn’t cut deep into his hand but across his palm until a line of red lay there. And he watched as she did the same to her own hand, unflinching at the pain.

When she spoke, she spoke in High Valyrian and lowly, her hand raising to meet his where the warm blood that dripped from her open palm met that of his own hand and mingled.

And when she raised her eyes to meet his gaze she didn’t repeat it for him. She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or just a hope that he would know in his heart what she said was not something to be dismissed.

One flesh, one heart, one soul. Now and forever.

Cregan couldn’t take it anymore. So, when he pulled her in by their hands and wrapped his other arm around her back to kiss her he was so relieved to hear her sigh in relief he felt like crying out and thanking the Gods.

He had missed it, the soft warmth of her under his hands and the way her hands grabbed at him and pulled him closer until she was almost climbing up him. He sifted his hands through her hair, holding her head and he was unable to fight back the groan when she pressed herself against him.

He could taste the blood on her lip but he swiped gently at it with his tongue and she didn’t seem to care or even notice when she did the same to him. And when she grabbed at his shoulder and squeezed, pulled his arms around her and made him hold her tighter. She was his Visenya, the one who argued with him and taunted him and seduced him and cared for him. And he had missed her.

The girl who left Dragonstone had crept back in. And with her so tired, so grief-stricken perhaps she had let it happen or her family had been more than happy to coddle her and shield her and shush her. But Lady Stark was nothing if not able to shield herself and frankly, unshushable.

Reminded and fuelled by the breathy sound she made when he broke from her lips, only to kiss her cheek and down her jaw. It was dark and quiet where they hid, and Winter was the only living thing nearby. And her eyes fluttered shut when he nipped at the skin of her neck in a way he knew she liked, in a way that made her back arch and her fingers grasp at him.

“I miss Winterfell” she sighed, almost as if she didn’t even know what or how she was speaking and her eyes were shut until they fluttered open to look at him.

It was dark but her eyes practically glowed when she looked at him.

“We’ll go home when it’s over, Princess” he told her, his forehead grazing hers.

She nodded, the corners of her lips tilting up as she gently wiped her thumb against his lip and chin where their blood dried and stained.

Cregan had been raised as a soldier, reared for battles and war camps. And he had heard many crude remarks and talk of women. One of the things he had heard was about a maiden losing her virtue and the blood she often lost as a result. Of course, he had never seen it or experienced it with Visenya. But the men had talked about it as if it was something they had won, something they had conquered.

But the blood on Visenya’s lip that she had drawn of her own free will to make an oath to him was infinitely better.

Every inch, every step, every smile, every touch and sigh he had earned from her. She had given him nothing because she had to or she should. It made it all the more sweet every inch he gained with her and she with him.

“What of the Prince Daemon and his plans?” He asked, knowing that since he had warned her, she would be wary and extra observant.

He brushed some hair back from her brow and let his back rest against the wall so he could slouch down for her and be closer to her eyeline. He relished how she moved in until she was nearer him.

“They told me that it was Ser Criston Cole’s responsibility to prevent my rescue or my escape... he made more vile remarks... none of which need repeating.”

She told him, keeping the details to herself, especially when she felt Cregan’s body tense.

“Daemon and my mother want me to be kept on Dragonstone. I don’t know why” she admitted.

Cregan nodded, digesting what she said.

He was quite sure Daemon had motives hidden. Daemon watched Visenya carefully, as if she was a growing threat, a potential wrecking element to his plans. He just couldn’t figure out why.

Visenya loved her family, she had done everything in her power for them. She would die for them, fight for them, bleed for them. And Daemon saw her as a threat.

Visenya Velaryon had been his creature. His step-daughter to wed off, to train, to advise, to order.

Visenya Stark was someone new.

Someone Cregan Stark had firmly in his camp.

“Your place isn’t on Dragonstone in this war, Senya.” Cregan told her, in case she needed reminding.

She nodded, although slightly less sure of herself than he would like.

“I know” she nodded.

“Your place is in the sky.” he said, his voice low but his grip on her tight.

She hesitated, her teeth digging into her bottom lip before looking up at him.

“I’ve never fought a war, Cregan. I’ve never even fought a real battle.”

But Cregan tilted her head up to his and shook his head.

“You fought on Bear Island. You won.”

Visenya took a breath, as if she was going to argue it.

“We’ll return to Moat Cailin, we’ll march on King’s Landing with our own forces and take from the North. We’ll let Prince Daemon and the other Lords lead from the South.”

He told her, having already hatched their plan. He would fight with his men and more importantly, he would have her nearby.

“I don’t think the Greens know.”

She said, her finger absentmindedly tracing the cut in his lip. The mark of their promise to start their own blood line, something Visenya had feared her whole life but knowing that bearing Cregan’s children was her responsibility, one that didn’t fill her with as much dread as it always had.

“Know what, princess?” he asked, sure that his eyes glazed over slightly when she looked at him like that.

Leaning in, with her lips against his and the taste of blood and sea salt on her lips she replied so softly it was almost gentle but no less threatening.

“That Winter is coming.”

Chapter 19: XIX

Cregan couldn’t keep his hands off her. When they finally left the beach, much to Visenya’s disappointment they made their way back to Dragonstone where the guards questioned where they had been and told Visenya that her mother was looking for her. Visenya knew that her mother probably wanted to know where she had been and what she had done but Visenya stunk of smoke and seasalt, she didn’t want to have another dead-end conversation with them. She wanted to be left alone with her husband.

“Tell my mother that I will come find her after I’ve changed.” she said, over her shoulder and stalking away, her husband left behind to shrug at the guards and wait for them to jump to action.

They clearly weren’t used to her orders like he was. The Princess had clearly learned a thing or two about being in charge in Winterfell. Whether or not Cregan did as he was told was a different matter.

He caught up to her quickly, his stride much longer than hers. And when he caught up to her, she was glad when he fell into step beside her and she could feel his warmth and presence. She had missed being so close to him, she’d missed wanting him the way she had before.

At their chamber's door, she paused. Resting her back against the heavy wooden door and tilting her head up at him, she regarded him again and was again thankful that the Gods had seen fit to put them in each other’s paths.

His gaze stayed fixed on her, watching her hands go up his chest and loop around the back of his neck until her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck and made a shiver go up his spine. She smiled, almost smugly. She liked knowing that he reacted so strongly to her.

“When do we leave?” she asked, wanting only one answer.

Stooping down so that he was nearer to her, always wanting nearer even though no where was near enough unless he was inside of her and she was on top of him.

“We will tell the Prince Daemon and his commanders, we will say goodbye to your brothers and our Queen and we will go.” he spoke softly, knowing that the walls had ears.

Visenya felt the tension in her shoulders start to slacken. Back to Moat Cailin. To Ingrid and Lords Cerwyn and Karstark and Northerners. A few months ago, she never could have imagined finding a war camp of Northerners an appealing prospect.

She even missed the cold. The heat of the South, the suffocating humidity on Dragonstone, it felt almost too much now.

“Yes, my Lord.” she nodded, a light-hearted smile on her lips that he smirked at.

“Does that please my lady?” his brows raised and his body pressed in closer.

“You should pleasure your lady more often,” she whispered back, wanting nothing more than for him to shove through the door and throw her upon the bed.

Something about being back with Ghost, about seeing him go through with the binding ritual, coming to Dragonstone and defending her, sustaining her. Something about being Lady of Winterfell one moment and Princess the next and realising that Lady Stark was her preference every time. It made her want to jump his bones in a way she’d scarcely felt before.

“Is that an order?” he asked, his voice low and breathy against the skin of her neck that made her shiver. Especially when his lips took hold of her earlobe and sucked for a moment but not for long enough.

As Visenya’s brain seemed to empty of everything except for how to reach the handle of the door and get her and her lord-husband to the other side of the door as quickly as possible, heavy footsteps jerked her out of her lewd daydream.

She straightened up although Cregan didn’t move. He stopped his heavenly assault on her neck but he straightened up only slightly, looking over his shoulder to see who was daring to disturb them.

“Prince Daemon” Cregan greeted him flatly, not turning to face him or giving more than a courtesy look over his shoulder in the Prince’s direction.

Visenya still stood against the door, almost entirely hidden by her lord-husband who didn’t move away from her. But she could see under Cregan’s arm. And her stepfather looked furious.

“You were summoned to speak with your Queen, not told to take your time, frolicking in the corridor.” He snapped, his eyes burning and Dark Sister strapped to his side ready for any moment he might need her.

“Lady Stark will be with her Queen shortly.” Cregan bit back, unmoving in his stance before her.

Visenya watched between them like a duel, one to the other and found herself wondering if it came down to it, who would win. Because to two men like them, winning meant being the man who ended up holding the other's severed head up in the air.

“Lady Stark will be with her Queen presently.” Daemon snarled, his glare directed at Visenya’s husband. His voice dripped with disdain at Visenya's new title.

She watched him hold that glare until he dropped his gaze to Visenya. And it softened.

“Senya, your mother wishes to speak with you. Come.” he said, in a much more reminiscent tone than she expected. And more importantly, in High Valyrian.

It was how he used to speak to her when she lived on Dragonstone. When they used to laugh at each other’s jokes and argue good naturedly in High Valyrian at the dinner table. When she had never wondered if Daemon cared for her and her brothers because she had been so sure he did.

“I’m coming.” she replied, nodding.

Daemon held Cregan’s stare for a moment longer before nodding and slipping back the way he came until she was alone with her lord-husband again.

“I will come straight back.” she told him, stretching up on her toes and pressing her lips to his cheek quickly.

Although as she tried to slip under his arm, he caught her by the elbow and caught her lips with his, laving his tongue across the split in her lip and gently grazing it with his teeth until she started to forget where she was meant to be.

She was distracted as she walked but she took the turnpike stone staircase down, down, down until it felt like you were deep into the heart of the underworld where it was warm and glowed with candles and braziers dotted around.

“Mother?” Visenya called out, looking around for her finding it unusual that was where the guards had told her to meet Rhaenyra and even stranger still they were told not to accopany her.

Visenya had been told to go alone and not tell anyone where she was going.

Her leathers kept her warm and the air was dead, like the muggy heat of Summer evenings. It took Visenya a few minutes to find her mother, between the corridors and cells and winding narrow passages, she was in one of the smaller inlets in the ground, almost carved into the wall. Space for nothing really.

“My sweet girl” Rhaenyra sighed, glad to see her and to take a hold of her in her arms.

Visenya hugged her back, feeling almost like a little girl again.

Rhaenyra eyed her daughter's attire for a moment. The leathers she wore were not those from the South, they were Northern. Her mother clearly had more worrying things on her mind. The realm was on the brink of war and it was Visenya’s mother that was holding the match that could light it all.

Luke was dead. Rhaenyra’s son and Heir to the Driftmark throne. It was reason enough to start war but Rhaenyra hadn’t.

“What is it, mother?” Visenya asked, knowing that her mother had been staring, had been hesitating and stopping herself from something. Her whole family seemed to be.

As if they all knew something she didn’t or didn’t know what to say or how to say to her since she had landed on their shores with a direwolf, Lord of Winterfell and a Northern Lord for company.

Rhaenyra’s eyes drew downwards until she saw the mark on her daughter’s lip, the blood that was only just drying. She looked into her eyes and she knew by the look in her eyes what she had done, what she had wanted to do.

“Cregan Stark seems quite devoted to you.” Rhaenyra said, looking at her daughter, something shining in her eyes although Visenya did not know why this would upset her.

Visenya nodded slowly, slightly unsure what to say.

“I don’t think he would choose that word.” She almost scoffed, not sure what word he would choose but it was almost embarrassing for her to think that her mother knew it.

Rhaenyra smiled, quite sadly at her daughter and stroked her cheek gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t have a choice” she said, wistfully.

“I did. I always have a choice.” Visenya retorted, knowing it to be true since the moment she was named Lady of Winterfell.

“And you would choose him?” Rhaenyra asked, her hand still smoothing through her daughter’s hair.

Visenya did not understand. The marriage was done, she was Lady Stark and there was no escaping it until death and even then, she would be buried in the tomb beside him. What use was reminiscing about choices and chances now?

“Mother, what is the matter?” Visenya asked, still unsure what her mother wanted from her and why they met in secret beneath the castle like two smugglers.

Rhaenyra almost flinched and she grimaced. She held Visenya by either side of her head and kissed her forehead before stepping back and taking a breath.

“There is something that is passed from every King to their heir, my father passed it to me when he named me his heir.”

Rhaenyra told her, her voice low and quiet. Visenya watched her mother carefully, confused.

“Your grandsire shared it with me, but never with Daemon. It was I who shared it with Daemon only recently and he believes that we are on the edge of something. They call it the Song of Ice and Fire, Senya.”

Visenya stared back at her mother, almost blankly.

“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered harshly “Jace is your heir, not me.”

Her mother warred internally with something, but her cold eyes shut for a moment as if bracing herself. Taking a breath, Rhaenyra told her daughter something she was never supposed to share, especially not with her daughter who had married out of House Targaryen.

“The Song of Ice and Fire speaks of a great warrior who will come from Aegon the Conquerer’s line. He will be the Prince that was promised.”

Visenya’s mind spun. She had never heard her mother speak of it. She had never heard of it from her Septas or the Maesters. No one had ever spoken of it and yet her mother must have a reason for sharing it now.

“Why are you telling me this?” Visenya asked again, a chill going down her spine.

Daemon’s staring. His irritation with Cregan that seemed inexplicable and immovable. The way he watched them and watched Visenya, wanting to see what she had under her cloak. To see if Visenya was pregnant.

Visenya’s heart sank.

“Because Daemon fears the prophecy does not speak of a child of ours...or of Jacaerys’... but a child born from a marriage between a girl born by flames and a boy born by ice...”

Visenya’s eyes widened as she realised what her mother spoke of.

“No” she whispered but she knew her words meant nothing.

Rhaenyra nodded.

“I fear that Daemon is beginning to fear a child born from you and Lord Stark... A boy who could very well be the Prince that was promised...”

Visenya had no thoughts only that she was so glad they had not yet tried for a child because if they had, his very existence would be in grave danger from Daemon. Visenya knew Daemon loved her mother but he breathed for the legacy of House Targaryen.

A babe, even small and innocent as it may be in her womb was not so innocent Daemon would not be glad to be rid of it. What would happen to her? Visenya would likely take a spill on the stairs or fall from her horse. She would have a little accident or be sent away until she was just another casualty in the war.

“Daemon didn’t know about the prophecy... not when he was adamant on your union with Lord Stark. Now he knows... You must know, you must be careful!”

Rhaenyra told her, clutching her daughter’s hand and kissing it.

“I’m not withchild, mother” Visenya shook her head, knowing it for certain.

Rhaenyra nodded.

“I will do everything in my power to protect you and Lord Stark as you have done for me. I promise I will lose no more of my children.”

Visenya nodded, feeling her throat tightening. Dragonstone was suffocating, even more with the knowledge that secrets festered and rattled around the old walls.

She scrambled for reason, for anything but the reality that her family might turn on her.

“But...my sons will be Starks, just Lords... not princes and Kings.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened, her voice going quieter again.

“The Greens have stolen my birth right and slaughtered my son. They will have war. But the realm doesn’t deserve the war we will fight. But they do deserve a saviour... and they may have one. So long as your sons are princes, not lords.”

Visenya stiffened. Daemon would rage at his wife if he heard what she spoke of. It was treason, treason against her own crown.

“You want Cregan to break with the realm? To break from the Crown?”

But Rhaenyra shook her head softly, her hands holding her only daughter’s head in her hands.

“No my sweet girl” she whispered, leaving the rest of her sentence unsaid. Because Visenya knew it.

Rhaenyra knew when it hit Visenya like a bucket of cold water poured over her. She went pale and her mouth dropped open.

“You want me to break from the Crown...”

Rhaenyra held her daughter tighter, feeling it like her heart ripping inside her chest.

“I want nothing less in this realm, but if this war does not end with me or Jacaerys on the throne you must break with the Crown, you must reclaim the North with Lord Stark and your sons must be Princes. For the sake of the realm.”

The fate of the realm. After months of being told she could be a dragon and a wolf, that she would not have to ever choose. And it was all bullshit. She had to choose. Her children might one day ride dragons but they would always be wolves. It was not that she had no choice but that she only had two. The same that she had always had. Stark or Targaryen. Wolf or dragon.

*

Visenya went searching for her lord-husband. She didn’t find him. Dragonstone was quite large and when she didn’t find Edric, she did not worry. She assumed they were training or discussing moving back to Moat Cailin. But after searching for almost half an hour, she grew less steady.

Dragonstone was practically deserted, only finding Handmaidens and guards who knew nothing of Lord Stark’s whereabouts. Finally, she found Ser Jarrald who was rushing down the stairs towards her.

“Ser Jarrald!” She called out, sensing the panic in his movements.

“My Lady!” he panted, clearly over exerted.

“What is it?” she asked, knowing it was something bad.

And it was.

*

Daemon Targaryen was a busy man. Planning a war was a time-consuming, mind-consuming, all encompassing endeavour. And he was making headway quite well when the doors of his wife’s war council were thrown open, rattling on their hinges and smacking off the wall.

“Where is he?” She yelled, making short work of the distance between her and her stepfather.

“Oh good, I was worried you had forgotten your civilised manners while you were up North playing house.” Daemon snapped, unimpressed with her furious entrance.

“Do not play games” she yelled, pushing the map in front of him to the side.

Daemon leaned down on the table, glaring across at her. She was furious. Practically foaming she was so angry, balled fists and shaking with it like she wanted to reach across the table and cut his eyes from his head.

“What have you done?” Visenya growled, looking down at the table and realising what had moved.

Moat Cailin’s forces.

“Lord Stark is joining the Princess Rhaenys and the Driftmark fleet.”

Visenya froze.

“With who?”

Daemon narrowed his eyes.

“With the men he had with him and whoever he can gather from Massey’s Hook to Sharp Point.”

It was a suicide mission. Rhaenys and the Driftmark fleet were an incredible asset but Cregan would be on his own on the ground. The Greens were already moving for the land Cregan had to defend and with the Hightower forces, they had more men, more horses.

“That isn’t enough” Visenya snapped, knowing that Daemon was probably quite proud of his plan.

Rhaenys and the Driftmark fleet would slaughter the Greens by air and by sea. Cregan and his minimal forces would be slaughtered at no great cost to Daemon and he would have nothing to worry about the Song of Ice and Fire because Visenya’s womb would stay empty and Cregan would be dead.

“Lord Stark sent for his Northmen but one can only hope they make it in time.” Daemon shrugged.

Shrugged. In a conversation about her husband’s life. And Visenya wanted to slam his head into the table until his forehead had the Isle of Tarth imprinted in blood on his temple.

“You had no right to send him away.” She seethed, knowing that every moment she wasted was further away he got.

“He was quite eager to go once he heard who he would face on the battlefield.”

No doubt Daemon had let the detail slip.

“Who?”

“The man who had a lot to say about what he would be doing with you when he got his hands on you.” Daemon told her, knowing that it would spark in her what it had sparked in Cregan.

Ser Criston Cole.

Visenya had not told Cregan what Cole had said about her. He had not needed to know that Ser Criston wanted to break her, to pass her to his men, his horses, his dogs. To see the Princess reduced to nothing, to mere bones. It made her sick. And she could only imagine how it had made Cregan feel when Daemon told him what Cole wanted to do to his wife.

“You cannot keep me from him.” Visenya vowed, shaking with rage when she thought of him gone from her again.

Leaning down on his hands on the table, Daemon squinted over at her.

“This is a war, Senya. Not some game. You will go where you are told and I say, you will stay here on Dragonstone.”

Daemon told her, unwavering.

“I don’t answer to you anymore. I am Lady of Winterfell.”

She snapped, feeling it like ice in her veins and fire within her chest. She didn’t have to stand here anymore and be told where to go, what to do.

Daemon scoffed. A big mistake and the final one he would make to her.

And Visenya hadn’t even known she had a knife in her hand until she felt the cold handle between her fingers.

Cregan had given her many things, including a knife. And she did not hesitate to throw it, straight into the table, impaling itself into the map and into the wood. Between Daemon’s fingers and nicking both of his knuckles when it landed.

Daemon raged but she was already leaving. He stopped when he saw where the knife landed.

The Gullet.

Visenya had turned on her heel and made for the door. She was in her chambers within a minute, grabbing her leathers and pulling them on.

She yelled at Ser Jarrald to be ready to leave. She would not stay there a moment longer. Not when Cregan was being sent to slaughter and she had promised. She had promised that she would not be taken from him nor him from her. And it sustained her, that thought all the way up the Dragonmount until she called for Ghost and was climbing onto her dragon, strapping a bow and quiver across her back.

Cursed be he who tear us asunder.

She had not taken her vow lightly. She didn't care that her bruises were still fresh or that she'd only ever been in one battle before. She had made a promise and she would keep it.

Chapter 20: XX

Notes:

I am really, really sorry for such a delay in this - life has been completely manic and I was struggling to find time and inspiration. Hopefully, this will help me back into the flow of things! Thank you for the patience and kind messages / comments xxx

There had been no time. Cregan said it to himself over and over again on the journey to Sharp Point but he couldn’t even force himself to believe it. There had been very little time that was true. Not enough time to go first to Moat Cailin or bed his wife one last time, but there had been time for him to tell her himself. And he hadn’t.

Because he was a stupid, foolish man who had not thought with his head when he heard that Ser Criston Cole would be there and he had heard what the knight had had to say about his wife.

Daemon had been quite happy to tell Cregan.

To tell Lord Stark about what Ser Criston Cole thought of his lady-wife and what Cole wanted to happen to her.

What he had called her. The Bastard Princess who needs her wings clipped.

The words ‘Wed and Bed’ used in the same sentence as Visenya and Prince Aemond.

What would become of his beautiful, viciously clever and ferociously temperamental wife. Give her to his men and what was left of her to the dogs.

If Cregan had been thinking clearly, he would not have acted in such haste. But he hadn’t thought the same as he once would have done since Visenya had first started letting him see that she was much more than just icey glares and burning tongues.

He should have seen Daemon’s words for what they were, taunts. Daemon pulled strings for every seam and puppet in Dragonstone and beyond. Cregan should have sensed the lacing of his own strings when Daemon had seen how fond Cregan was for Visenya and chose to use it to his advantage.

But Cregan didn’t think of any of that. He only thought of how good it would feel to put Ser Criston Cole down for good and get this infernal war that people sat on the edges of, started.

War was not a prospect to look forward to or want. But waiting on the knife’s edge was worse. And Cregan could do nothing until the first sword was drawn.

And when it started, Cregan felt better than he had in weeks.

His sword sliced through men who pushed at him. His elbow knocked men straight on their asses and the pommel of his sword into the front of their foreheads knocked them out.

On and on and on.

But it didn’t slow. It didn’t fade or ebb. The enemy just kept coming. Man after man after man in green and armour. Cregan didn’t know any of them and if he did, he didn’t look at anyone long enough to recognise them. He didn’t want to.

They weren’t Cole. But he had to be here somewhere.

And Cregan and what little forces he had held their ground. For a while. But there weren’t enough of them. And the Greens were trained and equipped for much more.

Cregan could feel it when it started to slip away from them. And he wasn’t taking steps forward in the fight any longer but steps back.

And of course, on the back foot, Ser Criston Cole pushed against the crowd and put himself right in front of Cregan.

“I heard of your recent wedding, my Lord. My commiserations” He grinned, some blood shining on his temple and dust and mud marking his armour but his white cloak was pristine.

“Ah, Ser Criston. So good of you to remove your lips from the Hightower’s arses and join us.” Cregan smiled back, refusing to back down from the challenge.

Men fighting around them ebbed flowed until it seemed like there was so much space around them it was just them except for the noise of war.

Ser Criston had his sword raised, his helmet cast off at some stage. Cregan fought fair, so he threw his own to the side too.

“You will regret involving yourself in this, Lord Stark... unless you support the rightful heir. The true king.”

Ser Criston said, so intensely Cregan could see that Ser Criston had bought into it all. Ser Criston swallowed every drop of poison from the Greens so long as he did not have to side with Rhaenyra and it had made him a vicious, vindictive man.

“You speak of regret as if you are familiar with the emotion, Ser.” Cregan smirked, the men circling each other like pythons waiting for the first strke.

Cregan knew that Ser Criston was renowned for his skill in battle. Cregan was taller and bigger but that meant he was a bigger target, easier to hit. Cregan would have to time it perfectly.

Cole sneered.

“You are already beginning to sound like her.”

This made Cregan smirk. He wasn’t sure if he was rubbing off on her or she on him but he didn’t mind either way.

“Ah, her?” Cregan asked rhetorically, “You mean Lady Stark. I have heard what you have said about my lady-wife. I must warn you, Ser Criston – I did not care for it so this is going to be personal.”

Cregan nodded, checking his sword once over. And Cregan was glad to see that Cole appeared perhaps less cocky than he had been.

A man on the battlefield with as much skill and honour as Lord Stark was dangerous. But a man who fought and defended his lady-wife in combination with all the attributes of before was much worse.

“She is a bastard-born pup of House Strong who should have been taken from her litter and drowned. She is no dragon.”

Cregan felt himself heat. Like his blood burning inside his veins wanting to light Criston Cole on fire and watch him beg for mercy. He wanted to watch Cole die, watch him scream, watch him beg and plead for life. Cregan had never felt the need to destroy someone like that. And felt such heat.

And when the clouds split open and spat out the largest dragon Cregan had ever seen, he should have known that she would come. She would have been told by the Prince Daemon she was not to leave Dragonstone. Which was why she would have immediately left Dragonstone.

Ghost opened his jaws and screeched, a hair raising and rattling screech firing off again and again as heat gathered in his throat. And Cregan watched for the first time, why dragons would turn the tides of any and all wars.

Ghost spewed flames across the battlefield in the Green’s direction and incinerated what was coming as another wave of Green reinforcements. Gone. In seconds. What would have taken hundreds of the Black’s allies and men, weapons and days of bloodshed was gone in one command from the Lady of Winterfell.

Cregan wanted to laugh and yell when he saw her figure atop the dragon dressed in leathers with a bow strapped around her. She looked like a Targaryen warrior from the books his Maester used to show him. She was absolutely singular.

And then came a second screeching roar and Vermax came up over the cliff face as thought he’d sprung out of the waves themselves with Prince Jacaerys on his back as if he was born to fly.

Criston Cole was cocky but he wasn’t stupid. And with not one, but two dragons on the battle field, there would only be one winner. Fire trumped everything. It would beat cannons and arrows and armies and men every time.

“Your wife may have a dragon, Lord Stark. But you don’t.” Ser Criston Cole said, rolling his shoulders before lifting his sword.

And charging. Hoping to run his sword straight through Lord Stark’s head.

*

Visenya had flown into Bear Island thinking about the people who were being harmed in their own homes. But flying into The Gullet was different. She was thinking about her husband for one. She was thinking about how stupid he was to go where Daemon had sent him, how furious she was with him for leaving without word and how she was going to find Ser Criston Cole.

And the biggest difference this time was that she was not alone.

She had climbed the height of the Dragonmount and called out to Ghost who slammed to the ground beside her, when she realised she was not alone.

“Ghost?” she whispered, her body feeling her dragon’s tension underneath her hand and how his ear’s pricked.

Her dragon could feel it too, she knew it.

And what ripped up through the clouds and slammed into the ground in front of her barely even shook her when her eyes cleared.

“Jace!” she snapped.

“Senya, don’t-” He shouted, pulling on his saddle until Vermax stopped stretching its neck towards Ghost who towered over the younger dragon, snapping his jaws at the youth.

“Don’t tell me not to go, Jace it would be a waste of your breath.” She snapped, securing her saddle and bow on her back but her brother scrambled off his dragon, until he was beside her.

“Putting both of you in the one place is too dangerous for the North!” He tried to reason but Visenya would not hear it.

“It would only be dangerous if either of us, or both of us planned on dying.” she replied, shrugging off Jace’s hand and pulling herself onto Ghost’s back.

“Senya!” he snapped but she continued.

“And the only person who will have the pleasure of killing my lord-husband is me.” she seethed, furious that he left without speaking to her. That he left without her. That he left her there.

“Jace” she kicked his hand off her foot, “Let me go.”

Jace’s eyes pained at what sat before him. What was he to do? Let his sister go off to a battlefield where a man who had spoken about the various ways he would ruin her was? He was to be a King. He couldn’t let her do that. She was too important to the North, to the war, to his mother and above all, to him.

And Jace had lost enough already.

“I shall let you go.” he nodded, stepping back from her and towards Vermax “But not alone.”

And he had come with her.

Visenya knew what he risked. The wrath of Daemon, the fury of their mother, the criticism of his strategists and allies. But Jace had not thought twice about them, only of his sister.

The Gullet was the patch of sea between the mainland and the islands of Driftmark and Dragonstone. Sharp Point was the closest point to Dragonstone before heading further inland, nearer to King’s Landing.

Rhaenys had gone to patrol it with Meleys. She had been watching in case the Green’s decided to advance on Dragonstone however ill-advised it would be. But the Greens had thought of it too and sent Ser Criston Cole with some men to stop the Blacks landing at Sharp Point if they intended to march on King’s Landing.

And that was where Visenya and Jace found them.

Visenya had loved flying from the very first time she sat on Lyraxes back and did two laps of the sky above the dragon pit. It was like disconnecting from the life that troubled you down on the ground and being somewhere else, being someone else. Someone that nobody spread whispers about or looked at with suspicion.

And flying in battle was something she had only ever read about. She wasn’t sure she could ever describe it either. Watching men battle to their deaths down on the ground while she flew above so fast they were like little moving ants on the ground. And she was above all of them, like some sort of puppet master or player of a board game who could wipe them all out in seconds.

The noise was different than she had thought. There was more crashing of metal and grunts and cries than she had imagined. And the smell was worse. Like smoke, burnt flesh and blood. It was vile. But every breath reminded Visenya that it was a good thing. That it meant that they were winning.

Jace was brilliantly strategic and theatrical. But Visenya had gone unseen and unnoticed most her life. She could hide more than Jace and Arrax despite being bigger. On a cloudy day, Ghost could vanish into thin air among the fog or clouds and with smoke rising from the battleground. Visenya had been able to hide in plain sight since Aegon would chase her in the corridors behind the kitchens or when men with sweaty hands used look for the princess to dance with on feast days.

Nobody ever thought Princess Visenya would pose a threat. Then let them think that. Once they realised how lethal Lady Stark was, it would be too late. And she hoped that would remain true when she spotted Ser Criston Cole and remembered what he said about her. What he would do to her, what he would let be done to her.

*

Ser Criston Cole was better than Cregan had given him credit for. But he had been fighting Southerners his whole life and he underestimated what strength was behind every swing of Lord Stark’s sword.

Cregan thought of nothing but what a relief it would be to put his sword through Cole’s chest and be done with it.

And Cregan truly believed he would get the better of him and could feel Cole tiring and growing more and more aware of how the Greens were taking much more damage than the Blacks, that the Greens would have to retreat.

He believed all of this. Until he heard it.

“Cregan!”

The yell was bone chillingly familiar and Cregan knew it was Edric before he turned. It was Edric, beneath a horse being slowly crushed beneath the weight of this poor, dead animal. And with no escape, Edric was a sitting duck.

Cregan knew that a retreating Green would love to report back that he had cut Edric Stark’s head from his shoulders.

Cregan’s head spun. He could go to Edric or go after Cole who was making to retreat away from Lord Stark and the flames his wife’s dragon spewed.

Cregan wanted Cole’s blood for what he had said. But Edric was too vulnerable there.Cregan didn’t think twice before he ran for Edric.

The battle field was littered with bodies of the dead and the injured. Cregan tried to avoid stepping on anyone, be they dead or alive as he ran through the smoke and stench to get to his brother.

Edric had fought well until an arrow had taken a horse down right on top of him. Cregan could see Edric’s chest and right side but the most of Edric’s entire left side was underneath the dead animal. Edric had been trying to get out from under it but it was no good. With his arm trapped, it was no good. And when he saw Cregan, he forgot about being brave and being a Northman and being a Winter Wolf.

“Hey you’re okay, you’re alright.” Cregan promised him, seeing the alarm and panic in Edric’s eyes when he came to his side.

Cregan dropped down on his knees and grabbed Edric by the side of the neck.

“You’re alright, aren’t you?” He said, more forcefully now.

Edric nodded meekly. He was pale and there was blood at the corner of his mouth. Cregan didn’t know what it meant. He just knew that Edric’s best chance was getting away from here.

“Yeah.” Edric nodded, not sounding entirely sure but he didn’t want to worry his brother.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” Cregan promised him, trying to push his hands between the horse and his brother, hoping to find anything that he could grip onto and push away.

“Cregan, did you see her?” Edric asked, his voice almost wheezing from the weight pressing down on his chest.

Cregan didn’t want to think about his lady-wife then. He didn’t want to think about where she was or what she was doing. She was in the skies, just her and Jace so she would be fine. That was what Cregan told himself.

“Aye, I saw her.”

He had seen her flying in after him, seen her destroy an amount of Greens that would have taken Cregan and his men days to get the better of. She had sent the Greens fleeing. She had won it for them, not Cregan for all his swinging of a sword.

And for a man who took pride in being the best in battle, Cregan took more pride in seeing her than he had in any swing of a sword he had done that day.

Cregan didn’t see what made Edric’s jaw drop open and his eyes widen as he gaped up at the sky. But when a shadow fell across Cregan and a blood-curdling screech rang out, he could have guessed.

A dragon. Another one.

When Cregan’s head spun, he caught a glimpse of red and burgundy scales on the belly of a long, serpent like body of a dragon.

The Blood Worm.

Whatever business Prince Daemon had here, Cregan was quite sure it had something to do with his wife.

“Right, I need you to pull back as soon as I lift, can you do that?” Cregan asked, knowing that the smoke was clearing and people were going to see them soon.

Edric nodded.

The sound of carnage and dragonfire and dying and injured was rising, so much so it was hard to hear one’s own breath. Cregan didn’t mind noise, in fact he preferred it. But this was deafening.

“Now, Edric!” Cregan groaned through gritted teeth, his whole body’s strength put into his arms as he gripped the horses under shoulder joint and pulled until there was enough room for Edric to slide out.

Edric could stand, thank the Gods. And Cregan could breathe for a moment. Edric caught his breath and grabbed back up his sword, nodding gratefully at his brother.

“There shouldn’t be long left in this, you can -”

Cregan began to say, hoping his brother could be done for the day, could go back up the hill and prepare to make camp.

But then he glimpsed into the skies at what was going on above them.

The Blood Worm was circling back. Not just that but he was spewing flame and fire down on the Greens who had fled the battlefield and retreated away from the Blacks.

“What’s he doing?” Edric asked, having no idea what the Prince Daemon had in mind.

But Cregan did.

Whatever Daemon’s problems and gripe with Visenya was, it had to do with Visenya’s husband. It had to do with her being Lady Stark, having Lord of Winterfell at her side, being able to command her own men from dragonback, having the Winter Wolves at her back. Cregan saw for the first time that perhaps it would serve the realm (and by the realm he meant Prince Daemon) if Cregan were to die on the battlefield.

“He’s sending them back towards us.”

Cregan shook his head, smoothing his tongue across his teeth and spitting out the blood that was pumping from his lip when Cole had landed a good hit.

“Keep your shield up and keep your head down. Alright?” Cregan reminded him, grabbing his younger brother by the neck and making sure that Edric listened.

Edric nodded.

“Mother will kill us if we die.” Edric smirked, a little glint in his eye that Cregan had seen in his own enough times to know that Edric would be fine out there.

He just hoped his wife was too.

*

Jacaerys Velaryon knew one thing for certain on that battlefield. His mother was going to kill him if he died out there looking for his sister.

Whatever Daemon’s plan had been, Jace couldn’t dwell on it now. He had to keep going and keep directing Vermax where they were needed. But when Daemon turned the Greens back on their own men, it meant a mixing of colours again and if Jace rained fire down on them, he could kill their own men. He could even kill his own sister.

Because he had seen Ghost. And he was riderless.

Visenya had dismounted and whatever she was doing better be worth it because if anything happened to her, Jace would never forgive himself or anyone who had anything to do with it.

It was almost dusk when the noise died down. Clashing and screaming and roaring and burning simmered down until it was groans and cries for help and promises to give it.

It was almost pitch black by the time Jace had finished surveying the skies and deemed their battle a victory. The Greens who had been sent were dead, either lying on the battlefield or burnt to ash.

Jace let Vermax follow the sounds of Caraxes until he found the Green’s temporary set up of tents and medical aid that made up their impromptu camp. But there was no sign of Ghost.

When he touched down, he searched for her but he found someone else first.

Someone who was on the exact same mission.

“Where is she?” demanded Lord Stark.

The Lord of Winterfell had clearly sustained some injuries but despite the blood and sweat and filth that clung to him after battle, he was still looking for her.

“I don’t know, Ghost is on the cliffside. I haven’t seen her since we arrived!” Jace admitted, knowing that it was not the answer he wanted.

Of course, this was the time for Prince Daemon to enter into their conversation looking impeccably untouched and unbothered by the chaos and mess that was the battle.

“Jacaerys, well done.” Daemon nodded, almost the hint of a smile on the prince’s lips when he clapped a hand on Jace’s shoulder in praise.

“And you, Lord Stark.” he admitted, almost begrudgingly although Daemon would never admit it.

“Where’s Senya?” Daemon asked, looking over both men’s shoulders as if expecting her to step out from their shadows.

“We don’t know.” Jace admitted.

And Daemon’s eyes went cold again. Whatever Daemon’s plans were, whatever his schemes and plots. He didn’t want harm to befall the princess. She was his wife’s only daughter, his wife’s treasured daughter, she would break into pieces that could not be recovered if she lost Visenya.

“What in Gods name did you leave her alone for?” Daemon growled, reaching to grab Jace’s arm but stopped himself, clenching his fist in mid-air.

“She was on Ghost, Daemon. I thought her sufficiently safe in the sky!” Jace replied snappily, knowing that Visenya would not take well to being referred to like that.

“Oh, did you? Was she not also ‘sufficiently safe’ when that one-eyed cunt took her for his own, starved and beat her like a dog?”

Daemon growled in response.

“You underestimate her.” Cregan tutted, his eyes drawn beyond the arguing dragon riders to the smokey clearing behind them which caught his eye.

“You know nothing of what we speak, Wolf Lord.” Daemon snarled, his own temper and fury fading when he looked where Cregan was.

Jace turned to look too. And he wasn’t sure if exhaustion and delayed shock were setting in but it was Visenya.

And Jace barely recognised her.

In her winter leathers and cloak, with her dark hair braided back like a Northerner, soot and ash clinging to her sweaty forehead, with a dire wolf at her side and not to mention what was in her hands.

“Senya” Jace sighed in relief at seeing her.

But she didn’t look at Jace or even at her husband. She eyed Daemon carefully, as though she was waiting for him to react.

He had been watching her since she got back to Dragonstone. Watching what she said, what she didn’t say, what she wore, when she looked at Cregan, when she didn’t. Watching in case she took ill, in case she put her hand over her stomach or made excuses for her pallid colouring.

But she watched him too, she always had.

“I am sufficiently safe by myself, Daemon.” she nodded, having heard what he said.

“I’m sufficiently lethal too.” She seethed, throwing the white sheet in her hand at her step-father's feet.

And only when it hit the ground and rolled out of the white cloak it was covered in, did they realise what it was. And perhaps did they only then realise that Lady of Winterfell was not a princess to be trifled with. That she who passed the sentence, swung the sword. That speaking against her carried a price.

A price that cost Ser Criston Cole his head.

*

Visenya felt quite pleased with herself despite how tired and battle frenzied she was. Jace grimaced terribly when Cole’s head rolled across the grass at their feet. Daemon would have smiled if his plan hadn’t gone so terribly wrong. “A gift for your mother” he had said, whistling at someone nearby to gather it up and wrap it back up in the white cloak before he turned on his heel and stalked off in the direction of the main tent.

And yes, she was relieved to see him alive and not disfigured as he had been every time she closed her eyes since he left her. But she was so furious with him. And although her giant of a husband grinned when he saw her, reaching out for her as if he was going to pull her up into his arms. She slammed her hand's heel straight up into his face, hearing the satisfying noise of a crack when the heel of her hand smashed into his nose.

“Seven fucking hells” She heard Jace gasp behind her, not expecting it.

But Cregan had learnt to expect all extremes from his lady-wife and he grinned at her once he dropped his hand from his face and blood shone on his white teeth.

“I missed you too, princess” he grinned, spitting some blood onto the ground before reaching for her again.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing, leaving like that?” she yelled, pushing away from him but he was much stronger than that.

“I know, I know” he nodded, getting his arm around her shoulders and kissing the side of her head before she could wrench away from him.

“You just left” She yelled again, pushing back from him but he was unsteady on one of his legs from where a spear had stuck into his thigh.

“Aye, I’m sorry princess” he nodded, his grip a bit stronger than usual on her and Visenya knew that his wound was causing him to be imbalanced “There was no time. But I should have made time.”

Visenya glared up at him, her hands clenched in fists in case she felt the need to hit him again.

Cregan dropped his head lower, closer to hers and tilted, his dark eyes fixed on hers. Eyes she’d thought she’d never see again except for dead and empty. And she had to gulp down the knot that fixed itself in her throat at the thought of his burial in the crypt. How cold and lonely he would be. How cold and lonely she would be.

“I’m sorry, princess. It won’t happen again.”

And she could feel it. Feel how much he meant it.

Cregan Stark was no Oathbreaker. But he hadn’t been fair when he left. And he knew it.

He wasn’t allowed to just think about himself anymore. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t what he had promised.

The emotion sticking in his throat was dwarfed by the intense stare of his wife’s brother. How he regarded them with curiosity and an almost apprehension.

“Lord Stark” Jace nodded awkwardly, not knowing at what level of acquaintance they were at.

“My Prince.” Cregan nodded politely, his head bowing slightly although his eyes went straight back to his lady-wife.

“Thank you for accompanying my wife. She is yet to be in need of assistance, but I am glad she was not alone.”

Jace stared, watching how Cregan’s hand went around Visenya’s waist and more significantly, how she let him do so, how she seethed but still let him lean on her.

“She would have gone with or without me... I have lost enough of my siblings for one lifetime.”

He said, his tone much more cynical and hardened than a boy of his age should have cause to be.

“What of the princess Rhaenys?” Cregan asked, knowing that she had been patrolling the Gullet before they arrived.

“She flies to Dragonstone with news of our victory here.” Jace nodded, knowing that some men would have to stay and hold the land now they had won it. They would have to keep it until their advance on King’s Landing.

Visenya felt Cregan’s stance waver for a moment. She was quite sure that the battle had been much harder on him than he was letting on. And even if just from the loss of blood, he should be well on his way to fainting.

“If you make your way to one of the tents behind you, you can receive some medical attention” Jace nodded back behind them, up the sloping cliff towards where the injured were being treated.

But they had already decided before the battle, before Cregan left without saying anything, before Visenya had to follow him.

She looked up at her lord-husband who nodded at her brother before reaffirming.

“Thank you. And, your grace?” Cregan nodded, waiting until Jace looked back at him before continuing “Lady Stark and I ride for Moat Cailin at first light.” He nodded, his grip tightening on Visenya as if he had to lean on her but also remind himself she was right there with him.

She was. And she would stay there.

Chapter 21: XXI

Notes:

Thank you so much to anyone who sent kind messages asking about the status of The Winter Wolf (no thank yous for the rude and unhelpful messages that berated me or demanded updates with not even a 'hi'!). I've been lacking inspiration as well as working a full-time job! I hope it is worth the wait and hope the next update will not take so long! Love, M xo

Cregan and Visenya had travelled together with one member of their party injured before. But the roles had reversed this time. And Cregan was not at his best. He feigned wellness but Visenya could see how tired he was, how his leg pained him on that first day of the trip back.

Edric and their men left Daemon's war camp with them and with very little equipment, they slept on bed rolls and around campfires. It was warm down South still but the further North they got, the colder it got and confirmed that House Stark was never more right. Winter was coming. After three nights of this, Edric had made a makeshift tent for Visenya out of sticks and an extra-large tarp, knowing that she probably had more of a need for privacy than rest.

However grateful she was for this privacy, it meant she slept alone. And she was always cold.

On the fifth night of this, Visenya was too cold to even think about forcing herself to sleep. So, she allowed herself to get up. If she was spotted or found out, she would say she needed to get some water. But she knew what she was really after.

And she found him. Sitting against a boulder right in front of her makeshift tent, with his back to her but his sword in his lap and his injured leg stretched out in front of him.

“You should be sleeping.” She said quietly, not wanting to rouse the others who slept.

Something twitched at the corner of her lord-husband's mouth when he heard her. Perhaps he had been hoping for her too.

“As should you, princess.” He replied, tilting his head up to look at her as she came to stand over him.

The fire still crackled and burned, casting a hazy orange glow on his face and making her hair seem to glow almost golden in patches rather than the usual dark pigment of it. Her eyes of course glowed no matter the colour but the firelight made them almost ethereal.

“I was cold.” She shrugged, wrapping her fur cloak tighter around her shoulders. But it was no use.

Cregan smirked knowingly at her and lifted his arm up. The space was so inviting Visenya didn’t think twice about it.

Sitting in beside him, she tucked herself in at his side and sighed when she felt the heat from his side rest against hers and the weight of his arm come around her, his cloak now covering them both.

“How are you?” She asked, her chin coming to rest on his forearm that he hung around her shoulders and neck. Once, she might have found a man’s arm around her neck threatening. Ser Harwin had told her never to let anyone get her in that position. But never with him.

“Better. That arrow caught me right in the thigh but it’s healing now.” He nodded, looking down at his leg. The arrow had gone straight through the layers of skin and muscle and done something horrible but it was a clean wound and Visenya believed when they said he would be fine. Although she worried.

“I promise it wasn’t one of mine.” She found herself joking, feeling finally able to.

Cregan smirked, a puff of a laugh passing his lips as he tightened his arm in jest around her neck.

“Aye, Princess. I know it wasn’t one of your arrows.” He tilted to the side, pressing his lips against the side of her temple before whispering “If it was one of yours, you wouldn’t have missed.”

“If you ever leave like that again-”

“I know, Princess. I was wrong. I promise never to leave for battle without you again.”

His eyes were so dark, Visenya knew most people mistook them for black but there was a glow in them when he made an oath. An oath to her. The ones she liked the best.

Visenya relaxed, feeling herself sag against him, lean her forehead down against his. He could hear the relief in her exhale.

“That battle, Cregan...” She whispered, being sure no one would hear them.

But Cregan nodded.

“It is going to get much worse before it gets better, Senya...” He nodded, his grip tightening subconsciously on her.

That had been child’s play compared to the war they faced.

“We will not be caught without our men again.” He promised, knowing that if Visenya and Jace had not shown up with their dragons they would likely be dead or captured. It would be Cregan's head being sent as a warning not Ser Criston Cole's.

Visenya nodded. The next time she went into battle, she wanted to know that she was entering battle as one with the Winter Wolves. Not just going on some suicide mission on the whims of Prince Daemon.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to return to Dragonstone.” She confided in him, that tight feeling in her chest unspooling at the weight of his arm around her and the heat of his body.

“Aye, Princess so am I” Cregan nodded, his arm around her neck and his hand squeezing her shoulder.

“The South doesn’t suit you” She teased, sinking deeper against him.

Cregan smirked, his scar glowing white from the firelight.

“It doesn’t suit you either” he told her, fire flickering in the reflection in his eyes.

Visenya raised her brows.

“No?”

Cregan shook his head.

“No.”

Visenya sat in the silence for a moment, not expecting him to continue but her lord-husband loved to surprise her.

“The North suits you much better.”

His arm around her tugged her back and tilted her until her face was against his and he could capture her lips with his.

Visenya melted against him, not always content to let him win but content to do so in that moment. She met his tongue in the middle, met his chest with hers and let his hands grab onto her, let him position and move her until she was where he wanted her. And where he wanted her was seemingly right in front of him, astride him with her knees on either side of his hips that sat on the ground.

She was mindful of his injury on his thigh and was careful not to sit back on his legs for fear she would hurt him. Although Cregan looked at her like he didn’t care what she did with him as long as she stayed on top of him.

“Cregan, you’ll wake them.” She whispered, her stern tone not matching up with the soft smile that crept onto her face and made something thump in his chest harder.

Cregan took a look over her cloaked shoulders and saw his men fast asleep apart from the four men who stood on watch almost fifty metres away from them. No one seemed to notice or be bothered to look.

But after weeks without her in his bed and without their usual routine of spending hours every day around each other, Cregan missed her and with the reappearance of that spark and flame and fire he loved in her, Cregan didn’t have to miss her anymore. She was right there, but he was selfish and he wanted her, wanted more of her.

At Dragonstone she had been plagued by nightmares of Aemond, haunted by memories of Luke and hassled ceaselessly by Daemon and his men. Back where she belonged, back with him she seemed to be herself more than she had been in weeks. And Cregan was so glad to see her, to have her.

With her positioned right in front of him, Cregan was glad to be sat down so she was level with him, chest to chest and eye to eye. Although he never minded leaning down to hear her or pulling her up into his arms, he was enamored with the way she looked at him enough to be glad he could have an even better view of her.

“You were formidable.” He said, the words out past his lips before he knew he was going to speak.

But when he saw the smile that appeared on her face, he was glad he had said it again.

“Were?” She replied as if offended but she kept smiling.

“You are formidable, Princess.” He corrected, his hands taking their own initiative and sliding up the soft wool trousers she had worn to bed and under the top of the same material under her cloak. He wasn’t happy until he felt her soft, warm skin under his hands.

“I thought we did quite well.” She replied quite happily, leaning into his hands and being glad about the size of them when he slid one up her back, his hand spanning across the whole of her back. He slid his hand up and held the back of her neck in one hand, the tips of his fingers working out the tension held there.

“Watching you on dragonback, it made me wonder...” He thought aloud, piquing her interest and making her watch him thoughtfully. Although her hands too moved independent of her mind and slid inside the neckline of his undershirt and found the scarred, warm skin of his chest.

She watched and listened, nodding at him to go on.

“What of our children?”

She didn’t react as he thought she once might have but she dropped into thought. Little girls with dark curls and darker eyes. Little boys with lilac eyes and her husband’s dimple.

“Our children will be Starks, but their mother rides a dragon...will they?”

He asked, having given more thought to his future children in recent weeks than ever before. Visenya with a babe in her arms or with a little boy on her hip, a little girl with her eyes. He knew that she had wanted to delay their duty to House Stark and he would let her decide when she was ready but he looked forward to it regardless.

“Yes, of course.” She nodded, her hands heating him from the outside in with her soft and easy back and forth movements across his shoulders.

“We’ll choose an egg for our first-born, one from the clutches on the Dragonmount and then after that, our child can choose the egg for the next babe and on and on.” She explained, wanting it to be like how Jace and she had chosen Luke’s egg and how Luke had chose Joff’s, and on and on.

Cregan couldn’t help the grin that was fused to his face when she spoke about him and their family like that. So easily and happily. It made him want to start right away.

“Dragons at home in the North, I wish my father could’ve seen it.” He laughed softly, his fingers dragging lightly down her neck until they stroked over the mottled and whirled flesh of her burnt back. Her scars didn’t seem to both her in the slightest and Cregan loved the feel of them under his rough hands, loved how they felt like divets in the earth or what he imagined ripples in a lake felt like.

And she seemed to relax in his hands, into his lap as if there was no rush, no need to do something, to do anything. When they had broken that barrier when they had first kissed, things had been in such a hurry. They had wanted more and more and more. And it had been so frantic, so desperate, like they needed the next step always.

Visenya had no idea how touch starved she had been until she started to fall in love with her lord-husband. And she had realised that she looked forward to every time he would reach for her when they sought sleep, every time he would kiss her cheek in greeting or goodbye, every time his hand would find the small of her back.

And there was nothing rushed about it anymore.

Before, it had been different. When they finished, when they were both sweating and panting, her up in his arms or lying on top of him, naked and trembling but not from the cold, there always came that moment.

The moment when things would become tense and they would excuse themselves to somewhere else to do something else. And Visenya had hated it with every part of her. And she hated how she hated it even more.

But it didn’t come anymore. She could stay where she was and he would not move her. He could stay looking at her and she would not look away.

“You really should get some sleep, Princess. We'll be leaving once the sun’s up and we won’t stop until we reach Moat Cailin this time.”

Cregan looked forward to being back amongst his people and perhaps a bigger part of him looked forward to having his wife back with their people too.

“Aye, so should you.” She replied, making something spark in his dark eyes that intrigued her.

“What?” she asked about his smug smirk.

Shaking his head, he smiled at her. A real smug, all-knowing smile that she would have hated once but that she found herself unbearably fond of now.

“You’re beginning to talk like me.” He told her, his hands squeezing and releasing her before smoothing down her back and pulling her down further into his lap.

“I’m Lady of Winterfell, of course I talk like my Lord” She whispered against his lips, joining them with his before he could laugh or remind her of some of her choicest remarks about him when she arrived.

Cregan inhaled sharply when she pressed closer and slid her hand further inside his shirt, further pressed into his lap where she felt him harden against her.

She sighed against him, sagging into his chest and feeling relieved at it.

“We wait at Moat Cailin... for what?” She asked, knowing that no matter what she wanted from him, there was one hell of a war that loomed over them.

Cregan’s hands kneaded her shoulders and sides, loosening her in his very arms. His head tilted up and kissed the corner of her mouth.

“We gather forces, we prepare. We blockade off and protect the North. And we decide what we do next.”

She nodded, having been there when the plans were drafted and glad they were still the ones in use.

“Daemon will have expected me back at Dragonstone.” She mused, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and nestling her head into the crook of his neck which burned like a furnace and smelled like their bed chambers in Winterfell. Like home.

“And I in Sharp Point.” Cregan replied, knowing that Daemon’s plans were for he to be nowhere near his lady wife. Whatever his reasons were.

Cregan didn’t know how but he could feel it, as if he could hear or feel the change beneath her skin or behind her sharper exhales.

“The Prince Daemon wants to keep us far from each other, Senya... I do not know why but I would venture that knowing you see your role as Lady of Winterfell as more than just a necessary evil does not agree with him.”

Cregan said, his eyes scanning between the sleeping men around them and his voice kept low for fear of eavesdroppers although he trusted his men with more than his life, he trusted them with his wife.

“My mother spoke to me of why she fears Daemon wants us to be apart and what he plots as vengeance for Luke.” She whispered, her hands tightening around Cregan’s shoulders, and he could feel it within her. A sort of trepidation and even fear.

“And what of vengenace for you?” He asked, knowing that although Aemond should be made to pay for his sins of killing young Luke and Arrax, he should also be made pay for what he had done to Visenya. Thankfully, what he had only planned to do since Cregan still drew breath and Visenya was no one’s wife but his.

Visenya’s eyes widened slightly.

“Taking Ser Criston Cole’s head was not enough for you?” She remarked, a satisfied smirk on her lips that he was getting used to seeing on her.

Squeezing her tighter against him, Cregan found himself pressing closer. As if there was ever a time when he felt close enough when he wasn’t inside her or beneath her.

“If that was for speaking ill of me and my Lord Husband. What do you think I would do to a man who intended to have my Lord Husband and his brothers killed so that he could force me to be wed and bed and the take the North for himself?”

Cregan felt cold at the very thought. Aemond in the North, his brothers dead, his sister’s forced to live alongside that serpent or perhaps killed too for they would always be the North’s sweethearts no matter how sharp-tongued Torra was.

But Visenya would not stand for it. She had taken Ser Criston’s head from his shoulders for speaking ill of them then Aemond stood no chance at all.

“My mother will not rest until Aemond is dead. She wants revenge not war for Luke. But I fear Daemon sees no difference.” She replied.

Her husband nodded, listening carefully. She was correct.

Cregan had been around battle tactics, war history and politics his entire life as he prepared to be Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. He knew what was happening but for his wife who had only ever been raised to be a princess to see it too, made him all the more content to enter a war with her as his wife not some pretty and docile girl picked by Maesters and Lords.

“Aemond wanted an eye for an eye, but he took Luke’s life instead. By Aemond's own logic, a son for a son is now more than fair.” She remarked, her voice catching slightly on mention of her brother’s name.

The wound of losing Luke was not healing. Cregan knew that Visenya was back to fighting, back to war, back to arguing and snapping and even smiling sometimes when she did not notice but losing Luke had taken something from her that he wasn’t sure anything or anyone could put back. Losing Luke was a wound that would not heal.

“The Queen and Prince Daemon may seek whichever revenge plot they wish. You will have your revenge on Daemon when the time is right.” Cregan whispered, the side of her temple soft and warm beneath his lips.

He felt her nodding in response. And if he had had more sense he would have put her back to bed or requested she move back to her own bed roll. But after being away from her, being kept from her and being deprived of her, he was too easily convinced by her soft and warm body to let her sleep where she was, draped around him. Where he could be sure she was safe and where he finally felt his heart rate slow and his mind calm.

*

Some coins passed between Ser Jarrald and an innkeeper just east of Greywater Watch meant Visenya’s party were able to use one of the guest houses to eat and bathe and sleep for a few hours when it began to grow too cold to sleep outside. The week had passed with long days of travelling that was stunted and slowed by trying to evade detection. But they had to stop and Greywater Watch was as good a place as any.

Without Ingrid, Visenya had filled her own bath and bathed quickly as the water was tepid at best but it was much better than nothing which she had been making do with for too long now. When she was redressing, wearing nothing more than the thin, soft slip of an undergarment Ingrid had had made for her in Winterfell that would fit under her leathers, she heard chatter with Ser Jarrald who was posted at her door before the click of the door.

There was only one person, Ser Jarrald would allow past the door and Visenya knew her Lord Husband must have had some sort of spell cast on him so that he was alerted every time she was indecent or bathing for he seemed to appear. Not that she was complaining.

“My Lord, do you intend to interrupt every bath I take?” She asked. Feigning ire was becoming harder with him for her fondness for him was outgrowing it.

“I would much rather join you, however, I could tolerate being a spectator.” He admitted, checking the door was tightly locked and that the curtains were leaving them in complete privacy.

Rolling her eyes, she put her hands on her hips and waited for him to be done his surveillance of the room before joining her where she stood before the fireplace.

“How much time do we have left?” She asked, getting her hair into the easiest of braids she could manage without further assistance.

Cregan, once satisfied with how alone and safe they were took a seat on the bench that ran along the edge of the room. It was one of the only pieces of furniture in the room aside from the bed which looked small, sagged in the middle and did not look as though the sheets were fresh.

“Not long enough to sleep and certainly not in that” he nodded his head in the direction of the bed as he stretched his arms out and slouched down in his seat and watched her.

He was exhausted and although he had shed his outer armour, he wore his shirt and leather layers to keep warm. Visenya found herself missing the sight of him wearing much less.

“Would you like me to heat more water?” She asked, gesturing towards the fire but he shook his head.

“I bathed next door; it was not quite as nice as this, but it was enough.” He jibed, as if Visenya had been in any great luxury here.

“Yes, well I am a princess.” She joked, sticking her chin out a little bit before noticing how his hand reached out to her, as if in a plea rather than a beckon. For all the gold in the Lannister vaults, she could not have stayed on her side of the room.

She quickly took his hand and was content to be pulled into his lap, between his legs until she sat on one of his thighs and looped her arms around his neck until her face was tucked between his neck and shoulder. Where he smelled like woodland and smoke and something so distinctly Cregan that she found herself craving it when he wasn’t near.

They sat like this for a few moments, until she was quite sure she could feel something changing in the room. The temperature or their temperaments. Something.

Sitting up again, she found him looking at her.

“Your eyes had me in a stupor from the first time I saw you in the court of Winterfell, when you asked me to bow.” He said, so plainly, as if it was no great thing to admit.

Visenya felt her pulse in her throat, comforted mainly by how she could feel Cregan’s in his also. And it was fast.

“You were so infuriating then.” She remarked, remembering how angry he had made her. He still aggravated her, but in a much fonder and more playful way. Something she hadn’t thought herself capable of.

When dragons were angry, they rained fire and destruction. She had had temper tantrums as a child which had resulted in bruising herself. She had had fights with Luke and Jace as children which had resulted in scratched arms and bloody noses. She had had arguments with Daemon which had resulted in screaming matches across dining tables and training arenas.

But whatever troubles she had had with Cregan, he had not melted or burned or been left scarred. He had stayed. And let her be so angry and venomous that she felt as though Ghost had taken over, and then he had still been there at the end.

“When I said being in the North suited you, I was certainly not lying however, perhaps it is the cold that suits you.”

He hummed, his eyes drifting down her face and neck until he was admiring her breasts. Visenya scoffed slightly. More accurately, he was admiring how he could see her nipples through the thin material of her undergarments.

“I thought you promised to keep me warm.” She shifted in her seat, feeling that familiar spark of heat between them and seeing it in his eyes even if they did appear to be as dark as the long night. They lit for her.

“Are you calling me an oathbreaker, princess?” He said in a low, gravelly tone that Visenya had only heard him use in temper but with her it felt like something else was at stake, something she wanted so much she would beg if she had no pride.

“I’m merely asking if you intend to let your lady-wife perish?” She mused, shrugging a shoulder slightly as if she was innocent.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, feeling as though they were stuck in this trance together. Not even when she felt his hand slide from her back to the middle of her stomach. Not when he slid his hand up the middle of her chest between her breasts and ran his rough, calloused finger tips from one side to the other, barely grazing against the sensitive skin and the peak of her nipples.

Visenya couldn’t have kept the little gasp behind her lips if she had tried. But she didn’t want to try. She wanted him to hear it now.

“I would set the realm to the torch if it kept you from perishing.” He murmured, followed quickly with “In spite of how well it suits you.”

His last comment was said with a purposeful drag of his finger around her nipple that made her gasp although his first comment made something thump inside her chest.

“Cregan” She sighed, her eyes drifting towards the door which separated them from their men who were resting, bathing, eating and sleeping before their final trek back to Moat Cailin.

But the men outside were too busy to care to listen or wonder where their lord or lady was.

“We need not do anything. I had just wanted to see you and touch you without twenty men standing around.” He replied quickly, his hand returning to hold her waist, to squeeze and relish in the warmth of her on his lap and her chest grazing his.

“Gods, I’ve missed you.” He sighed, his lips kissing the skin of her neck before burying his face in her chest and sighing against her.

Whatever it was about Visenya Stark, she made his head quiet. His mind stopped planning battles and thinking about maps and where his men should go, what Aemond Targaryen would be sentenced to and the sacking of King’s Landing. It all slowed down and felt as though his thoughts finally came one at a time and slowly, slow enough for him to make sense of them rather than the usual frenzy he was subject to.

Visenya was content for a few minutes, just content and calm that he sat there with her in his lap and his head resting in her chest. He was warm and strong, his arms holding her against him but with every exhale, his breath would sweep across her chest and graze her nipple like the ghost of a caress that she craved.

Cregan seemed unaware, as though he had no idea what effect he had on her. And after a few minutes of this, she couldn’t bear it any more.

“Cregan” she sighed, shifting in his lap and knowing that the heat she felt between her legs was coming from him and not the fireplace.

Sitting up, he turned her towards him in his lap.

“What is it, Senya?” He asked, hearing the plea in her voice and misunderstanding it as pain or fear.

But when he looked in her eyes, he saw the burning flames of lilac and the pink in her cheeks. With wid, dark pupils and the almost panting-like pace of her breaths, Cregan knew lust when he saw it. Especially in his lady-wife.

“Cregan.” She sighed again, almost like a plea for him. And although his princess did not beg, she was asking him. And he could not refuse her.

“What can I do to help, Princess?” he asked, his eyes lit with the same excitement now as he pulled her tighter against him and fought back a grin.

“Touch me, Cregan.” She whispered, her hand taking his and guiding it back to her breast.

And when his large hand cupped one of her breasts and squeezed slightly, his thumb stroking across it until the calloused tip scraped her peak gently, she felt it. That fire that felt restorative, not damaging. It felt like the very best that her House could hope for, fire that warmed you, fire that sustained you.

And she had missed it.

She had missed his hands that roamed across her body too and when his hand slid to the middle of her chest she was so desperate for more, she took his hand in hers and slid it down her body until it was between her thighs. Cregan hesitated, but then he felt how wet she was. He looked at her again and she shifted in his lap until she felt him hard beneath her.

“Gods” He groaned, his fingers sliding against her and burning for her when he felt that soft, warmth again and realising how desperately he had missed it. And how desperately he had missed the panting breaths she made when he had her close, the way her hands grabbed at him but they were always too small to wrap around his shoulders or his arms entirely.

“Cregan” she groaned when he softly drew circles against her, knowing where she needed him most and he attached his lips to her neck.

His teeth scraped against the pulse in her neck and Visenya shivered. The Winter wolf’s teeth were sharp but he would never hurt her.

“That’s it” he whispered against her, feeling her pulse speed beneath his lips on her neck and her hips shifted restlessly.

She gripped his neck tighter, her fingernails surely marking little crescent shapes in his shoulders but Cregan liked knowing he was marked by her. Like a scar from a lesson learnt but Cregan was a Northman so, scars were like trophies. And he was proud of each and every one.

“Gods” She whispered, her forehead falling onto his shoulder and nuzzling against the crook of his neck when she felt two of his fingers slide into her and stroke against her inner walls where he knew was most sensitive.

He kept going, kept his fingers moving and his touch light when he felt her breath hitching and her fists tighten.

“That’s it” he groaned, feeling his own desire burning through his veins as she clenched down on his fingers and her whole body tensed against him. And she gasped, a surprised noise every time no matter how many times he had brought her to this point she still was almost shocked at how good he could make her feel. And Cregan loved every second of it.

He loved how she grabbed at him, how she shuddered and trembled for minutes afterwards and how when she finally opened her eyes they were dark and filled with so much affection and want for him and only him, it made a shiver run down his spine.

But he loved more how insatiable she was. She took less than ten breaths before she was reaching for him again and her hand slid between them, finding him hard and desperate for her touch.

“I haven’t taken my herbs since I left for Storms End” She whispered, her hand pumping up and down, squeezing at the tip and smiling through their kiss when she heard him groaning.

“We don’t have to—”

He began but Visenya finished his sentence with her lips on his.

“You’ve marched South for me. You’ve called your banners for me. You’ve gone into Battle for me with no surety of survival. You’ve kept your oaths to me ten times over, Cregan. And I am keeping mine.”

She whispered, for fear anyone would hear them despite their solidarity together. His eyes were wide but she saw his pupils grow when she looked at him and she felt the lump in her throat ease.

“If I see myself fit for battle then a birthing bed is no less frightening...” She said, shrugging as if it meant nothing.

But Cregan knew her well enough to know that dying by the sword or by dragon fire did not scare her. But lying in a birthing bed with no control over what happened terrified her so much she had lied to him for months.

“It is. But you will not take to it alone. I will not leave your side and you will not be hid away or kept in secret. You will fight this war with me for as long as you wish it.”

Visenya knew she was doing the right thing from his words. He would not shun her to a secret stronghold in the North or refuse to admit her into council if she was withchild. If a woman could sit the throne, then a pregnant Lady of Winterfell could sit the War Council.

“Okay.” She nodded, knowing that her voice sounded smaller than it usually did. But Visenya was on the verge of doing something she had sworn she would not.

But Cregan Stark was her husband and without an heir, he was vulnerable. People could claim their union was not consummated and that she was no Lady of Winterfell. She belonged to the North just as the North belonged to her. And she wanted her children to be Northerners. She wanted them to be Cregan’s.

Daemon did not want her to give Cregan Stark heirs for fear they would fulfil the prophecy rather than his own sons with Rhaenyra. Doing things that vexed Daemon was nothing new to her. But Visenya cared not for Daemon’s scheming, for the fate of the realm because the fate of House Stark now took precedence in her own mind. They were hers to protect. Just as she had been theirs.

“If it happens, it happens. But my Lady wife takes precedence over all else.” He said then, his hand cupping her head as though she was something precious to him. And she knew it was. Her life was something precious to Lord Stark and becoming pregnant would not diminish this.

She smiled, through the kiss he planted on her lips. But when he stood and stooped down so he could reach her, he stoked that fire inside her again. She would never be satiated from him for long it would seem. And when he pressed against her, bending and craning his neck down, she felt him hard and heavy between them.

They rid him of his underarmour leathers and his shirt quickly. Between them, she undid the stays and laces of his trousers until he stepped out of them and was naked before her. A sight she would never tire of, not when he looked as dangerous and wicked as all the stories of Lord Stark promised. But his touch was gentle and his gaze was adoring, and Visenya knew he would never bring her to harm.

Visenya pulled her slip over her head with ease and dropped it to the ground beside them.

The way Cregan inhaled sharply at the sight of her made Visenya quite sure she wanted him more than anything else. And the way he cupped her face and looked into her eyes made her sure that he wanted nothing and no one but her.

He stooped down to her, not leaving her lips escape his for a moment as he scooped her up from the backs of her thighs and lifted her into his arms. She wrapped herself around him without hesitation, wanting to feel as much of him against as much of her as possible.

“The bed is too small, Cregan” She said against his lips, sensing the direction he was taking them in. But he seemed to care not.

“We’ll manage.” He whispered, lowering them carefully until she realised what she was lying on top of. Cregan’s furs.

It smelt like woodsmoke and Winterfell and Visenya felt herself missing their bedroom at Winterfell with a pain in her chest. They were so far from it now it felt like years since she had slept night after night with him. But they were together, which was much more than they had had in recent times.

She was lying on her back, Cregan looming over her when she realised that they had never been in this position before.

With Cregan’s inexperience and Visenya’s intentions of never letting him finish inside of her, they had predominantly been in positions with her atop him or on the mornings when they ached from the night before, on their sides.

This felt different and Visenya wanted it.

“This is good, like this.” She reassured him, knowing he had sensed her moment of unsurety. But she reached up and pulled him down against her so his chest was against hers. He kept most of his weight off her, propped on his elbow by her head but he was warm and heavy against her and she loved it.

Arching her back, she felt his hardness against her and it dragged against her softness just as she wanted to.

“Yeah?” He asked, his unsurety so endearing that Visenya grinned when she caught his gaze.

She couldn’t tire of the way he looked at her. The way his eyes went from her face down to her breasts which moved with every push of her hips, to her hips and down to where he dragged himself against her.

“Gods, look at you” He groaned, gripping himself in his hand and nudging the tip against that spot she always directed his lips towards when he was lucky enough to get his head between her legs.

The sound she left out was almost akin to a mewl. He liked it so much he did it again. And when she opened her eyes, she reminded him that in essence, she was still a spoilt princess who got what she wanted. And he was what she wanted.

“Cregan, please.” She groaned, her hand finding his own wrapped around himself and guiding it towards her folds where she knew it would slide in perfectly.

Her request could not go unanswered. He was quite sure if she had looked at him like that and asked him to pick a fight with Grey Ghost he would have done it happily.

With both their hands wrapped around him, they guided him towards her and inside her. They both sighed in relief when they felt it. Even with her as wet as she was, it was a tight fit but Visenya had been away from him for too long and she had missed it.

It felt different with her on her back, less of a stretch but more intimate and dare she think, special. His face was so close to hers, his hand curling around her hip and pulling her to meet his hips in his first full thrust in. She hissed slightly, the slight burn being a bit of pinching pain with her pleasure which prompted him to pull back slightly, opting for shallower and softer thrusts that hit something different inside of her.

“Yes, there!” She sighed, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before missing the sight of him too much.

Cregan’s brow furrowed as he thrust into her in shallow, short bursts that seemed to make her fingers grip onto him tighter and her back arch. With her back arched, he couldn’t resist dipping his head and kissing the middle of her throat, down to the middle of her chest where his lips found her breasts and started to kiss and suck and do anything that he thought she might like.

“Gods, Cregan” she groaned when his teeth grazed her nipple and her hands slid down his back so that she could pull him further into her, something he had been trying not to do so as not to hurt her.

“Senya” He groaned into her neck.

She was much stronger than she looked and when she got her hands on his hips she pulled him further into her, deeper into the warmth and wetness and he was quite sure it would be his undoing.

“It’s good, Creg... It’s so good” She stuttered slightly, but the breathiness and pitch of her voice made Cregan sure it was no lie.

And it was certainly no lie for him.

Having Visenya on top of him was perhaps his most favourite sight in the realm. But her beneath him, did something to his chest that he couldn’t quite make sense of when he was so distracted with her right in front of him. It was closer and more intimate than before and with so much of her touching so much of him, Cregan could see why a guarded Visenya had kept it from him before.

It felt tender and full of something soft and almost beautiful in spite of the setting and the feversome heat between them.

“I’m so close, Senya” He groaned, his forehead dropping against her chest and his lips grazing against the soft flesh that covered her sternum.

“Yes” She nodded, her fingers sliding up into his hair and her other hand not moving from his hip, keeping him inside of her and not moving her leg from where it was hooked around his waist.

Her breathy ‘yes’ and the way she nodded at him, her eyes undoubting was the permission Cregan needed. He needed her to be sure.

Visenya didn’t imagine she would finish in this position. It wasn’t the most conducive to her pleasure, not without his fingers stimulating her as well but Cregan had always been the most generous of men and he would drop his head between her legs or his hand until she was finished too.

But this time, it felt so much better than she ever imagined it would. Whether it was the sight of him enjoying her so much or the way his hand snaked up her back and around her waist to pull her down against his hips on each thrust into her, Visenya was making noises she didn’t have enough wits to be ashamed of when he was making her feel this good.

“Fuck, Senya. You feel so fucking good. Gods... fuck I missed you. I thought I’d never have this again.”

He groaned, his words almost unintelligible but Visenya strained her ears to hear them since they pleased her so much. She arched her back again, knowing it would bring him deeper and when she tightened her legs around his waist and clenched, she knew it would be the ruin of him. She hadn’t expected it to be the ruin of them both.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.” He groaned, his thrusts getting faster and sloppier but it was building inside Visenya, creeping up on her as she watched her husband fall apart and she adored every second. She didn’t even want to blink for fear she would miss a second of it. The heat of him against her was almost blistering but Visenya was a dragon, she didn’t mind the heat in fact she craved it.

And when he comes, she feels it like a spasm inside of her and his lips and hand that finds hers and she is more shocked than anyone when she feels her own orgasm be set off. The feeling of him coming inside of her, his hot and heavy body plastered against hers and his hand squeezing hers, it sets off some type of reaction which forces Visenya into what she thinks is surely something akin to a heart attack as her eyes have to squeeze shut and she trembles.

Cregan had made her feel good before, he’d made her feel euphoric and extremely satisfied but whatever this was, was something she knew she would crave again and again and again. Whatever it was, they were still lying there over a minute later, their bodies still joined and getting tremors in their legs and arms feeling that washing sensation of an aftershock that made their spines tingle and made Visenya clench subconsciously.

Her last clench made Cregan hiss, finally together enough to lift his head from her chest and meet her eyes.

Those eyes that had burned at him, taunted him, mocked him, haunted him, flirted with him until they invited him but the way they looked at him then was the only way he wanted her to look at him from then on. Sliding from her, Cregan noticed her wince slightly.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his hand smoothing her hair back from her face and his thumb grazing her kiss-swollen lips.

She nodded, not knowing words that could sum up how she felt.

“That was...” He faltered, not knowing the words. And she clearly didn’t either as she brought her hand up to his face and nodded.

“It was.” She whispered, her lips finding his in a gentle and soft kiss that a few months ago he would have seen no point in but that now he felt himself craving.

“Whatever happens, you are Lady of Winterfell, and you will go into any battle you see fit.” Cregan said, knowing that the fears and doubts she had kept to herself for so long would not just vanish because she wished them to.

The soft smile that pulled at her lips made something warm in Cregan’s chest. He wanted to keep her forever, wanted her to smile at him and fight for him and fight with him when he was being a stubborn prick which he often was. He wanted her to sleep in his bed and monopolise his bath and have his children and raise them to ride dragons and speak High Valyrian and everything and anything else she could think of.

And he knew she was not always forthcoming with her words but when she smiled at him and spoke, he knew that he was deeply in love with his lady wife.

“I am so glad I agreed to marry you.”

That was all she said but it was perhaps the most touching thing she had ever said to him.

Being Lady of Winterfell meant that she was away from Dragonstone, she was out from Jace’s shadow and away from Daemon’s plotting. She was somewhere that she could help and that she could be useful. Being Lady Stark meant that she also was the wife of a man who she respected and yearned for and she dare not say it aloud, but loved.

“As am I” He replied, his voice low and their breaths returning to them at a more normal pace.

It was silent except for the seldom crack of the fireplace and the rustling from outside. They didn’t sleep, for the bed was much too small and there was still a road ahead of them. But Visenya let Cregan place her lying across him and let him trace patterns across her back as she drifted in and out of sleep. She let him slowly rouse her and wipe away what was stuck to her upper thighs with a cloth from the bath. And she let him watch her dress.

When they stepped out of the room, Visenya felt glad of the fresh air and almost felt like smiling for the rest of the day. Hope seemed to have made its way into her heart and shoved the war out for a moment.

But when she stepped out and saw Ser Jarrald’s face, and she saw the way men whispered and turned to stare at her, with something she was quite sure was fear and worry in their eyes, she knew that hope was for children and fools.

Chapter 22: XXII

Visenya knew apprehension and fear when she saw it. She just had never thought to look for it in the Northerner’s eyes when they looked at her. She was Lady of Winterfell, Lady Stark, their Lady and Wardeness of the North. She was not some cruel conqueror who flew north on a dragon and forced them to bend the knee or give up their titles. She had flown north and become their Lady, given them another warrior in their ranks and offered her dragon to their causes for their protection, for their honour and their oaths.

But when they looked at her like that, she felt like the Princess they didn’t trust months before.

“Ser Jarrald, what news?” She asked, feeling Cregan’s presence at her back as he scanned around the makeshift camp and sensed it too.

“Your Grace...” Ser Jarrald fumbled on his words, not something he often did unless he did not want to tell her something.

“Ser Jarrald.” She urged, growing uneasier by the second.

“News has travelled north of an occurrence in King’s Landing last night.” He finally admitted, his voice low.

But Visenya heard the grumble and talk from the other Lords and Northmen who were just outside their door take over.

“The young Prince Jahaerys had his throat slit last night in his bed!” Lord Manderley yelled, an accusatory finger pointed in Visenya’s direction which she did not like but she let slide.

For all she thought of was poor, little Jahaerys who she wished no ill or bad fortune on. And especially not Haelaena, poor, sweet Haelaena who had never wished ill on anyone had lost her son.

“Who?” She asked, her eyes fixed on Ser Jarrald who seemed to have more information than just rumours and anger.

“The rumours say it was ordered by Queen Rhaenyra... as vengeance for the Prince Lucerys.”

Visenya did not believe it. Her mother would never wish for the blood of a child, especially not that of Haelana’s child for they had no part in Luke’s murder. Rhaenyra wanted Aemond’s head, not one of Aegon’s childrens’.

“The Queen Rhaenyra would never order the murder of a child, not when she grieves her own so deeply.” Cregan replied, his hand finding Visenya in a protective grip of her elbow.

Edric stood from his seat around a fire where had seemed to have lost their appetites. He looked bothered and unsure, and Visenya noticed that he would not meet her eye.

“People lash out in grief, Cregan.” He offered, knowing that if Visenya had been killed or dare he think if Visenya and Cregan had a child and that child was killed, then Edric knew his brother would inflict terrible things on those who struck them down.

“Queen Rhaenyra has every right to seek vengeance for the death of Prince Lucerys but killing the young prince... it’s not right.” Lord Manderley shook his head, thinking of his own grandsons who were the same age as the young slaughtered prince.

Visenya could sense it, like a fog in the air that seeped into her lungs. Doubt. Fear. Wavering trust and faith in their cause.

“Kinslayer”

“Murderer”

“The Gods will punish those responsible”

People whispered of their digust at such an act.

And if it was true, Visenya could not blame them. Her mother would never have ordered the death of the young prince but Daemon would. Visenya knew he would always believe in the honour of House Targaryen before all else. But this was an act of kinslaying. She had not thought Daemon would be capable of such a heinous act, especially not with Daemon’s own sons being so similar in age and so dear to him. If Daemon had killed Aegon’s son, the realm would be torn into pieces before long and war would be quickly upon them.

“They’re calling her Rhaenyra the Cruel, Senya!” Edric told her, perhaps the only one brave enough to say it to her but the other men had been whispering it for hours.

And Visenya was frozen. Whatever plans that had been made would have to be remade. No doubt, Daemon would already be calling the banners and urging for an attack on King’s Landing. They would demand Ghost and Visenya to fly south, they would demand Cregan march his men to King’s Landing. It would be a blood bath of kin slaying and slaughter.

Visenya’s mouth felt dry and her hands sweaty. It felt wrong, all of it.

“My mother is no kinslayer. She would not answer the murder of Luke with the slaughter of an innocent child. My Lords, this is slander spread by those loyal to the Usurper...If Jahaerys was murdered by orders from my mother’s council it was not with my mother’s knowledge.”

Visenya wasn’t certain what faith the Northmen had in her mother but they had faith in her. She had flown to Bear Island for them, she had went toe to toe with Prince Daemon, Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole for them. She would not break faith with them. She was a Northerner now.

But for that split second, she had been reminded how the Northerners protected only their own and if she was to betray them, she would likely be left out in the cold.

“My Lady, whoever ordered the murder of a child in his bed has set things in motion which cannot be undone...War is upon us.” Ser Darron spoke, his voice stern but not as gruff as it used be when he spoke to her. His eyes were small and almost black, like Cregans. They were lined with wrinkles and age, something she was never sure if she would get to see on her lord husband’s face with the war that was beginning set on their demise.

“We must make haste to Moat Cailin...” She said, lifting her chin to meet Cregan’s eyes beside her. He nodded, his expression stern and focused.

This was what he had been waiting for. This war that they were going to fight. But Cregan couldn’t help but feel something unfamiliar in his chest. They were three days onwards to their ride to Moat Cailin, three sleepless nights watching Visenya’s chest rise and fall and three long days watching for Ghost’s shadows above the clouds as she scouted the skies ahead. Three days before he realised what it was in chest. Something he had not felt before battle or war before but something his father had promised would come one day and when it did, it was then that he would be braver than ever. With a lady wife, a dragon, twenty thousand Northmen and a war looming Cregan Stark felt fear for the first time.

*

Visenya had passed through Moat Cailin on her trip North to be wed to Cregan in the first place. She remembered it as marshy, bogland that only had one easily travelled roadway through. When they had first travelled through it, the thought had occurred to her that it would provide the perfect blockade to the North for any armies on foot would have to travel through it and with the Northern forces there, they would not pass.

The last time she had passed through it was a ghost town. But this time, when she arrived with Cregan and the men who had come with them from the battlefield, it has been transformed. She saw it with battleworn eyes and saw it as the barricade it was. Men in armour patrolled so that no one entered the vicinity without the Northmen knowing of it. It was a war camp with tents and barricades, weaponries and blacksmiths and men, more men than Visenya had realised the North could send.

“Lord Stark returning!” Soldiers yelled from the entrance when Cregan, Visenya and their men passed through the moat gates.

Visenya had flown most of the way on Ghost, circling back constantly and providing cover from the skies for Cregan and the men she travelled with. But the skies were empty except for the thick, dark clouds which had descended upon the North. She had joined them just miles outside Moat Cailin and when dismounting, Visenya was glad to see men from House Dustin and House Glover, Manderleys and Umbers. Although Visenya noted the absence of Lord Umber, who she doubted was eager to leave his pregnant and beautiful wife.

“My Lord!”

Men parted quickly for their Lord, only to see his lady wife stepping out from behind him.

“My Lady” They nodded and dipped their heads, some even looked as though they exhaled in such relief.

“My Lady!” Visenya heard the voice, soft and kind in relief and she knew who was coming from behind before she turned.

“Ingrid!” Visenya sighed, so glad to see someone so familiar and so familial.

“My Lady!” Ingrid sighed in relief as palpable as the cold that was sweeping the North.

“I thought I told you I had wished you to stay in Winterfell!” Visenya chastised, but her tone was too light and kind to have meant it. She was so glad to see a friendly face and there were few faces she trusted as much as Ingrid’s.

“Where my Lady goes, I go” Ingrid replied, helping her out of her cloak once they were back in Visenya’s tent which was kept prepared and ready for her return.

Back amongst her own things, bathed in her own oils and wrapped back in her riding leathers and furs Visenya felt more at peace in her own skin than she had in weeks. She felt like Lady Stark again.

She went through messages sent from Winterfell, two notes from Cregan’s mother, a handful from Maester Fagan about the winter stores and preparations for the long Winter, and even one from Arrina and Harrin who had signed it together.

She penned replies to all of them, including none of the unnecessary details of her capture and subsequent pain for young Harrin and Arrina. It was almost midnight when she stopped and felt as though she should seek sleep. Although she didn’t crave sleep, so she sought out her husband and when she heard commotion she knew she had found him.

Ser Jarrald who was walking behind her, reached his arm out to stop her when someone came bareling towards them. But it was only Edric, who looked hurried and stressed. His hair had grown even longer and the front was frazzled as though he had been pulling his fingers through it.

“Senya, Cregan’s asking for you to be fetched.” He said, gesturing towards the War tent.

On arrival, it reminded Visenya how much she had missed the men of the North and their war councils. Daemon’s scheming had been not what Visenya cared for. She had missed them. But Northmen were hot blooded and proud. So, it should have been no surprise that there were raised voices while her lord husband stood at the head of the table, the space on his left kept for Edric beside Ser Darron and the space on his right kept for Visenya.

She approached, Ser Jarald taking his position behind her until she stood beside Cregan and noticed the fixed and concentrated way he looked at the map stretched out on the giant table before them.

“What news?” She asked.

Her husband opened his large fist and passed a raven’s message into her hands. Unfurling it, the men quietened while she read.

In her twin brother’s familiar handwriting read: House Bracken, delcaring for Aegon fight the loyal House Blackwood by Red Fork. Mother is sending Joffrey, Aegon and Viserys away to safety with Rhaena, I dare not write where. I know word must have reached you about what happened in King’s Landing - what happened to Jahaerys was no work of our mother’s, Daemon lies for the Riverlands to House Blackwood’s aid . They have asked me to request you return to Winterfell where you will be safe and where you can guard the North with Ghost. I wish to be anywhere but Dragonstone as childish as it might sound but I hate sitting here, waiting. Waiting for news, for orders, for war. I envy you and I do not expect you to even consider returning to Winterfell but please, be careful, sister. Jace

Visenya read it quickly, digesting the news as quickly as her mind could process. Jace did not believe their mother capable of what happened to Jahaerys but he knew that not all who resided on Dragonstone had his mother’s soft heart. It was precisely the softness of her heart that made Rhaenyra want to send Visenya back north. Visenya knew it was likely the urgings of her mother’s council and Daemon who wanted her back in the North for their various reasons.But this did not warm Visenya’s heart or make her feel loved. It made her feel worthless and small, which she rejected.

Visenya passed the note into Cregan’s hand and waited for him to read it also.

Her own heart squeezed in her chest at the thought of her little brothers being sent away. Visenya might never see them again and she felt this pain like ice in her chest. She might never have to pry her hair from Visery's little fist or sit Aegon up on her hip to greet Stormcloud. She might never put Joff to bed or read him stories of Old Valyria, let him sneak his greens from his plate to hers when their mother wasn’t looking or watch him and Teraxes bond so beautifully. She might never get to tell Joff about Ser Harwin and how much he loved them.

Cregan had finished reading when Visenya broke from her thoughts, breathing deep and shutting her eyes for a moment. She would not cry at a War Council but tears clung to her lashes when she looked back at her husband.

“The Prince Jacaerys writes that the Riverlands have begun fighting. The King Consort Daemon flies to their aid on dragonback.”

Men mumbled and spoke to each other, talks of what had happened to poor Prince Jahaerys still fresh in everyone’s minds. Especially when word of the funeral procession through the streets of King’s Landing, where people saw the little boy’s head sewn back onto his small, lifeless body, reached the Northern camps.

“My Lords, I know that what happened in King’s Landing has unnerved you all. But I promise you, my mother is no kinslayer. She has tried to keep this realm from tearing itself apart from the moment Aegon usurped the throne. She would not respond to...to what happened to Luke with a vicious attack on a child, on Helaena’s child..”

Visenya reasoned. She might be far from home but she was still her mother’s daughter and she could not let doubt seep in to form cracks. And she was burning inside with hatred for the Greens and what they were doing to her family. Her family who should be still on Dragonstone, her fathers who both should still be alive and her mother who should be Queen.

“Our concern now is the Riverlands... if House Bracken suceed they will supercede any decisions taken by House Tully...”

Cregan focused again on the map before them which seemed too small to mark out the war they were encroaching upon every day.

Lords Manderley and Glover pointed out the houses in the Riverlands which had already declared for the Greens and who remained loyal to the Blacks.

“Lord Grover grows sicker by the minute, it will be Ser Oscar Tully, his grandson who will rule from Riverrun.”

Cregan added, knowing that Riverrun had yet to decalre for anyone as Ser Oscar likely waited for his grandsire to die so he could go against the declaration Lord Grover Tully had made for the Greens.

“My Lords, what of House Strong?” Visenya asked, her eyes locked on the figure which marked out Harrenhal on the map.

Visenya had never been to Harrenhal despite its obvious calling to her. But the rumours of ghosts and curses placed upon it intrigued her.

“My Lady?” Lord Glover asked, confusion lining his weather-beaten but still handsome face.

“Harrenhal borders the Crownlands, it is the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms. Larys Strong stays in King’s Landing and with him away, his brother Urwin and uncle Simon hold Harrenhal for House Strong.”

Visenya pointed out, knowing that Ser Urwin was a fine knight who apparently took after his brother, Harwin not the whelp, Larys. And he was married to Cregan’s sister.

“Freeda has told us that Harrenhal is in ruins, Senya. They have few men defending them and Harrenhal is but a ghost of what it once was.”

Cregan offered, having seen the castle with his own eyes when he went with his sister to her wedding. Freeda had seen little but her husband and seemed to not even notice the caving in ceilings and draughty halls.

Freeda had not been heard from in over two moons since she had written of the arrival of a healthy baby girl.

“Harrenhal is still one of Westeros’ major strongholds, and certainly that in the Riverlands. If Harrenhal declares for my mother the other houses, especially House Tully will follow suit.”

Visenya knew that she did not lie but she also knew that Harrenhal was no easy feat to siege. The castle was host to five ginormous towers and curtain walls of dizzying heights. Visenya remembered Ser Harwin telling her and Jace about how the halls and doorways are so large, it is fabled that it was giants who built Harrenhal not Harren the Black. Visenya and Jace had begged Ser Harwin to take them there, and he had promised that one day they could fly there themselves.

It was Ser Harwin’s image in her mind, that grew hazier and less detailed with every passing year that prompted Visenya’s plans.

“Senya, attacking Harrenhal is near impossible. The walls are impossibly high, too high to scale and archers have never been able to get arrows even over the walls.”

Edric replied, trying not to diminish his sister’s plans but having studied the layout of castles his whole life Edric knew that attacking Harrenhal was a fool’s plan.

“No force or army has ever breached Harrenhal, my Lady” Lord Glover admitted, his memory failing him despite his good intentions and his faith in Lady Stark.

Visenya did not have to look up to know that Cregan was staring at her. Although he did tend to stare, this felt more pointed.

She lifted her chin and he was watching her, his eyes dark and burning and his fists clenched against the table.

“Yes it has.” She said, her eyes not leaving Cregans’ who knew what she planned.

“Senya” He said, his fierce tone not enough to stop her.

But Visenya did not think of risk and danger. She thought of Aegon and Viserys sent away, not knowing it was for their own good. She thought of Joffrey, a dragon alone and in exile just like she had been. She thought of Luke’s final moments of terror and pain. And her mother, who seemed to have become so accustomed to pain and grief, it was a part of her.

“Cregan.” She replied, her tone flat but firm.

“Harrenhal can be taken by dragon.” Visenya spoke to the men, all of whom regarded her with a respect she had never been given anywhere else which is why she never took it lightly.

“My Lady, the Northern forces cannot strike for Harrenhal and leave the North vulnerable or go against orders.”

Lord Manderley retorted, respectfully but with a vehement expression that meant he had no wish to storm Harrenhal for it was surely to be a death trap.

Visenya nodded, her eyes drawn back to her lord-husband who watched her. He was terrifying when he was like this, so focused and furious. But Visenya wasn’t frightened of him, she was raised to see beauty in the most frightening of things the realm had to offer. And the Winter Wolf was one of them.

His eyes almost dared her, dared her to say what he knew her wicked, temper fuelled mind was thinking. What he knew she wanted to do.

“I never said that I would bring anyone with me.”

The other Lords and men began looking back and forth, arguing back and forth, in outrage and confusion. Their Lady of Winterfell could not be left to fly to Harrenhal, into Larys Strong’s castle with only her dragon to defend her.

“My Lords, I propose Ghost and I fly for Harrenhal.We send word to the King Consort, Daemon that I will be at Harrenhal and he can meet me there. We treat with Ser Urwin Strong and remind him of his allegiance to the one true Queen. Harrenhal has never fallen to an army but its fallen to dragons and this time we will not have to burn its towers. They will just bend the knee.”

They argued back and forth, while their Lord Stark simply locked himself inside his own thoughts for a few minutes, his eyes dropping down to where Harrenhal sat on their map between them. He did not move or waver or offer any opinion while Lord Glover shouted that over his dead body would Lady of Winterfell fly to battle alone and while Lord Manderley offered six hundred of his best men to accompany her. And eventually, Lord Stark lifted his head and cleared his throat, stopping the other men in the middle of their sentences.

“The North’s ships should have arrived in White Harbour by now, Edric you will ride for White Harbour and send our ships to the Queen’s protection of the Gullet.”

Edric nodded immediately, forever the dutiful brother.

And Cregan looked across at his lady-wife, knowing that what he said next could make or break their marriage which had become something he needed to keep. Something he had realised would make winning the war, their only option.

“Lady Stark flies for Harrenhal at dawn.”

*

Ghost surveyed the skies above Moat Cailin, easily hidden by the dark clouds and gloom that seemed to cover the whole of the land now. And although, Visenya knew her dragon was well, she had wanted to see for herself before taking up the journey to Harrenhal.

She had not been sure Cregan would agree to it. But he had, and she was so grateful and glad that he had. For if he had not, she would have gone anyway but it would not have pleased her to do so.

Ghost was fine, restless but fine as he knew that war brewed somewhere. Somewhere that he would have to join soon enough. Visenya didn’t often feel glad that she had had to claim a second dragon after Lyraxes died but at times like this she was glad of it. Lyraxes was beautiful, but she was no dragon of war and Ghost was everything she needed to feel fit for battle.

Visenya travelled back through the marsh to her tent, back between the other tents and stations of blacksmiths and armory set ups. She had not seen Cregan since leaving the war tent and she had wanted desperately to see him alone. She would leave for Harrenhal following sun up and she wanted to spend the hours left of the day with him.

“Am I disturbing you?” She asked, stepping into the tent where her husband stood over the war table, preparing and pondering as though their lives depended on it. Perhaps because they did.

When he raised his head, his furrowed brow and stern expression softened.

“No, you are not.” He cocked his head at her, in a sort of wishful summons. She was glad they were alone so she felt comfortable to go straight to him, his hands pulling her until she stood in front of him, between him and the table.

“It does me good to see you like this” Cregan remarked, a smug sort of smile on his face that would have been annoying if she didn’t care as much for him as she did.

“Like what? Like a perished maiden?” She laughed, knowing that the extra fur she had pulled on was potentially overkill but she had been freezing in her trek across the marsh.

“Like Lady Stark once more” he answered for her, his hand cupping her jaw and pressing a kiss to the other side of it. His hands warmed her cold, wind-bitten skin and massaged the warmth back into her.

“Harrenhal is mostly in ruins from Aegon’s conquering, Senya.” He began, becoming a much more serious version of Lord Stark than the usual Cregan she was left alone with.

Turning to face the table, he stood in behind her, his body looming warm and heavy behind her but his hands directed her attention to Harrenhal.

For over an hour, he explained to her the structure, the weaknesses, the chambers and sections of Harrenhal which would be easy for Ghost to land on or easy for her to take from dragonback. There were little to no men guarding Harrenhal and Cregan was quite sure that upon seeing a dragon, knees would bend immediately. But he would not send her unprepared. On paper, he drew out the five towers of Harrenhal in relation to each other and the other main structures such as the curtain walls and gates which Harren the Black had boasted about.

When he was satisfied with how well Visenya knew her plan of attack, Visenya's mind began to wander to other important duties Lady Stark should not neglect before leaving her lord-husband.

Cregan stood so close behind her, she could feel the heat from his body against her back and each time he stretched forward to point at something or draw something, his breath ghosted across the back of her neck which was a part of herself that Lord Stark had helped her realise was incredibly sensitive.

After the fifth time, Cregan leaned forward to point out something Visenya felt her patience growing too thin to handle and she couldn’t resist pressing back against him with her ass, knowing it would press against his lap.

His sharp inhale of breath reassured Visenya she had found exactly where she intended to, right into the cradle of his hips where she felt the outline of him begin to stir.

“Princess...” He groaned, his hands flexing against the table where his fists lay either side of her.

When he lifted one, she silently pleaded that he used it to touch her and the Gods were good because with more gentleness than anyone would believe Lord Stark had in him, he lifted her braid and moved it aside so her neck was bared to him as she pressed back against him, circling her hips slightly now.

“Is this how you tell your Lord-husband that you will miss him?” He asked, his breath fanning across her neck and tickling her ear before his lips took her lobe between his teeth gently.

Visenya just nodded, her hips guided by his hand that slid fingers curling around her hip in a squeezing grip which he was all too fond of.

“You don’t want to tell me with your pretty, wicked mouth?” He asked, his breathing coming quicker now as she could feel how he reacted to her against the soft, leather-covered curves of her body.

Visenya wanted him, so badly she wanted to strip herself of her leathers right there but there was something else she wanted first.

Pushing back against him, she turned in his arms until she could stretch her hands up and pull him down to kiss her. And her sigh in relief when she got his lips on hers would have embarrassed her if she had any shame but with him, she didn’t. Not least of all because the groan he made when he got his arms around her and his lips on hers was even louder.

“I won’t be sent North to be kept safe.” She said, her lips muffled agains this but the words finding themselves said anyway.

With a new grip on her hips, sliding down to her ass and squeezing her firmly in both hands Cregan pulled her hips against his until she could feel how hard he was.

“And why in the name of the Gods would you be sent anywhere when your place is where you say it is?” Cregan replied, his lips moving down her jaw and neck until he was opening the stays of her leathers and freeing her shoulders from them.

Visenya wanted him so badly and with those words coming from his mouth, she knew what she wanted from him.

While his hands were busy pushing her leathers off her shoulders and his lips sought the soft, sensitive skin of her breasts she undid the laces of his trousers until she could push them down off his hips.

And when she started moving, Cregan did not enjoy it for a moment as it meant she was taking her breasts away from his mouth. But when he realised what she was doing, and he saw the princess go to her knees, his mouth went dry and he felt lightheaded.

“Senya...” He groaned, his eyes locked on her wicked and wild lilac eyes that looked up at him with such heat and trust, he didn’t feel worthy of any of it.

“Shhh” She hushed him, her hand wrapping around the length of him softly until she realised she could grip him harder and he would hiss in pleasure with it.

Looking up at him unsure, Visenya was reassured immediately by the way Cregan’s eyes rolled back and his hands gripped the table so tightly she worried he would break the wood into pieces.

“Fuck, Senya” He groaned when she squeezed her hand, realising her other hand might be needed as she remembered something she had been told by other girls.

Cregan was large and Visenya knew that taking him in her mouth would not be that easy. But she had every intention of trying. And she thanked the Gods that she did because with his eyes closed, Cregan had not seen it coming and the groan and curse he let out when he felt her wet, warm mouth wrap around the tip of him, was enough to spur Visenya on as well as make her own fires burn hotter.

Visenya hadn’t done this before, mainly because she was a princess and going to her knees for anyone seemed ridiculous but also because she had not ever wanted to. The other boys had never seemed worthy of it in her eyes nor had it seemed necessary since they found their pleasure so quickly with her in other ways. But Visenya had wanted to do this for Cregan, she just hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much herself.

But hearing his short, ragged breaths and the groans in pleasure that slipped past his lips. Feeling his hands sift through her hair and his fingers sliding across her jaw and cheek. Feeling him throb, and grow and pulse in her mouth as she took as much of him as possible, her tongue sliding up against the slit at the top with each raise of her head. All of it, especially how much Cregan was enjoying it, made Visenya want to do it again and again, knowing that she could give him this much pleasure.

She had always thought being on her knees for a man would make her feel less. It didn’t. In fact, it was the opposite.

And when his breath halted and his voice warned her that he was close, she didn’t stop. He had never stopped when he was between her legs so why would she? And the groan, the sigh and the soft way he stroked her cheek and pulled her up off his knees, it wasn’t debasing or beneath her, it felt the very opposite. And the way he looked at her, wonder and mirth in his eyes, she found herself smiling too.

Cregan kindly held a cup out for her, which she spat into, unsure still of what was proper although Cregan didn’t seem to care. Putting the cup away from them, he leaned back against the table and pulled her between his legs so that she stood against him, chest to chest.

“Will there come a day where you do not surprise me?” He asked, his smile contagious and his hands wandering again.

Visenya couldn’t help but smile back, relishing the large hands of her husband which massaged at her shoulders and the lips that kissed along the scarred, mottled flesh of her shoulder.

“I hope not.” She replied, her small hands dragging his face back to hers for she wanted his lips on hers. And she got what she wanted, letting her husband turn them so that her back was to the table. He slid his hands down her sides, intent, she imagined, on picking her up to be placed atop the table.

But Visenya had other ideas which sprung to mind as he peeled her leathers off her skin and left her bare in front of him.

“Fuck” He whispered, never to tire of what his lady wife looked like naked for she was a wonder.

His mouth latched onto her neck, licking and biting until she was squirming beneath his hands that gripped her hips and squeezed. When his teeth grazed her nipple, she made a gasping noise that made Cregan smile against her skin. And in his slow, deliberate exploration of her body he could feel himself rouse again.

Visenya noticed too, feeling him growing against her stomach as he sucked and bit and licked at her and turned her on to a point of what she thought was no return.

Feeling everything, every touch and breath like it was a bolt of lightning through her system, Visenya wanted him inside of her. And turning to face the table, she was quite sure that was how she wanted it.

Cregan paused, unsure of what she wanted but when she looked over her shoulder and reached for him again, bringing his face into the crook of her neck and stepping in close so her ass was nestled in against his hips and rubbed against the hard length of him, Cregan understood.

“You sure?” Cregan asked, not wanting to take her in any way she didn’t like. But with her head turned, she met his lips with hers and pushed her tongue out to meet his. He could feel how wet she was, between her thighs and between her folds that his cock now pushed against. And she groaned, her hand grabbing for his on the table in front of them, squeezing it tightly when he nudged against her clit and forcing a little gasp from his wife’s lips.

“Yes, yes Cregan” She acquiesced vigorously, pressing back against him and wanting him so bad it was beginning to hurt.

And when he guided himself into her, their breaths stopped at the same time. Their groans in relief coming together when he slid inside her wet, slick heat and sliding, what felt like deeper than before.

“Gods” Visenya groaned, feeling how his tip dragged against her inner walls so deliberately. And it stoked something inside of her which she knew would erupt before long.

With a calloused, gentle grip he reached up and took hold of one of her breasts, taking her nipple between two fingers and gently tugging before circling it so delicately it was unbearable.

Visenya would have been mortified by the sound of how wet she was if she had any shame but she didn’t and all she wanted was for her husband to not stop. And he didn’t. He played with her nipple and sucked at the back of her neck, his beard scratching her skin in an unbearably teasing way. He pushed in and out of her, torturingly slow but perfectly as she felt herself being pushed closer and closer towards the peak he sought for her every time.

“Gods, don’t stop” She groaned, her body wanting to flop down on the table but Cregan’s arm banded across her middle and kept her back flush against his chest with his hand gripping her breast.

“I won’t, Senya... I won’t” He said between pants and the attention he lavished the back of her neck with.

Cregan didn’t think that even if Aegon himself had landed outside the tent on his dragon he could have stopped. It was deeper and wetter and more than ever, it was everything and Cregan could not have thought of anything or anyone else but his incredible wife and how much he wanted her.

When she slipped her hand down between them, Cregan immediately took over and moved her hand out of the way for his own fingers to play with her clit, knowing that was what she needed now.

“Yeah?” He checked, knowing she would tell him what she needed but the gasp and tight grip of her hand that stretched behind her to grab his neck was enough to let him know, he was about to make her finish.

And when she did, she trembled and shook in his arms, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth in a silent scream that seemed to last over thirty beats of Cregan’s thundering heart.

“Keep going” She managed to get out, her body still shaking in his arms but desperate to feel him finish inside of her.

His hand gripped her hip, falling away from between her legs when she grew too sensitive for it and his thrusts grew faster, harder and Visenya couldn’t stop the little moans that came out as Cregan forces her orgasm on and on and on as he chased his own. It sounded almost like he was choking, his forehead dropping to her shoulder where he gasped and sucked at her skin as if fucking her wasso good that he couldn’t even remember how to fill his lungs properly and Visenya finds it so hot, her own gasps and moan surprised her although they shouldn’t have. While chasing her own pleasure was good, watching her husband chase his was better.

And when he came, inside of her now, Visenya felt her own pleasure like a wave again as though the echo of her last orgasm was coming through her one last time. She welcomed it, as well as the beautiful noises which spilled from Cregan’s lips as he filled her, his hips smacking against her ass one last time as she felt his seed be pushed inside her.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, you’re perfect” He finally managed to say, although it wasn’t particularly coherent since his face was nestled into the crook of her neck and his mouth was against her hair.

“You are incredible” Visenya surprised herself with her open, loving praise as she stroked down Cregan’s neck and played with his curls.

When he pulled out of her, it was only because he wanted to face her, not because he wanted to not be inside her. Cregan Stark wished for very little in life, the health and safety of his House, a long Summer and to spend as much time as he could manage with or inside his wife.

With very little energy left in either of them, Visenya was quite pleased to be placed atop his cloak on the table and for Cregan to stand between her legs, adjusting the cloak up over her shoulder so she was not cold or exposed in case someone walked in.

“Your lord-husband will miss you.” He said his hands stroking down her neck, over her shoulders and arms, anywhere he could reach.

“I am quite certain your lady-wife will miss you” She sighed, her mind feeling quiet for the first time all day again. Whatever it was about Cregan Stark, she feared what she might become without it.

An exiled princess left alone and useless, or a vengeful dragon who burned everything it touched.

“We are quite alone, Senya... and I know not when we will be again.” He said, his voice dropping lower and his hands soft against her skin “What did the Queen say to you back on Dragonstone?” He asked, knowing that whatever had been on her mind was linked to Daemon’s temperament while she had been there.

Visenya took a sharp breath, knowing that her husband deserved to know and that she wanted to tell him, certainly before she went away.

“My mother told me of a prophecy made and passed down from one heir to the next. It spoke of a Prince that was promised... a Prince that would save the realm.” She told him, her hands finding his and pulling him nearer so that she did not raise her voice above a whisper.

“It’s called the Song of Ice and Fire... and because of us, our marriage and what we have become, she fears that Daemon sees a threat in that, in the possibility of a son of ours which would be more powerful than any of Daemon’s own children...”

Visenya watched her lord-husband process and listen and await more. As he knew there would be more.

“Because my mother wants... if all fails in this war, if this war ends with Aegon and the Hightowers still on the Iron Throne, we... our children might be all that is left of my mother’s line and it is our son who would be the Prince that was Promised.”

Visenya watched her husband understand, watched it dawn on him and his eyes widen.

“Your mother wants us to break from the crown if we lose this war.” He acknowledged.

Hearing it out loud for the first time was no easier than Visenya had imagined.

But she nodded.

Her mother had been clear. If the Greens won, they would hunt down every remaining Targaryen that had been on her mother’s side. But the Song of Ice and Fire was not about Aegon. It was of someone else, another child, another boy. And if Rhaenyra lost this war, her sons would be put down with her. But Visenya might be left alive for she was Stark now not Targaryen. And if Visenya stayed north, stayed with Cregan and performed her duty. And if Visenya had a boy... if the daughter of a Targaryen Queen and the strongest knight of the seven kingdoms had a son with the Lord of Winterfell, the Wolf of the North... From their child would come the prince that was promised.

Visenya had dreaded the time where she would have to tell him or discuss this again. But she should not have. For Cregan swept the hair from her brow and sighed.

“Let us worry about the start of this war before we worry about the end of it.” He told her, knowing that the next step did not include prophecies and children and princes, but Visenya flying for Harrenhal.

“Thank you” She whispered against his forehead, her lips pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

He did not have to ask for what.

When they lay in bed that night, sleep creeping in on them in the dark and warmth of their tent under guard, Cregan asked her about Harrenhal.

“Do they talk of Harrenhal’s ghosts and hauntings on Dragonstone?” He asked, having heard the stories as a child.

Visenya nestled further into her husband’s arms, wrapping her own hands around his and pressing a kiss to the muscular arm in front of her.

“Yes... But I’m not frightened.” She replied, her eyes drooping shut from exhaustion “I have no quarrel with the dead.”

For the rest of her sentence needed no answer. Cregan knew that Visenya Stark had no quarrel or qualms with those who had died for their sins were the Gods to make justice of. But it was those who were still living were whose sins she could make justice of herself.

Chapter 23: XXIII

Notes:

And I come crawling back with an apology and a chapter! Sometimes I just have nothing to write... xx

Visenya left her husband with a promise to send word or return before the changing of the moon. She had five days to fly to Harrenhal, take the castle and have Daemon join her there. Ingrid dressed her, for battle this time rather than for folly or fun. Visenya had had the blacksmiths versed in dragon armour and had her saddle and harnesses readied for Ghost. She had flown to treat with others now a few times but this seemed as though she could go nowhere and not be prepared for a battle on dragonback anymore. Luke had been the heir to Driftmark and Prince of the Realm. He had been just a boy and he had been slain without thought. Visenya knew that a dragonrider’s death would be preferable to what the Greens might do to her should she be taken alive. Fire was a much kinder death than that at the hands of a man for at least fire would kill her quickly. Men were not so kind.

“Hello, my boy” Visenya hummed on her approach to Ghost who had landed just outside the Nortmen’s perimeter of Moat Cailin.

She knew that there at least twenty Northmen behind her, watching her approach a dragon that was too big to even fit inside the courtyard of Winterfell. She knew they weren’t frightened of her and Ghost anymore but they were still wary.

Ghost growled in approval as she ran her hands across his leathery, grey scales around his chest.

“We may not escape this war unscathed, my boy... we best be ready for whatever may come.”

She said, low and in Valyrian for fear her Northmen might hear the slight tremor in her voice. Viesnya did not know what she flew into now but her armour was thick, her quiver was full and her heart was not empty. She was fire and blood and sea and salt and snow and ice now. This was what she reminded herself of, again and again as she flew South.

*

 

The winds were not kind to Visenya. And although winter had not yet come, the wind and rain that assaulted her to the bone as she ventured South were punishing and unforgiving. She was wiping rain from her eyes as fast as she could but there was always more falling and her helmet did little to keep it at bay. Ghost’s colouring, like that of a stormcloud made it easy for him to go unnoticed and Visenya was glad of this as she was not able to do it all.

It was when she spotted the Saltpans she realised her mistake. She and Ghost had veered too far east on account of the strong gales and she was verging closer and closer to the Bay of Crabs. Just a few leagues further she would reach Rook’s Rest and then off the coast until Dragonstone.

“Parmot” She yelled above the wind, calling for Ghost to land. She had not rested in hours since she left and she had flown through the night. It was almost dawn and within the trees, she was well enough shielded.

Ghost left her down in a small clearing against some rocky cliff which cut into the rolling hills. Visenya wasn’t surprised when her dragon pushed himself into the caves, wanting to be out of the rain. Ghost liked the North, the cold and the ice but he had always hated the rain. And Visenya had spoiled him too much by not forcing him out in it.

“Hegnir” She soothed him, her forehead against his and shushing his impatient grunting while he arranged his wings so they weren’t continuing to get wet.

Visenya had no such shared hatred for the weather as she went to see her surroundings. She picked some berries and gathered some water. She knew that Ghost would be offended if she brought back something for him to eat for he preferred to fetch his own meals so when the sunlight started glittering through the tree canopy and shedding light down upon her, Visenya’s hunger was at bay and her mind was quiet. Being in the woods reminded her of Winterfell and although she had only parted from him at first light, she missed her lord-husband.

She missed Winterfell. A thought that would have shocked and abhorred her a year previous. But she missed Arrina and Harrin, she missed Lady Alyssa and her people at Winterfell. She missed the few friendly faces she knew, Maester Fagan and Lady Umber. And she missed the feeling of the Wolfswood and Winterfell. She missed how safe she felt there.

Visenya had wandered far from Ghost although she knew he would come for her in seconds if she called for him. But she was alone, properly alone for the first time since she had been rescued from the dank, freezing cell Aemond had left her in.

Her bruises had faded and her wounds had healed but Visenya didn’t like to think about it for too long. What it had felt like being trapped. Being grounded. Like she’d had her wings clipped and the very mettle of what made her special stolen.

It had taken something from her. And she had wondered if it was grief from losing Luke or trauma from being held captive or if it was a combination of both.

But Visenya had realised something in that cell. Without Visenya and without her men or her bow and arrow, she was just a mere mortal. And to the men of the realm she was something even more fragile, she was a woman. She was vulnerable. And with or without her family, her Northmen or her dragon, she could be killed or beaten or raped or held against her will or forced to marry someone she despised, forced to bear their children.

It was something she did not want to feel again. It was something Cregan had made her feel the opposite of.

The silence of the woods made Visenya feel small in a different way. She was so insignificant in the realm for a few moments it made her almost laugh.

Until she felt it.

There was a dragon in the woods, and it was not Ghost she could sense.

Pushing past the low-hanging branches and foliage, Visenya was drawn to it. All dragon riders were and it felt almost like the pull of a trance drawing her nearer.

Until she saw her. Huge and hulking in her position lying on the forest floor where she had crushed bushes and branches beneath her gigantic body. Her wings were massive and leathery, folded against her but Visenya could see the way her leathery wings were like curtains ruined by moths, all holes and ruin.

Visenya had never seen Vhagar so close before. The last time she had seen her was when the dragon had been swallowing Arrax in her jaws. And Luke.

And Visenya hated her for a moment until she remembered that it was not Vhagar’s fault. Vhagar was a dragon who obeyed her rider. Aemond killed Luke and Arrax, not Vhagar.

But Visenya still felt the emotion in her throat like a ball stuck in her windpipe.

She knew Aemond was not there for her saddle was empty and there were no footprints back after she had tracked the footprints away from Vhagar. Cregan had taught her enough hunting skills to know that.

But she had seen enough and whatever Vhagar and Aemond were doing here was something the Blacks should know. Intent on leaving to send a raven, Visenya started to step back into the forest but Vhagar must have caught her scent or heard something, for the old dragon began to stir and lift her head.

And she slowly turned her head to face Visenya. So that Visenya was face to face with the largest dragon in the realm.

Visenya knew she could see her for her giant eyes widened and the dragon’s breathing picked up, exhaling hot air against her and blowing her cloak and hair frantically.

“Lykiri, Vhagar” Visenya said, her hand outstretched despite her rapid heartbeat and the fear that made sweat run down her back.

Vhagar seemed unsure. Her teeth snapped as she drew her head nearer, but Visenya felt no rising heat from the dragon’s jaws which was a relief.

But the dragon was sceptical. Visenya could feel it, as though it was palpable through her. The dragon was confused. Vhagar was old, almost senile as Daemon often commented from having ridden alongside his lady-wife Laena who was Vhagar’s rider before Aemond.

As though Vhagar knew she was Targaryen despite her dark hair peeking out from under her hood, but that Vhagar was not sure who stood before her. Vhagar groaned, confusion and frustration in her gigantic black eyes which Visenya barely recognised.

Visenya could see the reflection of herself in the dragon’s eyes as she was frozen to the spot. Her own lilac eyes almost glowed in the dragon’s eye which widened at her. She did not trust herself to move in case Vhagar suddenly decided to swallow the stranger whole.

“Lykiri... Vhagar... I’m Visenya Targaryen... I mean you no harm...” Visenya spoke softly, her hand raised in front of her not to dare touch the beast but to as if put something between herself and the creature.

And she felt it. Felt the change when Vhagar’s pupils blew open and her giant head tilted. As if in recognition. And a soft, quiet sort of whine came out of the beast. A sound Visenya had heard coming from her own throat when she lost Luke.

Visenya Targaryen. That was who Vhagar thought she was, the first Visenya Targaryen, the Queen who had conquered and fought and won. The Queen who had been with Vhagar when the Targaryen dynasty began.

Her grandsire, Viserys had told her hundreds of times how much she resembled their ancestor, the Queen Visenya with her lilac eyes and tough exterior. Visenya had not been too sure of it but it was enough to confuse Vhagar, who stretched her head out further.

Visenya’s outstretched hand was only inches away from the dragon’s snout as Vhagar pressed closer and moved as if to be touched by her. But a shout from the treeline distracted both of them, tore both of them away from the moment Visenya was sharing with the largest dragon in the realm. A moment where Vhagar was proving how she was just a dragon who obeyed orders when Arrax was vanquished, not some bloodthirsty, vicious beast.

“Vhagar! Dohaeras!”

Visenya felt the fear spark inside her at his voice. Her uncle, Aemond who was cutting through the clearing to get to them.

And he was coming towards her at a very quick pace.

Vhagar seemed entirely uninterested now, stepping back again to where she had lay originally.

“Hello, niece” Aemond sneered, his hand confidently resting on his sword on his approach to her although Visenya began stepping back until her back hit the trunk of the tree behind her.

“What brings you down South? You wouldn’t be on your way to Rook’s Rest now, would you?” he crooned, his height looming over her although she had her hand firmly on one of her many knives.

Vhagar had to stand down. There was no way Aemond would risk burning himself to death if he directed Vhagar to burn Visenya. He was standing too close to her. And she hated every second of it. She always had. When the King had pressed for Jacaerys and Halaena to be wed, so too had he pressed for Aemond and Visenya to be wed. It had made sense to Viserys’ council to let them rule together, let Driftmark to Luke and Baela, let King’s Landing to Jace and Halaena,and let Visenya be traded by livestock and sent to Oldtown.

Aemond and Aegon had caught her after dinner one night, promising her that the wedding and bedding wouldn’t be too rough. Aemond’s grip on her wrist had been even more threatening than the hand Aegon slid down her back to grab her ass in his palm. Aemond didn’t tell anyone about where his burst lip came from the next day and Aegon was too drunk to remember clearly. But Visenya still remembered what it felt like, being cornered.

“I may be wed but I am a free woman.” She seethed, taking his distraction as he looked her up and down in her Northern attire and riding leathers to slip the knife strapped to her hip into her hand.

“Ah yes, the wolf in the North.” Aemond hummed, nodding as his one eye blinked at her.

“If your mother had any sense she would have called her pups home by now.” Aemond taunted her, his high Valyrian always having been very good but Visenya had been raised a Targaryen princess and schooled by Daemon Targaryen for months to claim Ghost. Hers was better.

“You speak of sense as if you are familiar with it. You know no sense just like you know no honour.” She spat, sliding to the side so that she spun behind him and was out from her cornered position just as she had been taught.

“I’ll only ask you one more time before I take you somewhere where they won’t ask so nicely. What are you doing here in Rook’s Rest?”

He snapped, his threat looming over her.

“What do you threaten me with? Pain? Isolation? Grief?” She scoffed, ice and fire burning in her veins for every second she looked at him and felt Luke’s absence, “You threaten me with nothing that you have not already inflicted upon me threefold.”

Aemond looked at her like a dragon looked at another, like it would have to decide whether this fight was worth it, whether or not he could afford to take the risk of losing. And with the way Visenya seemed to be, no longer the girl who he could corner outside of the dining hall or whose hair he could yank as he walked past and hiss insults at. Whatever they had done to her in the North had stuck and it had made her more of an opponent than ever to Aemond.

“You know nothing of what you speak” He hissed, the same way he had tried to stop the whispers in King’s Landing.

But Visenya’s eyes narrowed and her lip curled at him.

She was there when it happened. She had seen him urging Vhagar to chase Luke and Arrax, she had seen him for what he was.

“You can call me the Whore of Winter or the Bastard pup of House Strong but you will be remembered for nothing but your dishonour, Kinslayer”

She practically spat it at him.

And her words cut deeper than they used to. Because Aemond could not ignore the truth in what she said forever. He could go about his days in King’s Landing and plot his war and plan for greatness but when it was just him and a mirror, he knew what he was. A kinslayer.

Visenya knew that Aemond had long grown tired of her vicious words and he would not risk getting bitten or slapped by her again. But when he lunged for her, his hand outstretched intent on crushing her windpipe beneath his hand so that her little throat would seize shut, crushed forever and she could no longer cut him with her truths, the screech of another dragon stopped them both in their tracks.

Snapping her head up, Visenya saw the gold scaled underbelly and thin wings. Her mind raced. What in the Seven Hells were Aegon and Sunfyre doing?

From Aemond’s slack jaw and wide eye, Visenya knew that he had not been expecting them. And with Vhagar beginning to rumble to life, the trees shook and bushes began to spring back up from where they had been crushed beneath her.

It gave Visenya the only chance she would get to vanish from Aemond’s sight. And when he looked back, she had slipped back into the forest beneath foliage and bushes so that he could only curse her name and roar

“There isn’t a corner of the North you will be able to hide yourself in that I won’t find you, dear niece.”

The threat still prickled at Visenya as she made haste back to Ghost, who she found easily. She made no delay in mounting Ghost and urging him to the skies, although a part of her wondered if she should stay. What were Aemond and Aegon doing? Should she go to meet them in what she could only assume would be battle? But she only had Ghost. Vhagar and Sunfyre would best her no matter how clever and well trained she and Ghost were. And she had been assigned a duty, one which she would have to do.

So, Visenya turned her back on the sea and faced for Harrenhal. Something she would regret until her last breath but it was war, and Visenya would face many more decisions she could live to regret and mull over for the rest of her days. But when Visenya was alone at night and would think of Ser Laenor, she would beg his ghost for his forgiveness that she had not been there to at least fight with and mayhaps die with his mother. Because Visenya knew that blood or not, Rhaenys would have done so for her. And that was what made the tears come when no one was watching.

*

Harrenhal was grey. That was all she could say about it if she was forced to describe it. It was damp and colourless and cold and it felt as though she was walking into a tomb as she slid off of Ghost’s back.

It was empty. Like an abandoned shipwreck where people had left dishes on tables and clothes hanging by the fire as if they meant to come back to it. But everything was covered in rainwater and dust now. And it was eerily quiet. Quiet and dark. Visenya dared not to light a torch for she would need both hands free to hold her bow but from over an hour of circling overhead on Ghost, it seemed as though there was no one even to warn down below of an incoming dragon attack even if Ghost was spotted. Perhaps that had been why Aegon I had destroyed it so easily.

Picking carefully and silently across the courtyard, through cloisters and down hallways, Visenya guessed from her extensive experience in castles around Westeros and her Lord Husband’s extensive knowledge towards what she knew to be the centre of the castles.

A glowing light from beneath a doorway gave it away as she approached it. And when she tried the handle, the door swung open with almost no resistance at all. It wasn’t even locked. As though she was being invited in.

A fire was burning bright on the other side of the room while a table and chairs, both very well kept were laid with what seemed to be the start of someone cooking a meal. The room seemed inhabited, but perfectly empty.

Until the door slammed shut behind her and a woman’s yell filled the air.

Visenya spun on the spot, dropping down to a knee and aiming her arrow straight up at the woman who was intent on driving what seemed to be a meat cleaver into Visenya’s head or perhaps shoulder given the angle she was holding it. The bad angle was perhaps more to do with the tiny baby strapped to the woman’s chest in what seemed to be a sling made from a shawl or sheet, rather than her poor marksmanship.

“Drop it.” Visenya snapped, her arrow pointing straight at the woman’s chest where the baby lay.

Visenya would never fire the arrow at the child but this woman didn’t know that. And she, albeit reluctantly, lowered her weapon.

“I’m here on behalf of my mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen I. She wishes to call upon Harrenhal and the Riverlands for their support as she has been usurped by Aegon Targaryen, her younger brother.”

The woman, who had began to drop her eyes in fear looked back up when Visenya said who she was. Sensing less danger than originally thought, Visenya slipped her hood off her head and dropped it under her chin.

Her dark braid and lilac eyes, then the wolf pin at her shoulder all seemed to connect enough dots for the woman.

“You’re Visenya Velaryon.” She whispered, her hands coming up to hold her baby closer to her chest.

Visenya did not spend long looking at her for she was more concerned over who next might appear from the room with a knife cleaver or a fire poker to bludgeon her to death with. Or at least attempt to.

“Yes.” Visenya nodded, her eyes caught on the crib and blanket that was draped over it, thick and woolen. Handmade, just like the ones that donned her bed in Winterfell.

“Well...” She shrugged, her eyes snagging on the writing desk and books that were stacked there too “I was. Until I married and then I became someone else.”

The woman smirked, a familiar sort of knowing smirk. And her green eyes glinted in the firelight. She was quite beautiful and Visenya felt something familiar about her. Her long red hair was braided back and her freckled face was more Northern than of the Riverlands.

“Yes, well I think perhaps sometimes we become someone better.”

She remarked, a bold and almost insolent remark to make to a Princess of the Realm. But Visenya should have expected no less from her.

“Freeda Stark.” Visenya realised aloud.

The woman cocked an eyebrow and laughed drily.

“Well yes, I suppose. I was, until I got married and then I became someone else too.”

She said, her hands not leaving her baby as Visenya dropped her bow and unnotched the arrow. Her hands were much too steady to accidentally fire but she did not want to unnerve them although from what she had seen already, Freeda had nerves of steel just like the rest of her Northern family.

“I’m Freeda Strong now... but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Visenya nodded. She did know this. Freeda looked more like her mother than her brother but she had a brazenness to her that only could be attributed to Cregan.

“Congratulations.” Visenya nodded towards the bundle that was unignorable between them, a small baby that could be no more than weeks old.

“Thank you, the Gods were kind this time. Harry only took from dawn of one day until dusk of the next.” She nodded, her hand absentmindedly stroking up and down the baby’s body.

“Harrenhal is yours, my Lady...what’s left of it anyway...” She remarked, looking around at the ruins outside her door. Although Freeda’s section of Harrenhal seemed to be warm and well lit, the rest seemed miserable in comparison.

What had meant to be the main House of the Riverlands, what was meant to be a resounding victory for Visenya’s mother was little more than a ruin that leaked and crumbled around them. Freeda promised to meet her the following morning with her husband and Uncle, Simon Strong who would formally acknowledge House Strong and Harrenhal’s commitment to her mother. But it was late and Visenya was not too proud to not accept the offer of a bed and a bath.

When she had been sitting in the bath for long enough for whirlpools to appear on her fingers and the water to start cooling, she was desperate for sleep. The bed was cold and rather hard, but Visenya was unsettled. She acknowledged that she probably felt uneasy sleeping in a castle that was her late father’s home and that she had grown used to sleeping beside her husband. But what Visenya could not shake was the eery feeling that pricked at the hairs on the back of her neck. The feeling that she was being watched.

*

Visenya did not dream much in Winterfell. She often put it down to her exhaustion every night for if she wasn’t utterly weary by the time she crawled into bed next to her husband, she certainly was by the time he had wrung every drop of pleasure he could from her. But Harrenhal was a dark and silent place where she imagined dreams did not venture. But although she did not remember them the next morning, she felt as though dreams had plagued her all night so that she woke feeling more tired than she had been when she first lay down.

But the following night when she lay down, she felt determined not to wake in a dream. Of course, she didn’t. She woke in a nightmare instead.

On waking, Visenya felt heavy and weak. And only when she sat up did she realise what was in her way. Her stomach was swollen and round, heavy and hard to touch. And when she pulled her night gown up to her waist, she could see the white lines of where her skin had stretched to make room for what would no doubt be a ginormous babe if her husband’s size was anything to go by.

Visenya cursed and used words her Septa would have washed her mouth out with soap for using. But she had nothing else to say.

And there were footsteps by the door. Beats of footsteps like scores of soldiers marching past her rooms and marching towards something. Visenya shoved her nightgown back down her legs and managed to get up from the bed with more effort than she’d ever had to use and yanked the door open. The soldiers were Targaryen men and Northerners, every second row in banners and colours of black and red, wolves and dragons on shields and breastplates.

Marching away from her door, all of them. She shoved past them, having to use her elbows and crouch to get between their ranks but they didn’t even notice a Princess of the Realm in her nightgown trying to shove past them.

When she made it to the doors, she looked out and her hand covered her mouth that fell open. Thousands of Northmen and Targaryen army forces leaving Harrenhal, but not just leaving Harrenhal. Leaving her.

“Stop, where are we going?” She asked the first soldier who passed her, grabbing his arm tightly but he did not even stop, he didn’t even look at her.

“What is happening?” She tried to yell but her voice would not raise.

It came out meek and quiet. A version of herself she barely knew.

Her bare feet took her across the courtyard, ducking between rows of soldiers who all did not see her, and if they did, they did not speak to her or acknowledge her existence. Being ignored was an entirely new sensation for Visenya and she did not care for it.

Ser Darron was ahead of her, with his back turned to her as he watched and counted the men leave. But she did not hesitate to interrupt him, her hand reaching up to grab his shoulder when he did not respond to her calls of his name.

“My Lady, you should be abed”

Ser Darron said, but it wasn’t his words that struck her. It was the way he did not even turn to look at her.

In Winterfell, men looked at her when she spoke, they bowed their heads and greeted her as she should be. They did so because she was their Lady but also probably because men knew that they could be sent to the Wall for disrespecting Cregan Stark’s lady wife.

But this, this was something Visenya had not seen before.

The cold ripped through her, radiating up through her bare feet up into her chest where she felt tightness when she breathed. And when she raised her hand to press it to her sternum, she brushed against her belly, the pregnant belly that was where her mostly flat stomach used to be.

She did not have long to regard it or question Ser Darron further as he turned to face the men approaching. Two men. Both of whom she knew deeply well. The man who she had once shared her mother’s womb with and the man who she shared her bed with.

“Lord Stark and I leave at once.” Jace stated, pulling gloves onto his fingers and not even looking at his sister.

“Jace!” She tried, but he strode away. Her hand fell away from where she had tried to grab his sleeve.

“Cregan!” She tried to shout, but it came out as barely a whisper.

Cregan looked out at the land before them where Jace walked to meet Vermax who waited patiently. He didn’t even look down at his ladywife who stood beside him in the cold in nothing but her nightdress and what appeared to be a very pregnant state.

“A woman in your condition should not be up and about. To bed with you before you do something to harm my son.”

Cregan replied gruffly, yanking his arm away from Visenya’s reach.

And they vanished. All of them walked away from her leaving her alone and cold and unable to do a thing about it. She tried to follow but she could not move. She tried to scream after them but her lungs seemed to freeze.

And the cold pains that shot through her body seemed to now radiate only from her abdomen. And she knew then that it was not just the cold she felt but the stirrings of her unborn child who had every intention of arriving.

She made it back to her quarters where the room was still dark and dank, with a lack of life or light from anywhere. The bed was cold and hard, lacking the furs and comfort of home. But she did not even consider it for a birthing bed was as good as a death bed. Instead she paced the floors, trying to rub relief into her back that burned and wished for it to stop.

But it would not. It felt as though she was to be ripped open and there was nothing she could do to stop it. On reaching down between her legs, she felt the blood slip between her fingers and could feel the pressure on her pelvis as thought something was trying to free itself. It was unbearable and yet she could not escape it.

It was terror and cold and pain and utter aloneness that would kill her. For now, that her voice worked, no one was there to hear her screaming for help and panting in short, shallow breaths to try make this child come any quicker.

“Please... Please, let this be over” Visenya even prayed, begging the Gods, both Old and New for it to be over.

When she felt as though she could not bear it anymore as she leaned over the arm of a chair, bearing down, she felt something change. The pain was worse, and become more localised. With her hand between her own legs, she felt it. The child she was carrying was coming and only she was there to catch it.

With screams and tears on her cheeks, Visenya fell onto her back before the empty hearth and pushed. She lay on a cold, dirty stone floor but she barely noticed. When she felt him escape her womb, Visenya cried out in both pain and relief and fear. For she knew that she was bleeding still and that if the babe lived and she did not, someone would find them both dead and cold on the very floor she lay on.

With what little strength she had left, she raised herself onto an elbow to check the babe. But she was not prepared for what she saw.

What had come from her womb was no child but a wolf cub like something from the Gods Wood. With dark fur and four paws, a snout and long pointed ears, Visenya felt sick. But her hands reached for the cub and gathered him up in her arms before he woke.

“My little wolf” She whispered, holding the cub against her chest and caring not for the blood that marked her nightgown and pooled on the floor under her legs.

For Visenya was no longer looking down at the cub from her own eyes but as someone standing across the room. She wasn’t in her body to notice that blood kept pooling beneath her and her face was unbearably pale and clammy and her grip on the cub who was waking grew limp.

Visenya tried to yell out to her, to go to herself and help but she could not move and if she could, it was too late. Visenya watched her own eyes roll back in her head, her arms go limp and her chest stop rising and falling as the cub began to stir and escape her grasp. It whined, a sad and lonesome noise as it nosed at its mother’s cheek and face. But its mother was dead and it would never survive.

Visenya’s last image was the crying wolf, shivering and curled up beside its dead mother who looked nothing like a dragon. Not a wolf either. But a human, dead.

That image was in Visenya’s mind when she shot up in the bed, awake. Her hand grabbed her chest, feeling for her heart beat which was rapid against her hand and feeling down her stomach which sat empty and flat thank the Gods. She even looked down at her sheets for blood or the wolf cub. But she was alone.

Just as she had been in her dream. And Visenya spent more of her morning than she would ever admit vomiting into a chamber pot which she had Ghost incinerate for fear anyone would see a chink in her armour.