Blood in the Snow

by eeileme

Summary:

At the brink of war, and with only the waters that surround Dragonstone to protect them, Rhaenyra Targaryen felt the impending doom coming. Neither the Greens nor the Blacks had struck yet and the whole of the realm waited with bated breath on what would happen next. The fight for her rightful throne and inheritance was at stake - but so were the lives of her children. The six children she had bore in her belly, five strong boys and one pretty princess. Princess Jaecera Velaryon - a spitting image of Rhaenyra herself. Born as Jaecerys’ twin sister, brought into this world only minutes after her brother. White of hair, stormy blue eyes, her perfect daughter.

Who now stood to be devoured by the Greens if Rhaenyra did not act.

Chapter 1: Prologue

When Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon welcomed their first children to the world, no one had foreseen that they would be born with the resemblance of neither their father nor mother. But, young princess Jaecera was the exception. The spitting image of Rhaenyra - silver of hair, clear blue eyes. Her twin brother had slid out of their mother’s womb first, with pale skin and a head of dark hair. His sister was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Whilst her twin brother’s appearance sparked many a rumour in the realm, no one could question his parentage when his sister had grown in the same womb. That was until Lucerys was born. And then Joffrey.

 

People whispered. High Lords and Ladies, the smallfolk, servants and squires alike. Even the Queen herself had been heard saying that three children born with such… common features , was an insult. An insult to the Targaryen name, to the legacy Rhaenyra was to carry on after Viserys. Jaecera did not understand why people spoke such things about her brothers. Many Targaryens had been born without silver hair. She could also not understand why her uncles thought Harwin Strong was their father. Jaecera liked the knight, he was nice and brought sweets and presents to her on her namedays, but her father was Laenor. Her brothers only spent so much time with Harwin because she would always be with their actual father. 

 

Alicent Hightower treated Jaecera’s brothers with no respect, no love, no kindness. Only Jaecera was treated kindly by the Queen. The young princess reminded Queen Alicent of her childhood companion - the one she had lost to time. (Although she would never admit this to anyone.) Jaecera spent much of her childhood with Alicent and her aunt Haelena. Haelena was a bit odd, spending most of her time with her bugs and embroidery, but Jaecera didn’t mind. She thought Haelena was simply misunderstood. 

 

Aegon didn’t pay much mind to his niece. He thought she was an annoying, spoiled brat. Secretly, he only disliked her because his mother would dote over Jaecera as if she was the Queen’s own daughter, whereas Aegon had never received such love from Alicent. 

Aemond and Jaecera however, got along well. She pitied the prince, knowing what it was like to be dragonless, and the two bonded over the fact. She would defend Aemond whenever Jace and Aegon decided to mock him, even throwing a rock at her twin once in their youth out of pure frustration for how the boys would make fun of Aemond. 

 

Jaecera Velaryon, her father’s only daughter. Her love and bond with her father only further spurred the rumours and whispers - that somehow she was the only trueborn child of Ser Laenor and Princess Rhaenyra. Laenor thought he would never want children, that he wasn’t fit to be a father. He failed as a father for his sons, that much was clear to anyone. But Jaecera… Well, she was the apple of his eye. 

 

So when the untimely death of her father came, the young princess was truly distraught. Her mother, nor her twin, could offer her any consolation. When her tears finally dried, she found solace on the moors of Dragonstone. Alone, with her thoughts and the smell of the saltwater, her only friend. Or so she thought.

 

A shadow cast over her, clouding the sun that had already been in hiding. To her shock and horror, it was the wild dragon Grey Ghost. No one had seen the beast up close, until now. Jaecera tripped over her skirts as the pale dragon descended upon her from the sky, letting out low trills and snorts as he tasted the air around the princess. Her heart felt as if it would leap out of her chest - the dragon was almost face to face with her. 

 

Grey Ghost had scales so smooth it almost seemed like he wore the same skin she did. They were pale, and various horns and spikes adorned the head and neck of him. He looked wild. So different from the dragons she had grown up with. They were all clean, polished. Their horns and spikes weren’t uneven or chipped, like the wild beast in front of her.

 

A silent conversation played out between the princess and the dragon. Maybe it was her broken heart that spoke such madness into her, but she reached out her hand to Grey Ghost. She trembled, almost forgot to breathe. But he met her small hand with his snout, purring almost like the cats that chased rats in the kitchen. 

 

Her egg had never hatched. The one which had been placed in her crib as a babe remained frozen in time, and she had quickly given up on the idea of being a dragonrider. And now here she was, climbing on to the back of a wild dragon like a madwoman. As soon as she tasted the air above the clouds and felt the wind in her hair she felt so free. Knew she was always meant to be a dragonrider. And this was now her dragon. 

 

Years passed, and Jaecera lived happily and free on Dragonstone with her family. She chose to ignore the impending doom of being a princess - that she would have to marry some day. By the time she and Jaecerys had turned six and ten, their mother betrothed Baela to Jaecerys. That was a relief. She had always known of the possibility of having to marry her twin, and it was a prospect she did not like thinking of. Jace was annoying. He always stole her honey cakes at breakfast and even hid her favorite books, or riding leathers. Baela would have to deal with that now. 

 

During a rather eventful and unhappy visit to the capital with her family, she heard whispers of her grandsire, King Viserys, wanting to unite her and Prince Aemond through marriage. She hoped it to be only whispers. Aemond had grown taller since she last saw him, and even quite handsome, but his personality had grown sour. He spoke vile lies about her brothers, and thought himself better than everyone else simply because he rode Vhagar. No, someone else would have to marry him, because she would wholeheartedly refuse. 

 

She knew many letters had been written to her mother over the years, asking for the princess’ hand in marriage in exchange for castles, keeps and loyalty. Old lords who claimed to be soft at heart and worthy of her young love, or ugly fat lords with even uglier sons. No, she would simply not say yes. And neither would her mother. Rhaenyra would roll her eyes and toss the scrolls into the fire anytime a raven delivered a new offer from a different lord. She knew Jaecera had to marry, but Jace was not an option anymore, and she would never wed her only daughter to Alicent Hightower’s son. 

 

But Rhaenyra also knew that refusing her father’s wish to unite the families through marriage would raise questions. She could never tell him the vile things she thought of the Hightowers, the plague they had brought upon her house. How she loathed the idea of letting those green vipers get their hands on her sweet Jaecera. So she had to find a different suitor quickly. If Princess Jaecera was promised to another, it would be reason enough to decline her father’s proposal. 

 

Who would be worthy of Jaecera’s hand?

Chapter 2: Chapter I

Notes:

Hello, author of this fanfiction here. I only published this for my friend to read, but it's very nice to see some other randoms enjoying it too! I wanted to pop in before this chapter and give some info on my oc, Jaecera. For my face claim I use Elle Fanning, and Grey Ghost I envision looking like the Ironbelly dragon from Harry Potter.

The news of Viserys’ passing and the usurping of Rhaenyra’s throne had not reached Dragonstone on time. Nothing, or no one, could have prepared Rhaenyra for the decisions she had to make in haste, but she had to act. She had already planned a potential suitor for Jaecera, and now it was clear that it had to be done. Lord Cregan Stark of the North, would marry her daughter and keep her safe from the Greens. The young Lord had long been searching for a wife, and the prospect of marrying a princess of a noble house would surely not be met with opposition. 

 

Ravens were sent, but before Rhaenyra could get one in return, Otto Hightower and his men arrived on Dragonstone. The Hightowers' terms were just, but not enough for Rhaenyra to see past the treason that had taken hold. And one of those terms was to honor King Viserys’ wishes for Aemond to marry Jaecera. That solidified her plans of marrying the princess to the North. The Greens would not devour her only daughter.

 

—

 

Jaecera was called to the main hall of Dragonstone. The news of the passing of her grandsire, as well as the treason committed by the Hightowers made her uneasy - she knew war was to come. The hall was empty except for Rhaenyra. She stood as proud and regal as always by the fire, her face lighting up when she saw her daughter enter.  

 

“Mother?” Jaecera called out, descending the stairs.

 

“Come, my dear,” Rhaenyra said as her daughter approached. “Sit down. I have something to discuss with you.” 

 

Jaecera nodded silently and took a seat opposite of her mother. 

 

“Is it the Greens?” she asked carefully. Rhaenyra nodded, seemingly pondering how to word her next sentence. She took Jaecera’s hands in her own, gently running her fingers over the princess’ skin. 

 

“The Greens have come with terms. One of them, is to honor your grandsire’s wish to unite our houses through you and Aemond Targaryen,” Rhaenyra spoke softly. Jaecera looked appalled. 

 

“The Greens are traitors. I will not marry Aemond-”

“And you won’t marry him. But you are not safe here anymore. I must do my duty as your mother and your Queen, and protect you.” Rhaenyra squeezed her daughter’s hands.

 

“Mother I- I do not understand.”

 

“I have promised you to the Warden of the North. As a way to secure the North to our cause, but also to keep you safe. The Greens can’t get to you if you are thousands of miles away,” Rhaenyra explained, trying to gauge Jaecera’s reaction. Her daughter stared back at her with a face of disbelief. 

 

“You cannot… you cannot send me away. You need me- I ride Grey Ghost, he is bigger than Syrax and Meleys! Am I meant to support your claim and the war to come by squeezing out babes for some Northern savage?!” Jaecera exclaimed, upset and anger evident in her whole being. 

 

“I understand that this might seem sudden, my love, but Lord Cregan is a good man. An honorable man. And he is only a few summers your senior,” Rhaenyra frowned when her daughter stood up abruptly. 

 

“No! I will not be cast away simply because I was born a mere minute after Jace. He gets to be your heir, and I am thrown to the wolves?! I will not stand for this,” Jaecera pleaded, tears already falling freely from her eyes, down her face. 

 

“If you wish to serve me, daughter, then do your duty. This betrothal has been made for your safety and for the safety of the realm.” 

 

Rhaenyra’s voice carried a new tone. She was not asking her daughter, she was commanding a princess as Queen. It made Jaecera falter. She could see Daemon enter from the corner of her eye. She did not dislike her mother’s husband, but his snide remarks were not wanted at this present. 

 

“You ought to take this offer, princess. It’ll be a good match,” Daemon spoke with a measured tone. 

 

“Cera, sweetling. Please. You are my only daughter - I cannot risk you coming in harm’s way. I know this frightens you, but in time, you will come to see that it is out of love I made this decision,” Rhaenyra tried, standing up to try and soothe her young daughter.

 

“Mother, please… I do not want to marry,” Jaecera cried, making Daemon scoff in annoyance.

 

“Your mother is the Queen, girl. You listen to her, and listen well.” 

 

Jaecera’s lower lip wobbled. She knew there was no room to argue. Her mother was the Queen, and when the Queen commanded, you did as you were told. But that did not mean she couldn’t storm out of the room in a childish manner, or cry herself to sleep. 

 

—

 

When dawn broke, Jaecera and her twin brother Jaecerys rode their respective dragons towards Winterfell. Jaecerys was to discuss political terms with the northern lord, wartime discussions that only men partook in. His royal sister however, was flying towards her new prison, or home, as some would call it. 

 

She had shed all of her tears trying to accept her new duty, but she was at war within herself. How was she expected to learn to love a man she had never met, someone who came from such a vastly different place and time? How was she supposed to give up her titles as princess, as a Velaryon , only to take the name of a stranger in a stranger’s land? Not only that, but to be a lady, of a place where she did not belong? 

 

The questions rang in her head as she rode Grey Ghost. Neither her dragon nor Vermax, Jaecerys’ dragon, seemed to enjoy the cold climate. The dragons groaned and screeched for the whole flight, but kept on at the beckoning of their riders. Jace, ever caring and worrying for his sister, glanced at her as they flew. She seemed deep in thought, determined, but also sad. Her brows were furrowed, eyes squinting to shield from the cold wind that whistled past them, bringing tears to their eyes. 

 

As the grey walls of Winterfell came into their sights, the dragons docked on the fields. The freshly fallen snow swirled on the ground as the massive beasts landed. Grey Ghost tasted the air, screeching lowly as Jaecera reached a hand out to stroke her dragon’s strong neck. Jace had already dismounted Vermax. He held out a hand towards Jaecera, who replied with a confused face and slid down from Grey Ghost.

 

“I do not recall ever needing assistance dismounting a dragon, brother.” She shot Jace a look, taking off her riding gloves. Jace rolled his eyes, but Jaecera could see a faint hint of something serious in her twin’s face. She hadn’t ever seen her brother so serious before.

 

“Could you speak plainly? You haven’t said but one word to me since we left Dragonstone. You are just like mother, sulking and never speaking of what thoughts swirl in your head.” 

 

“Jace.” Jaecera warned, not amused by the criticisms aimed at her. “Speaking my mind would only plague you with worry of things you do not understand.” 

 

As if her brother, the heir to the Iron Throne, the crown prince, could ever understand the reality of Jaecera’s situation. He who was blessed to be born a man and betrothed to someone he had known since young, the eldest son of the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms - oh, how Jaecera loathed the Gods and their wicked humor.

 

“I… simply want to know that you are alright.” Jace mumbled, clearing his throat. He had never been good with emotions and words. 

 

Before Jaecera could reply, a party of men approached. They were led by a tall, wide shouldered man, with shoulder-length brown hair. Lord Cregan Stark. Jaecera shuddered at the sight of her future husband. 

 

His face was stern, skin rough from the Northern climate. But he was… handsome . Not like the princes in the South, no, he was quite different from them - but Jaecera had imagined a battered and bruised savage man, not a clean shaven young lord. For a second, her sad mind forgot about what she had left behind and only focused on the girlish nervousness she felt when her eyes roamed across Cregan. She averted her gaze, worried the Lord would see her gawking at him.

 

As the party of men approached, led by the imposing figure of Lord Stark, Jaecerys stepped forward, his face schooled into a polite yet neutral expression. He knew his role here as his mother’s diplomat, and he would perform it well.

 

“Lord Stark,” Jaecerys said, his voice carrying in the cold air. “I am Prince Jaecerys Velaryon, here on the behalf of my mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

 

Lord Cregan studied Jace, noting his princely demeanor and commanding presence. He returned Jace’s greeting with a respectful nod, his voice deep and stern as he spoke.

 

“Prince Jaecerys. Welcome to Winterfell. I trust your journey was safe and swift.”

 

Cregan let his gaze wander to the figure behind Jaecerys. The princess who had been promised to him. He couldn’t help but notice the melancholy in her eyes, but he didn’t comment on it outwardly. 

 

“And my sister, the princess Jaecera Velaryon.” Jace introduced his twin sister. 

 

“Lord Stark.” Jaecera curtsied, too shy to meet the eyes of her future husband. Cregan nodded at her in reply, suddenly forgetting how to speak. She was beautiful.

 

Jaecerys watched the interaction between his sister and the lord with a mix of curiosity and concern. He could see the way Lord Stark looked at the princess, the flicker of attraction in his eyes, and it made Jace uneasy. He took a small step forward, his hand resting gently on the sheathed sword at his side. 

 

He cleared his throat, trying to draw Lord Stark’s attention away from his sister. “Lord Stark, if I may ask, do you have arrangements prepared for the princess’ arrival?” 

 

“Aye, we have prepared a chamber fit for a princess within the Keep,” he said, gesturing towards the towering grey walls of Winterfell. “It is well-appointed and heated, to ensure the princess is comfortable despite the cold of the North.”

 

Jaecerys nodded, slightly relieved to hear that his twin would be properly cared for. He glanced back at Jaecera, noticing the unease in her stance despite her best efforts to hide it. He cleared his throat once more, returning his gaze to Lord Stark.

 

“And what about the wedding preparations? Have arrangements been made for the ceremony and the feast?” 

 

“Jace… I’m sure more pressing matters are at hand,” Jaecera interrupted, blushing slightly, embarrassed that Jace was doting over her in such a manner. 

 

Jaecerys clenched his jaw, realizing he may have overstepped with his question. 

 

“You’re right… forgive me,” he said quietly, his gaze lingering on his sister a moment longer before he returned his attention to Lord Stark.

 

“Fear not,” Cregan said, looking from the silver-haired princess to Jaecerys. “The wedding preparations are well underway. The ceremony will be held in the Godswood, as per our Northern customs, and the feast afterwards will be a grand affair.” 

 

Jaecera nodded at Lord Stark. Him and his men led the prince and princess inside the gates of the great castle of Winterfell, leaving their dragons to roam around freely. The princess was shown to her chambers as the men were left to the political arrangements and conversations about the impending war. 

 

—

 

She sat in the warm chamber in Winterfell, the fire crackling softly as she gazed out the window. The dark evening outside contrasted against the glittering snow, and Jaecera found herself sighing, tears brimming her eyes.

 

A knock was heard. She turned her head towards the door, feeling her heart leap into her throat. She wiped away the tears and straightened her back. 

 

“Yes?”

 

The door cracked open, revealing Jaecerys on the other side. She felt relieved. He looked at his sister with concern, noticing the redness in her eyes. She had been crying.

 

“May I come in?” he asked, his voice soft yet firm.

 

“Yes- of course, brother,” Jaecera smoothed out her dress, sniffling as she moved to toss more wood into the fire. Jaecerys entered the chamber, closing the door gently behind him. He watched as Jaecera stared into the flames of the fire, his heart heavy with concern for his sweet sister. 

 

He approached her, stopping a few steps away. “Cera… are you all right?” he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving her face. She sniffled, shaking her head.

 

“No, but that does not matter. I need to do my duty to the realm. To mother.” 

 

Jaecerys’ expression softened, his heart aching at Jaecera’s stoic acceptance of her new fate. He wanted to protest, but he knew she was right. Duty and family came first. 

 

“It’s unfair, what they’re making you do.”

 

“Being born a woman is to live a life of unfairness. There is naught to be done of my fate,” she turned to face Jace. “Were you able to acquire the men needed for mother’s cause?” 

 

Jaecerys nodded, his expression becoming more serious as the conversation shifted to matters of war and politics. He knew that Jaecera was seeking a distraction from her own plight, and he was happy to oblige. 

 

“I did,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “I’ve spoken with Lord Stark, and he has agreed to commit his forces to our cause. We will have the support of the North in the coming war, sister.”

 

“Good. Then you must prepare to fly back to Dragonstone on the morrow. Mother will need you back.” 

 

Jaecerys’ expression flickered with mixed emotions. On one hand, he was relieved to have secured Lord Stark’s support, but on the other, he was reluctant to leave his dear sister behind in this cold land, surrounded by strangers.

 

“Must I leave so soon?” he asked, his voice tinged with reluctance. “I… I do not want to leave you here alone.”

 

“This will be my new home now. Within a fortnight, I will be Lady Stark of Winterfell, not Princess Jaecera Velaryon anymore. You must leave me, Jace,” she took Jaecerys’ hand in hers, anchoring herself to the warmth of his skin. She knew this very well might be the last time she spoke to Jace, at least for the foreseeable future.

 

“This is not fair,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You deserve so much more than this, sister. You deserve happiness, love, freedom…” It was clear in his eyes that he was fighting back tears.

 

“And if the Gods are just, I will find that here.” Jaecera’s voice wavered, tears threatening to spill once more. 

 

“The Gods are rarely just,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with bitterness. “But I hope for your sake, sweet sister, that you are right. I hope that you find happiness here, in this strange land, with a man you barely know.”

 

“I will try,” she whispered, a weak smile on her lips.

 

—

 

As the morning broke, the princess bid her twin farewell and watched as he took to the skies on Vermax. She felt frozen in place, not wanting to move until his silhouette had disappeared completely in the clouds. Only then, she reluctantly turned and walked back inside the walls of her new home. 

 

Everything was so foreign, so new. Every guard, steward and servant gawked at her. As she walked through the castle halls, the sounds and sights of the Northern fortress continued to echo in her ears. Every living soul in the castle stopped in their tracks to look at the silver-haired princess, their stares feeling heavy and intrusive. It was a stark contrast to the warmth and familiarity of Dragonstone, and Jaecera couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for home. But she reminded herself of her duty and held her head high, refusing to let the uncomfortable gazes shake her resolve.

 

Her only solace was her handmaiden, Dyana. A girl only a few years older than her, but who came from a vastly different background. Jaecera liked Dyana. They got along well, and she already thought of Dyana as a friend as well as her servant. She was happy to have another woman to confide in now that she was all alone in the large fortress that was Winterfell. Back at Dragonstone she had Rhaena, and before that, Haelena had been her best friend. She missed both Rhaena and Haelena. 

 

Since arriving at Winterfell, she had barely seen Cregan. He had his own matters as Warden of the North to attend to, and she spent her time with the other ladies in the castle, preparing for her wedding. Their wedding. Every day at dinner she dreaded that Cregan would join her.

 

How should she act around him? What would she say? She didn’t know him, and neither did he know her. They were total strangers to each other, set to marry by the end of the week. He came from a vastly different culture, spoke differently, had odd customs, as did all of the Northerners. She had to set her prejudices aside however, since she knew her and Cregan’s children in the future would be half Northern. As much as she thought Northern customs and the people were odd, she would not fail as a mother and judge her unborn children’s heritage. 

 

—

 

Jaecera had been deep in thought, absentmindedly stitching embroidery onto a pillow. She sat in the solar of Winterfell, for once alone. Dyana was helping in the kitchens at the moment, so the princess was left alone with her thoughts. The solar was her favourite place in the castle. There was a moon window, which let the sun shine in during the few hours of daylight she was blessed with in the North. Daylight passed quicker in the North, and Jaecera Velaryon sat surrounded by candlelight, her delicate hands using needle and thread on a piece of white cotton.  

 

She looked down at the work in her lap. She had been attempting to sew a wolf onto the fabric, but she could see her stitches were terribly uneven and crooked. Truthfully, she had never found much joy in sewing. She preferred books and dragonriding, or chasing her brothers around Dragonstone. But here, she had no books, or brothers to chase. And as much as she missed Grey Ghost, she knew it would not be appropriate to take to the skies at this present. So, sewing it was. 

 

“Ugly thing,” she muttered, sighing as she set the embroidery to the side. 

 

The door to the solar creaked open, and she looked up in surprise, meeting the eyes of her future husband. He truly was a large man, occupying the entire doorway. His hair was neatly tied back, besides for a few strands that framed his face. His steely grey eyes found hers. Jaecera blinked, suddenly frozen in place. 

 

As soon as Cregan had laid his eyes on his soon-to-be bride, he was smitten. Albeit, any young man his age would have been if they were betrothed to a princess, a princess with Targaryen and Velaryon blood. A princess with a dragon . The young princess looked so lost in the North, so truly out of place - even with her silver hair and pale skin. She was quiet, timid and polite. Or, so he had heard. He had not had the spare time to see his bride since her arrival in Winterfell, and as a dutiful and honorable man, he sought to fix his mistakes.

 

Cregan cleared his throat when he entered the solar. She quickly scrambled to her feet when he walked in. His eyes landed on the embroidery which laid on the plush seat Jaecera had sat on previously. He almost cracked a smile at the sight - she had clearly been trying to sew a wolf, but it looked more like a fluffy rat. Jaecera followed his gaze and blushed from embarrassment. 

 

“I apologize for not having spoken to you earlier,” Cregan cleared his throat, looking for the right words. “It has been… unfair to you, princess.” 

 

“My Lord,” she curtsied. So poised, so perfect. Cregan’s eyes lingered on her figure a bit too long. “No apology is needed. I understand that the Warden of the North has much to attend to.” 

 

“Please, I feel at odds with having my bride address me with such formalities,” Cregan said with a smile, shaking his head. Jaecera didn’t know how to feel - this was her first conversation she had spoken with the young lord. He seemed, oddly enough, as nervous as she was. 

 

“What would you have me call you then, Lord Stark?” 

 

“Cregan. And I would like to call you by your name, if you would allow it, princess.” Cregan took a step closer to Jaecera, invading her space. She straightened her back, daring herself to gaze up at the mountain of a man who towered over her. Cregan was only five summers older than her, but he carried himself with the same pride of an aged war-struck king. 

 

“If it pleases you, you may,” Jaecera’s voice was light as a feather, speaking with such perfect courtly manners, never saying a word out of line. She tried to avoid his gaze, her eyes flitting around to focus on anything but his face. A heavy silence settled between the two.  

 

“I can imagine it is not easy for you,” he said softly. “Being so far away from your home, surrounded by strangers.”

 

“The North does not hide its weariness to strangers. But I will do my duty, and if it pleases you, serve you as a good wife.” 

 

He took a step closer, the heavy beat of his boots drowning out the soft crackle of the fire. He stopped just in front of Jaecera, his presence looming over her.

 

“You do not need to worry about pleasing me, he said quietly. “I will not make this marriage any more difficult for you than it already is.” 

 

She knew he spoke truly, but she could still not help but feel at odds at his words. Was this real kindness, or only a facade to make her easier and more pliable? She did not know the man who stood in front of her. He was a man, a man who had been given a pretty princess as payment for lending men to the Black army. His sweet words did not do much more to her sadness than a cup of water would to a raging forest on fire. But she would not hurt his pride.

 

“Your words are kind, my lord,” Jaecera forced a smile.

 

Cregan continued to watch her, taking notice of the way her shoulders tensed ever so slightly. He could sense her unease, and he felt a pang of regret at the part he was playing in her current predicament. 

 

“I speak truly,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “I have no desire to make you miserable in this marriage.” 

 

“I doubt misery is what I will feel,” Jaecera mumbled. “I apologize if I speak out of place, but…”

 

“Please, speak freely. I only wish you to speak your mind,” Cregan interrupted, his face showing kindness, his brows furrowed. 

 

“I do not know you, my lord. The thought of marrying a stranger is…”

 

“Daunting?” 

 

Jaecera looked up at Cregan, who was smiling slightly. Maybe they could learn to understand each other, after all. Maybe they weren’t so different.

 

“Yes,” she laughed lightly, the sound making Cregan’s heart flutter. “Daunting.”

 

“I wished to spend some time with you before we wed, and-” 

 

“I would like that,” Jaecera blurted out before Cregan could finish his sentence. “I would like that, Cregan.”

Chapter 3: Chapter II

The beauty of the North, and Winterfell, fascinated Jaecera. It wasn’t like anything she had seen before. The glimmering snow, the dark evenings where the moon shone so brightly, the fir trees that stood so tall and proud. And the Godswood; a place of worship and prayer, so sacred and quiet. She felt like the Gods would truly listen to her here. The weirwood tree would follow her with its gaze, judging and watching. She let it. In the South, all of the weirwoods had been cut down, hence why Jaecera had never seen one before. So maybe it was the mystery and beauty of it all that made her love the Godswood of Winterfell, or maybe it was because it had been where Cregan had brought the princess to get to know her. 

 

The light dusting of snow crunched under their boots as Cregan led Jaecera towards the center of the Godswood. This day was particularly cold; it chilled the dragon princess down to her bones and brought shivers down her spine. Although dressed in a warm gown and a thick fur around her shoulders, it still could not keep the cold out. 

 

“You’re freezing, princess. We can go inside and sit by the fire,” Cregan’s timbre voice was sympathetic, understanding of his Southern bride’s intolerance to the cold. “If you’d like.” 

 

“I must get used to the cold eventually, my lord. And I would not like to waste the daylight by sitting inside. Not when the Godswood is so breathtaking,” Jaecera could tell Cregan appreciated her spirit and words, as a small smile crept onto his lips.

 

“Aye. Though, I’ll admit that I did not think a weirwood tree would impress you so easily.”

 

Jaecera looked up at Cregan. He was nearly three heads taller than her, a mountain of a man, yet she felt at ease around him. Was it a mistake to let her guard down so quickly? Would he show his true colours and take advantage of her naivety and eagerness to trust him? She shook her head lightly, as if to rid herself of such thoughts.

 

“How could I not be? And to think that they have all been cut down in the South, simply to please the Gods of the Seven…” Jaecera admired the tree in front of them, the branches twisting out and up towards the sky, adorned with hundreds, if not thousands of red leaves that danced in the wind. 

 

“You seem quick to judge the Gods your House worships,” Cregan’s words were straightforward, but not in a disrespectful manner. He sounded almost intrigued. 

 

“I have prayed to the Seven, asked the Mother to bring me my father back, for her to heal my grandsire of his ailments. But she has answered my prayers with a visit from the Stranger instead. I do not want to believe in Gods who take pleasure in pain and mockery,” she swallowed thickly, the grief of her father’s death still present, even so many years after his passing. “Perhaps I shall pray to the Old Gods now.”

 

Cregan did not know his bride was fatherless. Truthfully, he knew very little of the politics and happenings of the Southern houses. But he did know of the grief she felt. 

 

He clenched his jaw. “My father died nearly ten years ago.”

 

“As did mine. Yet the Stranger still haunts me with his grief, all these years later,” her voice was quiet, clearly plagued with the sadness she bore within her. “How odd, that we bear such an awful thing in common.” 

 

“I would hope it isn’t the only thing we can find similarities in, princess,” Cregan tried, that same small smile playing on his handsome face. It made Jaecera forget about her sadness. 

 

“I would hope so too, my lord. Yet I cannot think of the faintest thing we would share,” she chuckled, tugging the fur tighter around her shoulders. A gust of wind made her visibly shiver, which replaced Cregan’s smile with a frown.

 

“You’ll freeze out here. Come, let’s go inside-”

 

“I will be alright. Please, show me the rest of the Godswood,” Jaecera had interrupted Lord Stark. An action that would surely have earned her a scolding and a firm slap on the wrist in King’s Landing. Any Southern lord or prince wouldn’t have stood for it. But Cregan Stark cracked a smile, almost chuckled at her eagerness to fight the cold. 

 

“Stubborn girl,” he murmured, offering his arm for her. “Can you do the courtesy of holding onto me for warmth then, princess?” 

 

She smiled bashfully, feeling a blush creep onto her cheeks. Her delicate hands wrapped around his strong arm; she could feel the heat from his body radiate through her gloves, shocking her slightly. Cregan was like a walking furnace, and she happily held herself close to him to bask in his warmth. Jaecera cleared her throat as they continued their stroll.

 

“Tell me then. What does the Warden of the North do in his spare time?” 

 

Cregan let out a laugh. He was not familiar with the notion of ‘spare time’. Her question had been so honest and genuine too, yet he could not satisfy her curiosity with a proper answer.

 

“Truthfully, nothing. I’m afraid all of the hours in the day are spent doing my duties,” Cregan glanced at her from the corner of his eye, hoping she would not be disappointed by his dull answer. She met his gaze briefly before letting it wander to the landscape of the Godswood. 

 

“That sounds dreadfully awful. But I admire the honor you have to your duties, my lord,” Jaecera could not imagine how tiring it must be to never have time for fun. “What do Northern men do then? If they do not have important duties as Lords to attend to?” 

 

“I would think they occupy their time the same as the men in the South do. Hunt, drink, survive.”

 

Jaecera hummed at his answer. “Perhaps our people aren’t so different after all.” 

 

“ You are very different from anyone I’ve ever known, princess,” Cregan sounded amused. “But not everyone is a dragon princess.” 

 

“No, but if you had princesses in the North, I’m sure they would be like me.”

 

Cregan shook his head with a smile. How she thought herself so mundane, when she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Her smile and laughter had already left an impression on him, her kind and polite words, yet the true fieryness that seemed to hide under the surface left him yearning for spare time to spend with her and unravel her true nature. The true dragon princess that laid dormant under her perfect courtly manners and polished speech. She was not like anyone else, and no one would ever be like her.

 

“So, now it’s your turn to tell me. What do princesses like you do in their spare time?” 

 

Jaecera seemed to ponder her answer. She tugged herself a bit closer to Cregan, almost leaning her cheek against his arm as they walked. It made his heart flutter. 

 

“I read. Some would say I read too much, so I try to go out riding whenever I’m not indulging myself in a book.”

 

“So, you’re a good horsewoman then? We could go out riding sometime, if you’d like,” Cregan suggested, making sure to press every new detail he learned about her to his mind. 

 

“Oh Gods no, I meant dragonriding,” she laughed. “Horses are majestic animals, but I’ll admit, they frighten me a bit. I like to admire them from afar.” 

 

Cregan looked baffled. “You are scared of horses?”

 

“Don’t look so shocked, my lord,” Jaecera was blushing again, the light dusting of pink on her cheeks making her appear even sweeter. “I know many ladies in the South who are wary of horses.” 

 

“Aye, but… you ride a dragon. How can you be frightened of horses, but not those scaly, fire-breathing beasts?” 

 

Jaecera shrugged. She had never quite thought of it in that way.

 

“I’m wary around other dragons, but I know Grey Ghost would never hurt me.” Cregan nodded thoughtfully at her answer, although it still perplexed him how such a small and sweet princess could easily bring a dragon to heel, yet she cowered at horses. 

 

“And how does your beast fare here?” His question was genuine, although Jaecera did not appreciate the way Cregan called Grey Ghost a ‘beast’.

 

“As well as a dragon would in this cold land you call home… he is a reflection of my soul. He is restless, wandering the skies to find his purpose.”

 

Jaecera reached a hand out to trace the imperfections of the bark on the weirwood tree. She stood so close to it now, felt the looming presence of the ancient power of the North. The dragon princess felt the urge to remove her gloves, let her bare skin feel the chill of the air and the rough surface under her fingers. Cregan watched her, his eyes falling on her figure, her silver hair that had been tied into braids and knots and adorned with red gems. The terrifying beauty of the weirwood tree, with its ancient knowledge and power was incomparable to Jaecera. Her pale skin, rosy cheeks and ivory hair fit her into the scenery like she was always meant to be the Lady of Winterfell. He silently thanked the Old Gods for leading her to him.

 

“This is where we will be wed. Does that please you?” Cregan asked softly from behind her. She knew this is where they would exchange their vows and become one, bind their souls together until death would do them part. 

 

“With the Old Gods willing their judgement upon us,” she mumbled quietly, hand still flat on the bark of the tree. “I worry it will make me feel even more like an outsider than I already am.”

 

She turned to face Cregan, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the way he was looking at her. As if she was the image of the Mother, a gift from one of the ancient Old Gods the Northerners prayed to - his gaze was so intense, full of want and admiration that Jaecera did not know what to do with herself. 

 

The young lord took a step towards her. “You will be Lady of Winterfell. My wife. No one, not the Old Gods or the New can say you do not belong here.”

 

“No dragon has ever married in the North. I pray my presence does not stir your people,” she let her head drop, eyes focusing on the way her boots had disturbed the freshly fallen snow on the ground. Perhaps this betrothal had been a mistake all along.

 

“ Our people, princess.” 

 

She met his gaze once more, her heart thrumming against her chest at a rapid pace. He stood so close she could feel his body heat envelop her form, hugging her with comfort and security. But his correction of her words felt out of place; how would she ever be a Lady of the people who did not know her, did not know her family or the place she had come from? It would be absurd to assume they would welcome her.

 

Jaecera felt vulnerable having such melancholic thoughts in the presence of Cregan. His steely grey eyes seemed to look right into her soul, and she feared he knew of the thoughts that swirled in her head. He couldn’t know of her insecurities. Jaecera Velaryon would not appear weak in front of Cregan Stark.

 

—

 

Her dress would be ivory, the same as every bride’s gown had been since the dawn of time, when men and Gods had plotted for women and girls to be the symbol of innocence for their husbands. The dressmakers had done a remarkable job, Jaecera thought as she admired the gown in front of her. An ivory gown lined with white fur to keep her warm when she vowed to be his for the rest of her life in the cold air of the Godswood. Red beads swirled in a pattern from the bottom up, colliding together to make a red dragon on the bosom of the dress. A homage to the sigil of House Targaryen. Her eyes flitted over the dress for the thousandth time, searching for any embroidery or beading that would show that she was also a Velaryon. She was born of both sea and smoke, and fire and blood. Yet somehow, even in the North, she was only seen as a Targaryen. 

 

Was it because she resembled her mother? Because the Northerners did not know of anything but House Targaryen? She was a Velaryon. Her father had been a Velaryon. Yet she was painted as the dragon princess , Rhaenyra Targaryen’s only daughter. Where was the seahorse that adorned the sigil of House Velaryon, the blue of the sea? She could not carry on her father’s legacy when the whole of the realm wanted to forget her father. 

 

“The seamstresses made sure that the beads and jewels on the dress were sewn on strong , m’lady,” Dyana, who had been in the room with Jaecera, broke the silence. Jaecera whipped around, brows furrowed.

 

“What did you just say?” her tone held an edge to it, making Dyana scramble for words. 

 

“I- m’lady, I simply said that the dressmakers made sure every detail was sewn on properly…”

 

Dyana’s stuttering explanation fell on deaf ears. Jaecera suddenly felt like she was back in King’s Landing, at the center of ridicule and whispers of her parentage. She was seven summers old once more, feeling oh so confused at the rumours the servants and guards whispered amongst themselves, thinking the little princess would not hear. 

 

She remembered how she had sat on her grandsire’s knee, asking him why the people spoke such things of her and her brothers. She remembered the story Viserys had told her, of his ivory mare birthing a chestnut foal, that had been sired by a black stallion. Nature takes its own course, sweet child, he had told her, trying to console little Jaecera. Everyone should hear the story of the King’s horse, she thought. Maybe then no one would dare whisper such lies about her family. She remembered the glares the Queen would give to Jaecera’s brothers, whilst offering kindness and sweet words to Jaecera. And all of this was because she had the privilege of being born with ivory hair. Ivory hair of the same shade as her wedding gown. 

 

“M’lady?” 

 

Dyana’s voice cut through Jaecera’s melancholy. She forced a smile at her handmaiden, turning back to stare at the dress. She reached out and traced the red dragon that spewed fire on the ivory fabric. The craftsmanship was truly beautiful, but she suddenly felt hate towards what it symbolised. That she would only be remembered as her mother’s daughter, the dragon princess. 

 

“I would like for the dressmakers to make some changes. I want a seahorse to adorn the dress as well, to honour my father’s memory,” Jaecera mumbled, suddenly feeling more sadness wash over her. Her dear father would not get to see his only daughter marry. Neither would her mother, but that felt irrelevant at the moment. 

 

“I’ll tell them what you asked for, m’lady. It will be done,” Dyana curtsied, (although very poorly, which Jaecera had noticed during their first encounter already.) and left the room. 

 

The princess cast one last glance at the dress, before hurrying out. She did not want to be left alone with the gown. It bore ill omens, she thought, and mocked her parentage. Not to mention, the dragon that decorated the dress resembled Caraxes. She cringed at the thought. As much as she had not come to terms with her fate of being Lady Stark, she thanked the Gods she would never have to be the bride of her mother’s husband. 

 

—

 

Jaecera had never managed to befriend boredom. It was a dull affair, anytime boredom came for a visit. It frustrated her, made her feel restless and, well, bored. And Winterfell? It seemed to be boredom’s home. The short days, the cold, the endless cycle of every servant and steward working tirelessly to keep the large fortress warm and safe. She was, of course, grateful for their work. But it was so different from both the Red Keep and Dragonstone. Both of her previous homes had been full of song and life, laughter from the children that ran in the halls. She was never bored there.

 

Winterfell was quiet. The servants and guards were quiet and spoke few words, no music was ever played and no children occupied the halls. The only sounds were the fires that crackled softly in the fireplaces, and the wind that would whistle its tune outside the thick stone walls of Winterfell. 

 

The silence would drive her mad some day, of that she was sure. With no one to speak with, nor sound to drown out the endless stream of thoughts and melancholy that plagued her, Jaecera felt she would rather die than sit in silence with boredom. 

 

She hoped boredom would tire of her and find someone else to disturb once she married Cregan. But that seemed like a fickle dream. What would really change, when they had exchanged vows in the Godswood, and Cregan had bedded her? Nothing. Hopefully Cregan Stark would do his duty and leave her heavy with babe, so that she had something to do. Pregnancy was a terrible job to do as a woman, but even that seemed more appetizing than sitting in her chambers, alone, in silence, with boredom laughing in her face at her misery.

 

Her saviour finally came in the form of roasted duck and glazed vegetables. Although she knew she would dine alone, eating supper was better than what she had occupied herself with all day. Her footsteps echoed in the corridors of Winterfell as she made her way to the great hall. As usual, it was mostly quiet, if not for the servants that rushed to serve their future Lady with the meal of the day. 

 

“Good evening, princess,” a voice came from behind her. Jaecera almost jumped out of her skin, and turned to come face to face with her husband-to-be. 

 

“Lord Stark- I, you startled me,” Jaecera laughed, feeling the familiar blush creep onto her cheeks. 

 

“Apologies. I thought I would dine with you tonight,” he smiled gently down at her. “If you would allow me.”

 

“Please, I haven’t spoken but three sentences to Dyana all day. Any company is welcome,” Jaecera’s voice had true relief and happiness in it, and she could see boredom saying its goodbyes to her as she sat down at the long table with Cregan. 

 

She studied his face, illuminated by the hundreds of candles that lit the hall. She could see a glimpse of what he really was - a young man with a mountain’s weight of responsibility on his shoulders. It made her admire him even more. 

 

“I thought of our time in the Godswood yesterday,” Cregan was almost barbarically tearing a thigh from one of the roasted ducks that had been served. Jaecera realized since she had never dined with him before, she did not know of his table manners. 

 

“Yes, it was lovely. Thank you for taking the time to show me the Godswood,” Jaecera smiled at Cregan from across the table.

 

“Aye. I’ve asked the servants to clean the library. Only Maester Kennet really ever spends any time there,” Cregan chewed on the duck thigh, taking a swig of ale. “But I asked them to clean it up for you, princess.”

 

Jaecera felt her heart do a somersault. The happiest smile broke on her face, which pleased Cregan greatly.  “I- I do not know what to say…” 

 

The beautiful smile still sat on her lips, almost making Cregan choke on his ale. To think that such a small gesture would make his bride so effortlessly happy… he had always thought women would be difficult to please. But if the reward for doing the tiniest things for her happiness was that beautiful, gentle smile on Jaecera’s face? Cregan would do anything to see it again, and again.

 

“You do not need to say anything, princess. I simply want you to be happy,” Cregan couldn’t tear his gaze away from her face. There was definitely a stark difference between the two; Jaecera sat straight, cutting her food into small pieces, sipping her wine gracefully whilst he devoured the supper they had been served. 

 

“I think I’ll be much happier if I am able to see you more often, my lord. But a library for me to explore and indulge in… that is most definitely a good place to start from,” Jaecera admitted, searching for Cregan’s eyes. She yearned for the girlish nervousness she felt anytime they met each others gaze, how it made her heart skip a beat and butterflies to erupt in her stomach.

 

She wants to spend time with you. Cregan had hoped she would say this some day, but her wishing to see him, be with him, when they hadn’t even married yet sent his young mind into a spiral. 

 

“Anything to please my future wife,” Cregan managed to say, clearing his throat when he realized how nervous he sounded.  

“I think you are doing a splendid job at that already,” Jaecera saw how Cregan looked at her, and all of her insecurities of him being the brutish savage Northern man she had imagined when the betrothal was announced vanished. Instead, she saw the handsome, strong man that she would get to call her husband in two nights time. 

 

—

 

Maester Kennet was a grey old man, who still possessed a quick tongue and wit. Jaecera had only briefly spoken to him once she had arrived at Winterfell, but from only one meeting with the Maester, she knew he was a kind soul. 

 

When she had finished supper, Cregan had led her to the library of Winterfell. It had definitely been tidied for her, but she still spotted cobwebs in the darker corners of the room and one or two mice that scurried along the walls. She would not let it bother her. Not when there was a whole library of books for her to indulge in, escape the dull days with boredom mocking her. 

 

Maester Kennet showed Jaecera the hundreds of books and tomes that adorned the dark oak bookshelves of the room, showed her the way they were arranged and which books she would surely find dull for reading. Kennet left the princess alone after a while, to let her find her peace with whichever book she chose for tonight. 

 

‘Passages of the Dead’ , stood out to Jaecera. It looked newer than most of the other books. As she settled onto the plush settee that had been brought to the room for the princess, Jaecera realized the book was written by Maester Kennet himself. It was a study on the graves and tombs of the North, and immediately captivated her attention. 

 

She read page after page, ignoring the exhaustion she started to feel after the 189th page. Yawning, she realized that the candles had almost burnt down to their wicks, and the fire in the fireplace barely gave off any warmth anymore. It must have been the hour of the owl already, and the realization sent a wave of tiredness through her body. 

 

Taking the book with her, she quietly retired to her chambers. Dyana was placing more logs in the fireplace of her chambers, and greeted the princess with a curt nod when she entered. 

 

“I worried I had to come fetch you soon myself, m’lady,” Dyana sounded amused, eyeing the book Jaecera laid on the desk in the bedchamber.

 

“Lord Stark had the library tidied for me. I lost time,” Jaecera smiled sheepishly. “I apologize for making you stay up so late, Dyana.” 

 

Dyana shook her head with a smile. “All is well, m’lady. I am just glad to see you content.” 

 

For the first time since arriving at Winterfell, Jaecera fell asleep with a smile on her face. She would wed Cregan in only a day’s time, and she would spend all of the coming day in the library. 

 

And so the dragon started falling for the wolf.

Chapter 4: Chapter III

Notes:

A bit of NSFW this time!

The freezing cold snow burned the soles of her feet like fire. Something was beckoning her to continue onwards, deeper into the Godswood. The night sky was an endless sea of black, no stars or moon dared to show themselves. Snowflakes twirled in the sky and landed in her hair, on her bare shoulders and chest. It burned . Oh, it burned and she wanted to scream in pain, but no sound made it past her lips even though her mind was pleading for her to stop, to leave, to end the searing pain from the cold snow on her naked skin. 

 

At the foot of the weirwood tree lay three direwolf pups. Their mangled fur caked with blood and scorched black by fire, their small dead bodies staining the white snow. She wanted to reach out and cradle them in her arms, hold them against her naked chest and nurse them back to health. A silent tear streaked her cheek as she watched the small creatures lay dead and unmoving in the cold night. 

 

The silence was deafening. Silence like this does not exist in the North . The howling wind had stopped its song, the snow made no sound under her feet, the red leaves of the weirwood tree didn’t fill the Godswood with the sound of their rustling from their usual dance. Time stood still. Her gaze finally ventured away from the three dead pups, up the looming trunk of the ivory tree. The faces engraved in the bark were crying, streaks of blood pouring from their eyes and onto the mangled corpses that lay below them. The ancient magic that flowed through the tree was forcing her to look, to see what she had done. She felt small. She wanted to run. But she knew she could not escape the wrath and judgement of the North.

 

—

 

Jaecera jolted awake. Rays of soft sunshine poured in through the window in her bedchamber, the feeling of warmth on her cheek from the early sun chasing away the fear she had only moments ago felt in her dream. 

 

She laid and stared at the windowsill and the sunshine that blinded her slightly, as it bounced off the glittering snow outside. She wanted to just lay there and silently admire the beauty of the North, as it proudly stood outside the window of her bedchamber. Today, she would become a part of the North. Jaecera swallowed thickly at the thought; the visions of her dream flashing before her eyes. A warning. She had been warned. 

 

“M’lady, you should rise,” Dyana’s voice suddenly called from behind her. How long had she been in the room?  

 

The princess sat up, twisting her body to face Dyana, slightly startled but still keeping her royal composure. “Must I already?”

 

“Yes, m’lady. There is much to prepare for tonight,” Dyana smiled at the princess. The handmaiden noticed the uneasiness in her eyes. “Do not fret, m’lady. All will be well. And you will look so beautiful in your gown.” 

 

Jaecera forced a smile which quickly faded. She stayed silent whilst Dyana brushed her hair and helped her dress. She could not get the image of the dead pups out of her mind. Their small bodies, burned and mangled, were engraved in her mind. 

 

“M’lady- you’re crying,” Dyana noticed through the mirror how tears streaked down Jaecera’s cheeks. The handmaiden moved from behind her to kneel in front of the princess, worry etched into her face. Jaecera blinked. 

 

“I… I did not notice,” she mumbled as Dyana wiped the tears away. She frowned at Jaecera. 

 

“You should not cry. Not today,” her voice tried to sound encouraging, to ease the distraught princess. But Jaecera only stared blankly behind her. Her gaze was set on the glimmering snow outside the window. It mocked her. 

 

And the mockery would continue. To her shock and surprise, a familiar whistling screech sounded in the air, loudly declaring his arrival. Jaecera stood up from her vanity and crossed the room to her window. The Blood Wyrm swirled in the air, long neck and elongated limbs and large wings that surely brought fear to the smallfolk of the North. A smaller figure followed Caraxes in the clouds. Arrax. 

 

Luke and Daemon had come to see her be wed. It was a prospect that filled her with joy and sadness all the same, and she wanted to run out into the courtyard to greet her little brother. But she had been confined to her chambers until the wedding ceremony. With a sigh, she slumped back into her chair, staring at herself in the vanity. She wondered what her mother had felt when she married Laenor. Fear? Regret? Excitement? 

 

She did look like Rhaenyra. If not for her slightly upturned nose, which her mother did not have. Other than that, she could easily be mistaken for the Realm’s Delight. What irony it was, to look so much like her mother and now Daemon would give her away to her future husband. 

 

When she was finally dressed in her wedding gown, her mother’s husband entered her bedchambers. Although she had never been much of a fan of Daemon, it was nice to see a familiar face. Even if it was him. 

 

“Princess.” Daemon greeted her, his eyes scanning the bedchambers his wife’s daughter had been confined in since her arrival in the North. His usual stuck-up demeanor seemingly judging the crude design of Winterfell. 

 

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Jaecera crossed her arms, waiting for some smart remark from Daemon. He let out a dry laugh. 

 

“As am I. But it is tradition for the father of the bride to give her away,” he mumbled. “Is this the best they could do for a royal princess?” Daemon grimaced, touching the tapestry on the wall. 

 

Jaecera pursed her lips in annoyance. “It is different here. The North does not have the same… luxuries. ”  

“I can see that. But I’m glad the lack of proper amenities has not deviated you from doing your duty,” he stopped to look at Jaecera. He chuckled when he saw the blue seahorse that had been embroidered on the wedding gown she wore. 

 

Jaecera held her tongue. A beat of silence passed between the two. 

 

“Your mother would be very proud of you, princess,” Daemon broke the silence, his voice surprisingly sincere. 

 

She swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling a surge of emotions well up inside her. She wanted to change the subject. “What news of the war? Have the Greens struck yet?”

 

Daemon scoffed at her question. “No. They cower in the Red Keep and hope that Vhagar will protect them,” he shifted his weight from one foot to another. “But that old bitch of a dragon can’t take on all of the dragons we have.”

 

And you could have had one more, if you hadn’t shipped me away to marry a Northerner. 

 

“None of our dragons have been to war,” she remarked quietly, making Daemon roll his eyes.

 

“You sound like your mother.”

 

What a stupid thing to say , Jaecera thought. The door to her chambers creaked open slowly, and Luke peeked his head in. She swore he had grown almost half a foot taller since she last saw him; which he definitely hadn’t. It had only been short of a week since she left Dragonstone. 

 

“Cera?” he asked, as if he did not recognize his sister, clad in an ivory dress, with the maiden’s cloak around her shoulders.

 

“Luke!” Jaecera exclaimed happily, enveloping Lucerys in a tight hug. Her sweet little brother, who had come all this way to see her be given away to a stranger in a stranger’s land. 

 

“Jace wanted to come, but mother sent him to deal with the Riverlords,” Luke mumbled into Jaecera’s dress. They finally pulled apart from the hug. “I’m sorry it’s just me and Daemon.”

 

She frowned, petting Luke’s hair gently. “Don’t be silly, I’m just as happy to see you.”

 

“You look pretty,” he said with a small smile. “Just like mother.” 

 

—

 

When the sun said her goodbye for the day, Jaecera was led out into the Godswood. Her ivory dress flowed over the snow behind her. She let her fingers fiddle with the embroidery on her gown. A red dragon and a blue seahorse, coming together. Was she a red seahorse, or a blue dragon? Or, a firebreathing seahorse? Maybe she was a sea dragon. Or, if the wicked rumours of the people were to be believed, she was a Strong dragon. Whatever she was, or had been, today she would become a Stark. 

 

Daemon walked in front of her, leading her down the path. He had taken on the job of what her father should have done; it should be Laenor walking her down this path, not Daemon . But the Gods had chosen that Jaecera’s destiny would be walked this way. Daemon had been complaining the whole time, of how dark and cold it was, but held his tongue when the time for the ceremony came. A small gathering of people, many of whom she did not recognize, stood and stared at her. She looked for Dyana and Luke in the crowd. Dyana wore the same encouraging smile on her face that she had all day, but Jaecera couldn’t quite decipher Luke’s expression. He looked… sad. Or maybe worried?

 

But then, there, at the foot of the weirwood tree, illuminated by thousands of candles stood Cregan Stark. No dead direwolves, just the handsome lord of Winterfell. The sky wasn’t the endless sea of black like it had been in her dream, nor did the faces of the weirwood tree bleed red. No snow rained from the sky and burned her skin. She met Cregan’s eyes. His eyes danced across her form, taking in the fiery beauty that would be his wife. She was breathtaking. 

 

Maester Kennet took a step forward. “Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” 

 

“Princess Jaecera, of House Velaryon. She comes here to be wed, to beg the blessings of the Gods. A woman grown, of noble and royal birth,” Daemon’s voice answered the old Maester. Jaecera was surprised that her mother’s husband actually honored the way of the North, and spoke the words with respect and dignity. “Who comes to claim her?”

 

When it was Cregan’s time to speak, he found that his words got stuck in his throat. This girl, nay, woman , would be his tonight. This frightfully beautiful princess would honor him by binding herself to him as his wife. Realizing everyone was waiting for Cregan, he cleared his throat and took a step towards Jaecera. 

 

“Cregan. Of House Stark. Who gives her?” 

 

Daemon seemed to be sizing Cregan up. Although Jaecera was not of his blood, he felt it was his job to judge the man who would take her. He stared down the Lord of Winterfell. Cregan stared back with equal judgement. “Daemon, of House Targaryen. The King Consort, and husband to her mother.”

 

Maester Kennet shifted his focus to the bride. “Princess Jaecera, will you take this man?”  

 

There it was. The question she was asked, yet there was only one answer to give. She thought it a funny thing, really, to be asked a question as if she had a choice. Would she take this man? Was her dream a true warning of what was to come, or just a silly dream, brought on by nerves? 

 

Daemon glanced behind his shoulder, locking eyes with the princess. Everyone was staring at her. Expecting her to answer. She forgot to breathe, felt panic and anxiety rise in her the same way the bile from her stomach would rise anytime she got greensick. 

 

A gust of wind rustled the leaves of the weirwood tree, and a small, red leaf fell at her feet. She stepped over it carefully.

 

“I take this man,” her voice was small, full of uncertainty. She only spoke words that were expected of her, not what she truly wanted. 

 

Her dream had made her question everything; gone was the girlish nervousness that she had felt of marrying such a handsome and kind man, replaced with fear of what the ancient weirwood tree had warned her about. 

 

Cregan’s hand grasped hers, and they kneeled together in front of the weirwood tree as man and wife. They bowed their heads in submission to the Old Gods; Jaecera feared the Gods might smite her if she didn’t. When the couple rose, the maiden’s cloak was removed from her shoulders with ease by Cregan, and replaced with the red mantle of the bride’s cloak. Time stood still. She stared into the eyes of her newly wed husband, expecting blood to seep out of the bark on the weirwood tree, or for dead direwolves to appear behind Cregan. 

 

The Lord of Winterfell noticed his bride’s uneasy demeanor, and sought to comfort her. Some food and wine would surely calm her nerves. 

 

“Come,” he spoke softly, leading her away from the crowd and Godswood. They walked silently, hand in hand down the same path she had just walked as an unwed princess, now the Lady of Winterfell. 

 

—

 

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was extremely different from the ceremony in the Godswood. Men and women laughed and hollered, drank mulled wine and ale and feasted on endless trays of food. Jaecera could barely eat. She knew what would happen after the feast, and it made her stomach churn. 

 

She looked at Cregan from the corner of her eye. He happily ate and drank, deep in conversation with his first sword, Jonnel. Luke was sitting at the high table next to her, as he was her closest kin. Daemon had ventured into the crowd with a pitcher of mulled wine. 

 

“Why aren’t you eating?” Luke asked carefully, looking at his sister. 

 

Jaecera gave him a short smile, knowing she could not tell her baby brother what the true reason behind the lack of her appetite was. “This dress, it’s too tight to eat anything in,” she tried to hold a joking tone. “I’ll have to sneak into the kitchens tonight and eat when I’m in my sleeping gown instead.” Luke smiled.

 

“Thank the Gods I’m not a girl,” Lucerys said as he took another bite of some meat pie. He had already eaten a whole plate of food, but continued to dig in. The sight made Jaecera giggle. 

 

“You’d be an awfully ugly girl, I think,” she joked, making Luke laugh with his mouth full of food. Jaecera reached for her cup of mulled wine, taking a small sip. The sweet taste of huckleberry filled her mouth, but not even the sweet wine could calm her nerves.

 

“Can I have some wine?” Luke asked carefully, a glint of mischievousness in his eye. 

 

Jaecera rolled her eyes, looking around to see if Daemon was anywhere near. “Alright, but don’t tell mother or Daemon that I let you drink,” she said in a hushed tone, sliding her cup over to Luke. 

 

He took a generous gulp, making a face at the strong taste of the Northern drink. “Careful! This wine is much stronger than what mother has let you taste before,” Jaecera tried to stifle a giggle at her younger brother’s enthusiasm. 

 

The siblings spoke in hushed tones and giggled amongst themselves as brothers and sisters do, until she felt Cregan lay a hand on her waist. Jaecera tensed, but turned to her husband. She honestly expected him to be fully drunk, as she knew men often drowned in their cups on their wedding nights. But he looked as sober as he did in the Godswood a few hours prior. 

 

“We should…” he started, wetting his lips as he looked for the right words. Jaecera tried to swallow down the nervousness she felt in her stomach. 

 

She looked down at the oak table they sat in front of. “Will there be… a bedding ceremony?” she asked ever so carefully, but looking back up at Cregan, he shook his head. That brought her some relief. 

 

“Bedding ceremonies are a southern thing. And I would never want my bride to be subjected to such mockery,” his voice was stern, he clearly despised the tradition. 

 

Cregan stood up, and the whole hall quietened down. All eyes were on their Lord, as well as their new Lady of Winterfell. Jaecera stood up from her seat as well.

 

“We will retire to our chambers for now, but please make sure to get yourselves drunk and well fed in our absence,” Cregan’s voice boomed over the crowd, and all of the men and women cheered at his order. 

 

The Lord of Winterfell offered his hand to Jaecera, who cast a last glance at Luke before following her husband out of the hall and towards their marital chambers. She could hear her heartbeat thundering in her chest, and her breaths echo in the hallways of Winterfell. Cregan walked before her, heavy boots thudding against the stone floor, as if counting down the seconds until the most dreaded part of the night would take place. 

 

He opened the door for her, and she stepped inside the chambers. It was larger than her bedchamber, with a huge dark oak bed in the middle of the room, a fireplace, a desk, and a copper tub that was hidden behind a folding door. The room was warm, and inviting. Yet she felt trapped and uncomfortable.

 

Jaecera stood with her back towards Cregan, as she heard him close the heavy door behind him. She shakily inhaled, smoothing over the fabric of her gown. 

 

Cregan let out a sigh of relief as he closed the door, shutting out the noise and commotion of the wedding feast in the Great Hall. He turned to find the princess standing with her back towards him. The young lord had to take a moment to drink in the sight of Jaecera; the way the candlelight caught in the silver and fur of her dress, how her hair fell over her shoulders. 

 

A dragon should not fear a wolf, she thought. It was ridiculous that she felt so trapped - he was her husband , he wouldn’t hurt her… would he? He would be gentle, loving and caring. He should be scared of her , yet that thought was even more ridiculous than the first. Who in their right mind would be threatened by her? A meek little princess, lost in this cold land with no one to turn to. 

 

Jaecera was startled out of her thoughts when she heard Cregan take a step towards her. She quickly looked up and behind her shoulder. Gods, he was so handsome up close. So Northern and strong, with wide shoulders and kind eyes. 

 

“Did I startle you?” He murmured, voice low and rumbling. 

 

Jaecera swallowed dryly, shaking her head. “No, my lord, I- I was simply lost in my thoughts. I apologize,” she tried to fight back tears, not wanting to cry in front of her newly wed husband on their wedding night. You know what he expects. Get it over with already. She reached for the laces in the back of her dress, starting to undo them with shaky hands. 

 

Cregan’s eyes flickered down to her hands, watching as she fumbled with the laces on the ivory gown. He could see the shake in her fingers, could feel the tension in the air between them. 

 

“Stop that,” he snapped gruffly, his voice firm but gentle. “I can see how much your hands are shaking.” 

 

Jaecera averted her gaze from Cregan’s, still fighting back the tears she felt welling up in her eyes. “O-of course, if you wish to undress me yourself, my lord-” 

 

“I do,” he interrupted, standing so close to her now that he could feel the anxiety coming off her in waves. He saw the first tear break free and roll down her cheek. “But not like this.” 

 

You’ve already made a fool of yourself, disappointed your husband. 

 

“Look at me,” Cregan pleaded, gently but still demanding. “Why are you crying?” 

 

His question took Jaecera by surprise. Why was she crying? Was it the fear, the terrifying images of her dream the night before? Was she scared it would hurt, when he took her the way a man does his wife? Or was it the fact that she was no longer a Velaryon, no longer a princess?

 

Cregan reached out and brushed a stray tear away from her porcelain skin, his other hand gently cupping her face, his thumb running along her jawline. 

 

“You don’t need to be scared, princess.”

 

She felt her heart sting when he called her that. “I’m not a princess anymore,” she whispered. “What if I fail as the Lady of Winterfell?” 

 

Cregan furrowed his brows. “You’re my wife. This is your home now, you’re now a Stark. You could never fail,” he tried, still gently cupping her face in his large, calloused hands. 

 

“You cannot know that. What if this was a mistake?” 

 

Cregan shook his head, pulling the crying girl into his arms. “I want you to promise me to stop thinking such thoughts. A sweet girl like you shouldn’t have such ugly thoughts in her head.”

 

Jaecera pulled away from Cregan, wiping her tears away. She silently thanked whoever had decorated the marital chambers for not including a mirror in the room. Seeing herself like this, hideous and crying, when she was supposed to carry out her duty? That was the ugliest thing a girl like her could do. 

 

“Look at me, crying on our wedding night. Such an ugly thing. It cannot be the bride you imagined bedding,” she bitterly laughed. 

 

“You’re the most beautiful bride I could’ve asked for,” he murmured. “Crying or not. You’re mine now, and I am yours, Jaecera .” 

 

That was the first time he had called Jaecera by her name. And oh, it sounded so beautiful rolling off his Northern tongue. As if that was the only way her name should be said. Her tears dried, and all that echoed in her mind was the sound of Cregan saying her name. 

 

Cregan’s hand trailed down from her cheek to her neck, further down towards the laces on the back of her gown. “May I?” His voice was low and gentle as he looked down at Jaecera. 

 

Jaecera blushed, nodding quietly. She turned around, lifting her hair to rest on one shoulder so that her husband could reach the laces of her dress. He started tugging them loose, his fingers moving slowly, deliberately. 

 

“Will you be gentle?” She asked quietly, voice merely a whisper when the last string of lace holding her dress up came undone. It pooled at her feet, and she could hear Cregan’s voice hitch behind her.

 

“I would never hurt you.”

 

She turned back to face him. Jaecera stood in front of her husband’s wanting gaze, only dressed in her chemise and smallclothes. Her face burned red from girlish embarrassment - scared to be showing herself like this to a man for the first time. Cregan felt a wave of heat wash over him as she turned to face him again, the little clothing that adorned her body leaving little to the imagination. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a touch gruff, taking a tentative step closer to Jaecera. 

 

“You have to show me- I don’t know what to do…” her eyes were focused on Cregan’s as he gently pulled her closer by her waist. 

 

The lord couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at her words. He could see the nervous anticipation in Jaecera’s eyes, and hear it in her voice. He hoped she could not sense the nervousness that he was feeling as well. He was the man after all, the mighty lord of Winterfell. If he showed himself nervous it would mean he was weak, and what if she would not want him then anymore? But the way she was looking at him… it would be damn hard to not crumble under her gaze. 

 

“It’s alright,” Cregan mumbled, keeping his eyes focused on hers. “I’ll take care of you.”

 

Jaecera felt her heart pounding hard in her chest, watching Cregan’s eyes flicker between hers and her lips. Finally, he captured her lips with his, kissing her with want and lust. The girl was taken aback, not really knowing what to expect of her first kiss. His soft lips pressed onto hers, his tongue swiping between them and exploring her mouth. She whimpered into the kiss, grasping the fur that laid on his shoulders to ground herself somehow. 

 

Cregan swallowed her whimpers with his mouth, his hands roaming over her hips and pulling her flush against himself. When the kiss broke, they both panted softly. His grey eyes were dark and stormy as he took in her flushed face, the way her rosy lips were slightly parted. He guided her backwards, towards the bed. 

 

“Lay down on the bed,” the low timbre of his voice commanded, and Jaecera felt an unfamiliar warmth pool between her legs. She kept her eyes fixated on his form as she walked backwards, sinking into the soft furs on the big bed. 

 

The Lord of Winterfell started peeling off his clothes, kicking off his boots and tossing the fur from his shoulders onto the floor, until he only stood clad in leather pants in front of his blushing bride. He took off her shoes, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud, before kneeling in front of her on the floor, guiding her lips back onto his. 

 

This time, Jaecera thought she knew what to do. Kissing wasn’t so difficult, not really. It just made her face burn hot, and coaxed soft sounds from her that Cregan seemed to enjoy. Her body seemed to know what to do, and it wasn’t so scary after all. Jaecera arched her back into Cregan, carding her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as they kissed. 

 

He groaned when she tugged at his hair, feeling Jaecera’s girlish innocence slowly slip away as she explored her newfound womanhood. 

 

Cregan rose from his knees, not breaking the kiss as he guided his bride to lay down. He hovered over her, one of his hands traveling under her chemise and up her thigh. Her skin was so soft, so smooth. He did not want to hurt her, did not want to bruise her pretty skin, but the need to devour her and make her his was too strong. 

When they finally parted for air, Jaecera studied her husband’s bare chest and arms. The way his muscles tensed and flexed as they held her, touched her. The prominent bulge in his pants that seemed to strain against his breeches in an almost painful manner. She knew losing her maidenhead would be painful, especially when bedding such a large man as Cregan. Yet, it somehow didn’t scare her anymore. 

 

His comforting words from earlier calmed her. “I am yours, Cregan,” she said, still panting softly. Gods, those words broke Cregan. He would worship this woman until his time was up, until he was plucked from this world. 

 

Fighting the urge to rip the thin chemise into pieces, he settled for guiding it off her. Her naked form was now all for him to devour, to explore, to take. He took in the beauty of her untouched body, how her breasts looked in the candlelight and her nipples pebbled in the slight chill of the room. The fall and rise of her chest as she awaited his next move silently, obediently… he had to have her. 

 

His lips found her neck, kissing and marking it as he ventured downwards with his mouth. The pretty gasps and whimpers that erupted from her lips were like a symphony more beautiful than any song he had ever heard, more beautiful than any song that would ever be played. As he tasted her, felt her wetness coat his chin and lips, that’s when he knew that Targaryens truly were closer to Gods than men. This was not a woman, this was a goddess. 

 

Jaecera grasped onto the furs under her, one hand tangled in Cregan’s brown hair. Every stroke of his tongue against her sensitive bundle of nerves, every time his nose bumped against it - she saw stars. Felt the tingly warmth wash over her body time and time again, rising higher and higher in pleasure until it reached its climax. She felt like a woman possessed, grinding into her husband’s face and skillful tongue and chanting his name like a prayer. 

 

Cregan came back into her field of view, those stormy gray eyes fixated on her flushed face as he captured her lips in another searing kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue. It was exciting, addicting . Cregan suddenly pulled away, making Jaecera whine at the loss of his lips on hers. Silently, he sat back and started to undo the laces on his breeches, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he kept his gaze locked on her. The urge to have him took over Jaecera. She sat up, her nimble fingers replacing his as she worked the laces open, tugging his breeches down. She blushed even more when his cock sprung free, the head rosy and leaking.  All the confidence she had just felt washed away immediately, and she quickly laid back down against the furs. Cregan only smirked. 

 

Guiding her legs open, he settled between them and kissed her softly, before breeching her as gently as he could. Her whole body tensed, a gasp escaping her. Jaecera’s face contorted in slight pain, the burn from Cregan’s cock in her was too much, nothing could have prepared her for it. He was placing soft kisses on her neck and collarbone, trying to ease the pain. But her body would not betray her. As quickly as the pain came, it left. Replacing the pain was a feeling of pleasure that made her whole body shudder. It was different to when Cregan had used his tongue on her, so very different. But Gods, did it feel good. Their bodies were as one, rocking together in a pleasurable rhythm. 

 

Cregan, Cregan, Cregan. It was all that her pleasure-filled mind could comprehend. He was here, making her feel so good. She was his, he was hers. All of the silly thoughts and worries she had washed away with the feeling of the pleasure that was climbing in her belly again, and she wanted to chase it. Did Cregan feel the same thing? Did he also feel like his body was rushing headfirst into a blinding pleasure that shook his whole body, emptied his head from all thoughts? 

 

He thrusted into her with fervor, wanting to make her feel good. His mind could only focus on that - make her feel good. He wanted to know what it felt like to feel a woman come undone around his cock. How it would feel to fill her with his seed, hoping it would take and make her belly swell with heirs. The thought only fueled him even more, the moans and whimpers from the goddess under him spurring him on. 

 

Cregan swore he could die happy now, buried deep in the cunt of a beautiful woman who he had the honor to call his wife. When she came undone for a second time that night and he spilled inside her, the world seemed to stop. 

 

And as they lay there together, catching their breaths in each other's arms; the chambers reeking of sex and sweat, of duty and honor fulfilled, both the dragon princess and the Lord of Winterfell knew they would grow to love each other wholly.