Cregan Stark Fanfic - Tumblr Posts

dragons' scars

summary: And after the events that happened during Lady Laena’s funeral at Driftmark, two dragons were left scarred.

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 6.4k

warnings: blood, fighting, grief, graphic description of wounds, vomiting, probably medical inaccuracies, representation of alicent and viserys' failmarriage at its best

author's note: whoof. this was a whole lot to write. sorry for the delay, I've been on vacation, but I still hope you all like it! in the next few chapters we'll see reader head first in her position as heir and enter a bit of a rebellious phase. i'm not sure i'm completely satisfied by this chapter, but i hope you all enjoy!

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The raven announcing Ser Harwin Strong’s death arrives at Dragonstone barely a day after the one announcing Laena Velaryon’s passing — as if moving to Dragonstone hasn’t already been hard enough on your family. Now not only is your father unresponsive, but your mother, too. 

Laenor had taken quite badly Lady Laena’s passing. He disappeared until supper, only to come back completely black out drunk after, carried by Ser Qarl. Your mother didn’t have the heart to get mad at him, and simply asked the knight to accompany him back to his chambers; she is closing off, too. 

You’re left to look after your brothers, since your parents are still barely at the start of their grieving; you visit them in the nursery, you play with them, you tell them how good they did with their lessons. You suspect Jace knows the truth about Ser Harwin probably being their real father and maybe he would like to drown in his own misery, too, but you won’t let him. Not when your parents are already going downhill. 

None of you knew aunt Laena, even if your father had promised multiple times to bring you to Pentos to visit her, but her death is still a tragedy. Burnt by her own dragon, per her own request, during childbirth. The fact that your mother survived the same thing not too long ago makes you shiver. 

It’s night when you hear the door of your chambers being opened, and you rouse, a bit alarmed, until you recognize the silhouette of your father under the moonlight. “Father? Is– is everything alright?”

He sniffs, standing beside your bed, then sitting down on the ground. “Do you mind if I stay here? Even for a little while will do.”

“I… sure. For as long as you think you need, father.” He reeks of wine, but you don’t point it out to him, turning in the bed so that you’re facing him. You give him your hand and he gladly takes it, squeezing it. “You know,” Laenor mumbles, “She would’ve loved you.” he wipes his nose with the back of his free hand, eyes red and cheeks blotchy. “I promised you that one day you would have met her, but I couldn't keep my promise. I was waiting for her to come back to Westeros — but I should’ve just flown to Pentos once you were born. Now my sister never got to know my daughter — nor any of my children.”

He laughs; a bitter, teary laugh. “She would’ve really loved you. You could’ve ridden Vhagar and Nādrēsy together — the biggest dragons in the world finally flying together.” another sniff, “I always wrote to her about you, and she said that she had bought some jewellery to give to you. That was years ago, though.” he lets out a choked sob, “I haven’t heard from her in what feels like a lifetime.”

You can’t even imagine being away from Jace and Luke for more than a sennight — Joffrey, maybe, yes, but that’s just because he only cries, eats, sleeps and poops. In a few years you won’t be able to part from him either, let alone grieve for him. You’ve known your brothers for most of your life, while they’ve known you for the entirety of theirs. Losing them, in such a way… you don’t even want to think about it. 

“Where’s aunt Laena now?” you ask him. She may have passed, but she has to be somewhere, right? How can a person just… stop existing?. She still has to be somewhere. Maybe she’s with Merrax.

Your father shakes his head. “I don’t know. For us Velaryons, once we die, the sea takes us back. We’re buried in it, so that it may take back all that we owe it. But Laena was also a Targaryen, and for Targaryens death means going back to Old Valyria with their dragons — but Vhagar’s still alive, so I don’t know how she could be able to reach Old Valyria. For the Faith of the Seven, there are Seven Hells and Seven Heavens, and everyone is judged for their sins and actions, and put where the Gods find adequate.”

“I don’t want to be judged when I die. Isn’t death a punishment enough as it is?” 

“I…” Laenor shakes his head. “I understand that for you it might be hard to comprehend, but death isn’t exactly a punishment. Truth is, men are executed just to prevent other people from committing their crimes by scaring them, and also to prevent them from doing it again; but death itself isn’t a punishment. Sometimes it’s a relief. I suppose that’s how your aunt perceived it.” 

You confusedly nod, still not understanding how she could find it a relief. She had two daughters, a husband, a good name for herself; some people would have given anything to be her. So, why? 

Your father has tears in his eyes. “There are fates way worse than death. I guess Laena thought she had enough.”

He leaves you to sleep with a choppy kiss on the forehead and a cracked goodnight, but you barely close an eye. You ask yourself if your mother would have ever left you and your brothers in favour of a quick death, had the situation been the same. 

Three days later, you depart for Driftmark on your dragons. Your parents carry one of your brothers each, while Joffrey is left on Dragonstone under the attentive care of the wetnurses and maids. The ride to Driftmark isn't too long, and you're one of the last ones to arrive for the funeral — as your grandsire, along with your uncles and his entourage, is already there, and so are many others. 

You see what probably is your uncle Daemon with his daughters, Baela and Rhaena, talking to your grandparents — Corlys a collected expression on his face, Rhaenys with teary eyes. There are a few Velaryon family members, who you recognise from your various visits to Driftmark in the last few years, and your grandsire, sitting on a makeshift throne under the gazebo of High Tide’s courtyard — where the tables with wine and refreshments are already placed. 

A guard announces the start of the ceremony, for Laena’s casket has been placed and is ready to be honoured, and you all move towards the cliff, where your aunt's body is ready to be dragged down and thrown onto the sea; you hold on tight to your father's hand as uncle Vaemond starts his eulogy. He squeezes back, sending you a tender glance full of tears. 

The eulogy is in Valyrian, and you are surprised to find barely any mentions of Laena's life. It sounds more like a praise to House Velaryon, of the thick blood that runs through it, and somehow an attempt at something. You can't decide if he's referring to your brother's not-so-Valyrian features or if he's simply trying to get on your grandfather's good side. Probably both.

“Salt courses through Velaryon blood. Ours runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin.”

Laena's casket is slowly dragged down the rocks, and soon enough, it falls into the waters below. 

You look up at your father, tugging on his vest. “Father, will we be buried like this too?” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “I will be. One day, I shall be united with my sister again and join her in the sea. But you'll be buried like a Targaryen, sweetling. You are destined to be something far greater than to be just a Lady Velaryon.”

You don't like it. You don't like the way he's saying it, like being a Velaryon is a curse. “Why? I want to be buried with you.”

He shakes his head again, almost stoically. It seems this is a talk that, at this moment, is too difficult for you to understand. “You'll be a Targaryen, sitting on the throne. You're destined to be burned by dragonfire.” he sniffs. “Or, or maybe you'll be buried by your lord husband’s family traditions; that's not unusual. I'll be a mere Lord, one day. I am your father, but I am not your duty.”

Your lower lip is trembling, and you bite it to hold in the tears that almost manage to escape. “Father, what are you even saying?” it isn’t fair that you can’t choose where to end up, even in death.

He grimaces. As soon as the ceremony ends, he lets go of your hand and simply disappears, as you all gather back in the courtyard stationed on the cliffside of High Tide. Your mother quickly comes to the rescue, holding you under one arm and your brothers under the others, promising you all lemon cakes and sweets once the ceremony is over.

You soon go to your grandparents, giving them your condolences like your mother told you to and then hugging them tight. Rhaenys almost bursts into tears, but actually, she’s great at hiding them for someone who just lost her only daughter. She pats you on the cheek and just stares for a moment, like she’s searching for something, before your grandfather brings her out of her stupor, gently nudging her to other courtesans. 

You greet your grandsire after that, who kisses your temple and hugs you tight, blabbering about how much he has missed you. “The Red Keep has become dull,” he murmurs, coughing a bit. “My children are in no way as bright as you are. Why don’t you come visit sometime? I could use some laughter, you know, and with your witts you often bring me to tears from it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Grandsire, I’ve been gone for not even a moon.”

He huffs. “Forgive this old man for missing his only granddaughter. You and your brothers are children, behaving like children; that's why your presence is dearly missed.” his gaze goes to your uncles; Aemond is staring dully in the distance, and Aegon is eyeing the maids while being on his… what? Fourth cup of wine? “Meanwhile, I’ve got… children behaving like forsaken adults. A drunkard, a spiteful brat, and… I don’t even know what to say about Helaena. At least she’s quiet.”

You’ve never understood why everyone describes Aemond as spiteful. He’s awkward, maybe even unpleasant at moments, but you wouldn't say exactly spiteful. “Grandsire, that is not a nice thing to say. Helaena is very good at embroidering, for one. Aemond is good with books. Aegon… well, I’m not really sure what, but there has to be something good about him.”

He lets out a disappointed noise, shaking his head. “They all excel at giving me headaches. But you know who’s best at it? Their mother.” he grunts, “She’s been insufferable as of lately. I fear I will go mad.”

You desperately try to take the conversation away from your uncles and aunt, not liking the way he talks about them. “If the Queen gives you trouble, I have a dragon. We could either run away on Nādrēsy or make sure he takes care of her.” as if on cue, a dragon roar is heard from the other side of the cliff.

Your grandsire chuckles and pinches your cheek. “Aren’t you a little rascal? That could be considered treason, sweetling. You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

Soon after you leave him, too, in favour of your cousins Rhaena and Baela. They stay out of the crowd, sitting on a little bench, looking completely inconsolable. You near them, not quite knowing how to start a conversation, since they must have heard condolences all day. 

“Uh, I, uh,” not really the best ice breaker, but you surely have their attention now. “I have some dresses — they do not fit me anymore. But I think that they’d fit you both nicely. If you ever need to take a breather, or, or, some time to think and have some fun, you could come to Dragonstone.” you try to smile, but surely it comes out crooked. “I’d be delighted to have you there. I’m always available if you need me.”

Rhaena tries to smile, too, while Baela barely nods. “Thanks, cousin.” 

Corlys comes up to you three, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Could you go fetch your father, dear?” He looks stiff, and you soon understand why: your father is standing in the waters below, on the beach, kneeling in the saltwater and looking completely lost. It does not take you long to join him, holding up your dress so that only your shoes and collants get wet. 

“Father,” you call out. You can’t go too much farther. “Father, are you alright?” He doesn’t reply. He just stares ahead of him, into the vastity of the Narrow Sea, like he can almost see his sister again. You’ve never seen your father so lost, so… unlike himself. It’s like Laena brought with her a part of him. Is he buried in the sea now, too? Am I destined to never see him again? Not even in death?

“Father,” you try again. You get a bit closer, the cold water biting your skin. “Please.”

Laenor barely turns his head to look at you. He looks like a shell of himself, and you think that maybe, it’s just now that he has realised that Laena’s never coming back. Earlier, he had you to ground him; but once he let go of your hand, he suddenly understood that he was alone. His sister is dead. There’s no one else with whom he has shared the same experiences he shared with her, no one else so willing to understand him as she was, no one else who will look at him as an older brother. 

Laena Velaryon is no more, and you are sure she has dragged your father with her in the depths of the sea. 

It’s well past midnight when you are rudely woken up. It’s Rhaena, you realise, and she is calling your name quite insistently. “What?” you hiss, softening once you remember that you were the one to tell the twins that you were always available if needed. You intended by day, but if they need you, then you’ll gladly get up and get going. 

“Someone has stolen Vhagar,” she murmurs, tears brimming in her eyes. You can hear the she-dragon roaring outside, and she doesn’t sound too happy. “Jacaerys, Lucerys and Baela are already going out — but you have a dragon. Can’t you just… follow her?”

She doesn’t have to repeat it twice, because you’re already putting on your riding pants and a tunic, going for the balcony and calling for Nādrēsy. The infamous Cannibal doesn’t take long to arrive, always at your beck and call, and you soon mount him, as Rhaena runs off — probably to where your brothers and her sister were headed. 

It’s almost impossible not to spot Vhagar: she’s an old, gigantic dragon, that in the years has lost all her spikes and now looks like a giant lizard. Her scales are green, fading into a deep bronze, and her saddle is vacant — not really, you think, as you see your uncle Aemond barely clinging to the ropes of the saddle, almost flying away. 

Nādrēsy roars, unhappy to see his mother, you imagine. He moves to turn away, away from her, and you try to hold tight on the reins, keeping him in place. “Daor, Nādrēsy, daor!” No, Nādrēsy, no!

He whines, rebelling against you for what is maybe the first time in over two years, and you can feel how unsettled he is. It radiates off of him, and before you can even understand what is happening, he’s turning back and going for the beach — searching for a landing. Every attempt to stop him, to make him obey, is vain; he roars over your voice, tuning you out, even when you punch and kick at his neck — it seems the only one hurt by this is you, actually. His spikes are not going to fall off for a while, it seems. Unlike Vhagar he still has them all. 

He lands on the beach, roaring loudly and huffing fire. Since now Vhagar is landing, too, and she is pretty far away, you decide to forget about the stunt your dragon has just pulled in order to catch up with the others — you’d hate to miss Rhaena and Baela, or anyone really, going ballistic against Aemond. 

Except, once you finally reach the entrance of High Tide, you find yourself in front of a scene that will surely haunt you in your dreams for a good while. 

Now, you don’t like Aemond. Not really, since he supports his brother in constantly calling your brothers bastards and mostly keeps to himself. That doesn’t mean that him being beaten up by four children way younger than him isn’t honestly pitiful. You had hoped for a fight, yes, but the kind with screams and insults, not the kind with punches and blood, where one of your brothers could easily get injured. 

Aemond is three-and-ten. The twins are a year younger than you, while Jace is six, barely a year older than Luke. The way they easily win against him almost saddens you, and despite the fact that you have nothing against seeing him beaten to a pulp, your mother is already having a hard time adjusting to the changes of the last few weeks — Joff’s birth, Harwin’s death, moving to Dragonstone — and, you think, your brothers and cousins killing your uncle surely wouldn’t help her. So, against all your best wishes, you stand up for Aemond.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?” you scream, prying them all off of him. You take Jacaerys and Luke by their ears, making them whine as you throw them around. “Is this what Ser Cole taught you? Four against one? It’s not a fair fight!” 

“Whose side are you on? He stole my dragon!” Rhaena screeches, outraged. “Vhagar was supposed to be mine!”

“Well, now it isn’t!” you find yourself saying. “I lost my dragon too, and guess what? I found another one! If he was able to claim Vhagar, then maybe she wasn’t meant to be yours. And I say that with the utmost respect and affection for you, cousin, trust me. If Vhagar accepted him, then maybe she’s not worth that much.”

You turn, leaving your brothers with red ears, looking at your uncle, left groaning on the ground. You offer him your hand, leaning a bit. “Uncle, let’s just go to sleep and forget about all that has happened.”

He glances at you, then at your hand. He takes it, and before you can react, he drags you down towards him. 

He’s got a pointed rock in his free hand. 

Luke and Jace scream before you even feel the impact of the stone with your temple, and it’s not a light throw. It’s one with intent, probably aimed to kill. The pain explodes and leaves you in shambles on the ground where your uncle was just a moment ago, and as he prepares himself for another hit, Jacaerys tackles him. 

Aemond lets go of the rock to fight against your brother, who apparently didn’t come here unprepared, because he’s got a knife that he promptly sheathes. “How dare you?” he roars. “My sister helped you! She reprimanded us about not fighting fairly and you maim her!” 

He tries to fight off the grip on his wrist, his knife pointed at Aemond’s throat. “She should’ve let us kill you!”

His uncle manages to shove him off, throwing him on the ground right next to you, barely conscious and hopefully still breathing. “Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” you never quite understood why people described Aemond as spiteful, but now, laying on the ground in a pool of your own blood, you incoherently understand why. “You will die screaming in flames like your father did, bastards!”

The knife is on the ground, too, but as Aemond reaches for it, Lucerys is quicker. 

When the Kingsguard finally comes to the scene, they find a disfigured prince and an unconscious — dead-looking — princess, both still bleeding, both in immense pain. 

The first to snap out of his daze is Ser Harrold, who immediately comes to your side, glancing at the open wound and reaching for his handkerchief, pressing on the bleeding gash with it. This seems to snap you out of your trance, too, because you let out a blood curdling scream, thrashing against him. “Princess!” he exclaims, trying to calm you down. “I am merely trying to stop the bleeding!”

But it looks like you don’t comprehend anything anymore, blood covering your face and teeth, you find yourself spitting it. All you can think about is the fact that Aemond was going for a second strike. And suddenly, you hold no more pity for him, and find yourself agreeing with your grandsire. A spiteful brat, he had described him. 

Your grip on Ser Harrold’s arm would surely draw blood if it wasn’t for his armour, and you can see the terrified gazes of your brothers and cousins, clouded with tears, as the guards keep them away. As your vision darkens and your head spins, you think you can hear Nādrēsy roaring from outside. 

You are unable to stay conscious for much, slipping between being completely passed out and being awake but quite comatose, and you barely register Ser Harrold taking you in his arms — a guard with a screaming Aemond right behind — and getting you out of there. The thundering from your dragon outside just keeps getting louder and louder, pounding in your ears and shaking High Tide. 

The Grand Maester looks horrified when Ser Harrold brings you into his chambers, screaming about needing immediate help, but soon gets to work. Him and his apprentices work overtime, roughly patching Aemond up for the meanwhile because they have a dying girl in their hands, and it doesn’t take much for you to be mostly drunk off of milk of the poppy. 

When you wake, your head is in a tight bandage, and you’re laid down on a daybed, Rhaenys and Corlys by your side along with your brothers, still covered in blood. Their little butchered faces make you want to cry — you failed. As an older sister, you have one job — protecting your brothers — and you have failed. 

“Mummy,” is the first word that comes out of your mouth — like the scared little girl you are, you are searching for the comfort of the same person who has always given it to you, ever since you were but a blob in her womb: your mother. It’s rasped and barely a whisper, but Luke hears it. 

“Sister!” he screams, jumping on the daybed. “You are awake!”

Your head is pounding and your vision is blurred, but you recognize this room to be the best guest chambers of High Tide, the ones your grandparents sometimes let you to sleep in. If you are correct, right now it’s your grandsire who resides in them. There are murmurs around you, a maester nearing, and a heavy hand settling on your shoulder. 

“She’s not here, sweetling,” it’s your grandfather Corlys, but you don’t recognize him. “Daddy?” you ask, as the maester puts in your trembling hands a calice. You hesitantly drink from it, but as soon as the liquid touches your lips, the first instinct is to spit it out. Corlys grimaces. “He’s… he’s not here either, but we sent for them. They both should be here any moment now.”

“I thought you had died,” Jace sobs, “I could see your skull.”

“It will surely scar,” the maester murmurs, tightening the bandages. “Hopefully, it will do only that.”

A wave of nausea comes over you. The maester seems to notice, and he’s quick to ask for a bucket, passing it to you and patting your shoulder as you vomit in it, ears ringing. “That’s normal. She’ll probably have constant nausea for a while.”

The people around you murmur, and another voice makes itself known in the crowd. “—re’s my granddaughter? Where’s my granddaughter?!”

It’s your grandsire, the King, and he stops once he sees you, bandages bloody and bleary eyes, skin pale and covered in sweat. “What have they done to you, my girl?” he whispers, shaking his head in disbelief. He looks at the maester, “Is it serious?”

“I– we have no actual idea of how much it’ll affect her in the long term. In the best scenario, it’ll only scar and leave her with migraines every once in a while,” he grimaces, probably fearing for his life as the King looks furious, “I– in the worst… it, it could have some… permanent effects. Intellect-wise.”

Your grandsire shakes his head. “If you really value your head, dear maester, then you’ll make sure she doesn’t have any repercussions. Don’t forget you have the heir to the Iron Throne in your hands.”

The maester gulps, and Viserys sits by your feet on the daybed, gently placing a hand on your knee. “How are you feeling, sweetling?”

You whine, too nauseated at the moment to speak. The door is thrown open, your mother and uncle Daemon running in, Rhaenyra screaming your names. “Jace, Luke– dear Gods, my girl, what has happened to you?”

Her trembling eyes are frantic, looking at your bandaged wound and the blood splattered on your face, but she is quick to compose herself, putting up a facade in front of the whole court. Later, in the privacy of her chambers, she will hold her three babies and weep as much as she needs, but for now, she has to stay strong. 

Unexpectedly, it is you who starts crying first. Just a little girl crying for her mother, covered in blood and scared for what’s to come. Are you going to be ridiculed for your scar as Mushroom the fool is for his height? You sure hope not.

This enrages your grandsire even more, and he raises back on his feet, throwing his hands in the air. “Gods be good, how could this happen?” he turns to Ser Harrold, “How could you allow such a thing to happen?”

“The princes were supposed to be abed, my King,” the knight replies, tense himself. 

Viserys snarls. “And who had the night watch?”

The Lord Commander’s eyes dart towards Ser Criston, who speaks before he can even be interpelled. “The Prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace.”

Viserys barely spares a glance at Aemond, sitting by the fireplace, his left eye socket being stitched by the Grand Maester. “The Prince?” he says in disbelief. “The Prince? The heir to the Iron Throne could've been killed! You swore to protect my blood!”

A moment of silence. Ser Harrold speaks up. “I’m very sorry, Your Grace.” 

Ser Criston straightens. “The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from other princes, Your Grace.”

“That is no answer!” your grandsire yells, shaking his head. He looks at the Grand Maester, who is now almost finished with Aemond. “It will heal, will it not?” 

“The flesh will heal, but the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

The King sighs. Rhaenyra nods. “That is not even near enough punishment for what he has done to my daughter.”

Alicent’s eyebrows raise up to her hairline. “What he has done? My son has lost an eye. Over what? An innocent scuffle?” “That’s not true!” Jace screams. “He attacked Baela!”

“He broke Luke’s nose!”

“He stole my mother’s dragon!” 

“He tried to kill our sister!”

“Enough!” Viserys rages, immediately shutting down the children. He looks over to you, eyes softening. “My dear, dear girl, are you able to tell me what has happened?”

You sniff. The tears have stopped by now, but the ringing is persistent. “I arrived a bit later than the others.” you murmur, eyes downcast, to your hand, tightly held in your mother’s grasp. “I… I tried to help Aemond. Gave him my hand.” 

You raise your eyes, still full of fear and regret. “Grandsire, he went for another strike.”

“It should be my son telling the story!” Alicent interrupts, voice cracking. “Lucerys Velaryon had a knife– Aemond was ambushed! They meant to kill my son!”

Before your grandsire can reply, you shake your head. Your mother is surprised to find no rage in your words, only… confusion. Disbelief, maybe. “Your son maimed at me when I was simply trying to help him.”

She scoffs. “He was merely defending himself.”

“I gave him my hand to help him off the ground. I had no bad intentions nor weapons with me.” 

You are just discovering one of the bad traits of the human species, Rhaenyra realises. Betrayal, and the worst kind. The one that comes when the intentions are the purest, but the receiver takes advantage. She wonders if after this you’ll be able to help anyone without doubts or second thoughts ever again. 

“He aimed for a kill.”

Viserys turns to his son. “Aemond, I will have the truth of what has happened, now.”

He looks lost. A little kid coming up with a lie. He’s older than you and yet so stupid. “T… they attacked me.”

“That's not true!” Jace bursts. “You called us bastards!”

Silence falls upon the room; you stare at your brother. Had you known that was the motif of the whole ordeal, you would have happily let them beat Aemond till he was no longer recognisable. Your mother pales, and opens her mouth to speak again. “Your Grace, my sons were attacked and forced to defend themselves and their sister, already struck down. My daughter is heir and my sons are in line for the Iron Throne; this is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might know where he heard such slanders from.”

“Over an insult?” Alicent asks, voice trembling. “My son has lost an eye.”

“Your son has permanently damaged the heir to the Iron Throne,” Viserys corrects her. “Now, you tell me, boy. Where did you hear these lies?”

“The insult was but a training yard buster,” his wife interjects, again. “The lot of boys. It was nothing.”

“Aemond,” your grandsire presses firmly. “I asked you a question.”

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? Where is the children’s father? Perhaps he might have something to say on the matter.” 

“I…” your grandsire seems to agree, even if doubtfully. “Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” your mother quickly replies. “ I... could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.”

“Entertaining his young squires, I would venture,” the Queen mumbles. The King chooses the best strategy — just ignoring her. “Aemond, look at me. Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

This is turning messy, you think, too many cards on the table. Your injury, Aemond’s lost eye, your brother’s questioned legitimacy, your father’s absence. For what specific thing are you here? For the fight that broke out or the years of bottled up rage and hatred? 

Aemond’s trembling too, you realise. Yet, for the first time in your life, you can’t find it in yourself to hold even a little bit of pity for him. “It… it was Aegon.”

His brother stands straighter beside him, taken aback. “Me?” 

“And you, boy? Where did you learn such calumnies?” the boy hesitates, “Aegon! tell me the truth of it, now!”

“I…” your uncle sighs, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “We… we know, Father. Everyone knows. Just look at them,”

Your grandsire is silent for a moment, shaking his head. “This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it!”

You’ve never seen him so enraged — Viserys The Peaceful, the smallfolk calls him, and not as to jest. He really is a calm and collected person; he has simply had enough, it seems. 

“That is insufficient,” Alicent declares. “My son has been damaged permanently, my King. ‘Good will’ cannot make him whole.”

Your grandsire sighs. “I cannot restore his eye, Alicent. He has wound the heir to the throne. He should repute himself lucky to not have lost his head.”

His wife shakes her head, bewildered. “He is your son, Viserys, your blood! There is a debt to be paid!”

“My granddaughter has already paid more than enough for your son’s thoughtlessness!” Viserys screams. “He wounded an innocent child who was acting in good faith! She helped him and he spat in her face! That is how you are raising your children, Alicent? Aemond is three-and-ten, almost a man, and yet he attacked a girl not even nine summers old! He should be ashamed of himself.”

The Queen looks dazed. “He has paid more than it is acceptable.” her eyes flicker to you; a glimmer of greed, typical of HIghtowers, sits in them. “We… we could wed the children. Who would want the Princess, now that she has been ruined? My son would have a bride as consolation for the lost eye and she wouldn't have to worry about her future husband finding her… hideous, or worse, not finding a husband at all.”

Viserys takes a deep breath. “Alicent, the girl is only eight…”

Rhaenyra's eye twitches. The only thought of one of Alicent’s spawns getting on the throne by marrying you would've been enough to send her on a rampage. "So that she can say that her husband abused her even before the start of their marriage and you can have one of your children on the throne? I would rather my daughter die a spinster than to see that happen. Besides, she’s a Princess — a scar inflicted by your animal of a son could never manage to taint her beauty. It surely won’t help him in the search for a bride, though, so I can’t say I’m really surprised by this proposal.” your mother is trembling in anger as she says this, “I had already proposed something like this, Your Grace, so I don’t see why my proposal should be denied while you expect yours to be happily welcomed.”

A piece of information is missing, you realise, because you have no idea what your mother is talking about. “Very well,” replies Alicent, voice stone cold. “There is still a debt to be paid, and if the King doesn’t bring justice, the Queen will. I shall have one of your sons’ eyes in return. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Luke screeches and you jump up from the bed, fighting nausea and headache, just to try to keep him safe. Your mother is already making sure of that, hiding him behind her, grabbing you too in the meanwhile, holding you close to her. “Mother!”

“Alicent,” your grandsire chastises.

“He can choose which eye he wants to keep — a luxury that was not granted to my son.”

“You will do no such thing,” the King commands to the knight, who looks conflicted. “Stay your hand.” 

“No, you are sworn to me!”

It seems Ser Cole is not that much of a fool to cut a prince’s eye out of his socket, and he takes a step back. “As your protector, my Queen.” 

“Alicent,” your grandsire starts, “this matter... is finished. Do you understand? And let it be known, anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra's sons should have it removed.”

Your mother takes a breath, and her grip on you and your brothers loosens. “Thank you, father.” 

It all happens so fast. 

In a second or two, Alicent has a knife in her hands — snatched from your grandsire’s belt — and your mother has bolted forward, holding her wrist in place, preventing her from attacking any of you. “Stay behind!” she yells, barely looking at you all — and before you can move to obviously disobey and try to smack Alicent as hard as you can, it’s uncle Daemon who comes up behind you to hold you back as the guards do the same to your brothers. 

You shriek, “Let me go, let me go! I’ll cut her eye out since she wants one so bad!” 

“And then what?” he taunts, putting a hand over your mouth. “For this all to escalate even more?”

“Stay with the King!”

“Alicent!”

“Hold your approach!”

“Stay your hand, Cole!”

Your trashing and turning against Daemon’s hold doesn’t cease, only worsening as your mother grunts in fatigue. “You’ve gone too far,” she grits, glaring at the Queen, steadily holding her wrist and preventing her from wounding her. 

“I?” Alicent asks. “What have I done but was expected of me?” she shakes her head, trembling. “Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law, while you flout it all to do as you please!”

“Alicent, let her go!”

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It's trampled under your pretty foot again!”

“Alicent, release the blade!”

“And now you take my son's eye, and to even that, you feel entitled!”

“Your son almost killed my daughter!” your mother screams, her rage finally exploding. She snickers, but it’s clearly sarcastic. “Exhausting, isn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” she shakes her head, and her voice softens. “But now they see you as you are.”

Alicent manages to free herself from your mother’s grip; Rhaenyra is sent tumbling behind, but luckily there’s your grandfather to catch her. Her arm is profusely bleeding — the wench managed to cut her — and the dagger falls on the ground with a loud thud. 

Daemon finally lets you go, and you sprint to your mother, holding her wounded arm tight and sniffing into her dress. Despite everything, she still manages to hold you close — as she always does — pressing her nose into your hairline, murmuring sweet nothings and reassurances. 

Your grandsire is speechless; his eyes dart to your mother, then to Alicent, then to your mother again. In the end, he looks at his wife, an unreadable gaze in his eyes. “I accept Princess Rhaenyra’s proposal of marriage,” he declares, the room eerily silent. “and I declare my youngest daughter, Helaena, and my oldest grandson, Jacaerys, betrothed, to put an end to this rift between our family. They are to be married once the boy reaches the age of sixteen.” 

His face holds something you’ve never seen in his face, as he looks at the Queen. Is it disdain? You are too young to really know. “I hope you are happy now, wife.”

“Exile”

Pairing: Cregan Stark x exiled!Reader

Hotd masterlist

You had no name, no home, no where you belonged. But Cregan doesn't think so, he thinks you belong to him, maybe you do.

Warning: Angst, hurt/comfort, jealousy, inappropriate language, fluff [ wc: 1.9k ]

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

You watched the snow flakes fall, like crushed sugar taking refuge on your lashes, soft and cold.

The girls had ofcourse abandoned sewing and started whispering to each other, and like always you were excluded, not that it concerned you, exiled.

Their ohhhs and ahhhs weren't quiet enough, you kept your head low and mouth tight, smearing your thumb in the insides of your hand.

That's where Cregan was standing, when you first met.

His face was cold and distant, watching as you were brought between these walls, stripped from your name, all titles, no honour to serve, no virtue to entact, just nameless exile, a no-one, truly pathetic.

You thought he wouldn't speak, the way he moved, his shoulders were always tense, like something physically was burdening him, and you weren't going to start with his frown—not that it was your concern but it wouldn't kill him to smile, he might look good if he smiled. And how coldly he spoke, you almost ran opposite of him during those first times.

Ofcourse he was good looking, very, what you were even playing at ? All the girl you were forced to indulge with talked of nothing but him, the noble ones were shy, only smiling under their breaths and blushing bright crimson while common court girls had wide mouths and broad imaginations, also filth —they spoke so much of the young wolf like they knew anything — they didn't, nothing at all.

Have you seen his ribs ?

he's...she beamed pink...very big. Yes bitch.

He's got so much there, chuckle, no, you haven't seen Martha, I have — Liar— And his mouth, ohhhh.

And he's wild like a wolf, just last night—No, he wasn't with you.

“Stop!”

All the girls snapped their head at you in union, some actually scared that it was Septa, some had mean, annoying frowns knitting on their dull, red faces.

“ What's with you ?” one of them said, She was the one who was boasting about her ‘wolf bite', a very angry bruise at the side of her neck, it looked more like hive. Bitch.

“ Don't...” You gulped, “ ...stop spreading rumours...you all..you never really—” It was shameful, you couldn't talk, what would you tell them, that they don't know how it feels to be the one Cregan's arm, how it felt to be kissed by those lips, and to feel his heat creeping up your spine, how it felt to be his lover, no they didn't, none at all. lying whores.

“ She's gone insane.” One shrieked, covering her high pitched screeching of a laughter and other's joined for a snicker.

“ She's just jealous because she's too ugly to be his whore.”

Fuck you. You didn't if you said it or not.

“Aww, you nameless slut.”

Oh.

And you would've said something, but your throat was rigid, your cheeks burnt with shame and all you saw was girls with name, girls with father's and mother's, girls with futures and husbands and children, girls with home and prospects and life.

Then you looked down at your hands, beaten up with hard labour and prickled needles, a sense of reality washed like waves over you.

The kind of waves that brought you to winterfell, your mother's necklace was taken first, a ruby, exiles don't have the luxury.

“ You're no one's daughter, you have no name, no home, no noble blood. You don't belong and don't matter, do you understand ?”

No

“ Yes.”

And during those days in water, you thought what it meant, name wasn't a physical concept, it can't be stripped and yet it was —

“ Aye, girl ! ” that's what you'd become now, a girl, a girl who's no one.

But, you fought back the tears, turning your back to the chatter of giggles, nameless whore... pathetic, isn't she ?... Your eyes were brimming with tears and your vision was blurring, you just ran, wherever your flight took you, just far, far, far.

“ Ow —ouch.” You squealed, bumping against a hard except walls didn't have hands to steady you and wall didn't speak.

“ You should be care— Are you crying? ” Cregan said, he had that sweet way of talking to you, it's an inside joke.

“ Are you...are you scared of me ?” Cregan said, his mouth twitched in concern —worrying.

“ Oh...I..no..m'lord.” You bowed, feeling your cheeks flush, you realised how poor your attempts have been to avoid Cregan, only landing you to him personally seeking you out.

“ Cregan.” He said, noticing you wide blown eyes, “ Call me just Cregan. If you don't mind, lady Y/n ”

A pause. It's been a while you heard your name said so beautiful, each syllable, each sound resonating like waves rippling through water, a soft music, you couldn't believe it was something that was yours, that it belonged to you.

“ I am an exile.”

“ You never answered my question? Have i done something to offend you ? ”

You looked up at him, feeling your heart spiral in a lavender haze.

“ You, m'lord —” Cregan frowned, “ Cregan. You are...I..you speak coldly.”

“ Right.”

“ I shouldn't have said that.” You said it, panic seizing you but... was it...oh, he's smiling, Cregan Stark is smiling like a fool and it's so bright that you feel your skin melting, your bloody boiling and your mouth too dry.

“ Thanks, i think you wouldn't avoid me now.” He said, like a different person, his jaw was loose, his eyes were crinkling, his words were carrying warmth and sweetness.

“ I am not.” you sniffed, but he already had your wirsts in his grip, holding them like you were guilty. Maybe.

“ Tell me Y/n.” He urged, he leaned to inspect you, a tear fell down your eye, gathering at the tip of your chin.

“ It's nothing, really Cregan, nothing at all.” you tried to smile, it could've worked with anyone but Cregan knew your bones better than you, he frowned and if times were different, you would've kissed it away, whoosh.

“ Tell me darling, it would pain me if I couldn't take away your misery.” His eyes deepened in yours, brushing your cheeks and you leaned into his palm, “ I don't want to see you, I don't..fuck — it hurts me.”

“ I don't want to hurt you.” You said, loving him was like an itch, a never ending torment, craving him was stopping the itch only to realise you'd ripped off your skin, like that.

It began with you ducking around him in halls, turning away from him at every point because he just intimidated you, the way he looked, like he knew, like he could read everything that ran in and out your brain, it scared you, the power, the chaos.

Then something changed, whenever you were alone you found yourself with him, telling him about home, no longer home, praying and praying, and he watched, sometimes he joined too, kneeling beside you, shoulders touching, eyes closed and in those moments you drifted into a dream, in your dream you were getting married, you had dreams like this before but now the man had a face, a truly beautiful face, and you were saying your vows, you let yourself smile at those ridiculous sweet nothings, ofcourse no, you stupid, stupid girl, no.

And you loved talking to him because he listened, everything and nothing and he made no noise, nodding and smiling along, sometimes he would lean to your side, sometimes taking your hand and guiding to his hair while he laid in your lap, looking up to with stars in his eyes, and then one day war came and duty called.

“ I will come back to you.” sweet, he said it so sweetly that you could've died.

“ I know.” and maybe it was love that rippled the thought of parting, because love was afterall grief preserving, your breath hitched and you hesitated only a moment, a bare second before you reached on your tip toes, joining your lips to him, for a man who was ice, his lips were warm like fire, soft and warm.

You blushed when you heard grabbed your face, pulling back and looked into your eyes, a grin, almost spilling out of his mouth.

“ I will come to back to you.” and he kissed you again, kissing Cregan was like confetti, it's one moment everything is bursting golden and then the ashes settle, he has to leave, for war, but the sparkle never leaves — he'll come back to you.

“ Then tell me, please, let me help you.” Cregan's eyes were pained, his jaw hardening, he would break his face like that.

“ Just girlish tatter, they claim to know, claim that they have with you..you, that they know how it's like kissing you and how it's like bedding you and how —” You didn't realise you were breaking until Cregan swooped you in his arms and gathered your pieces, you were pathetic, and what if it's true, what if they know, it didn't matter, you were no one, no claim, no right, no name, exiled.

“ Oh, my darling...shhh.” He kissed the top of your head, his arms wrapped around you, helping you hold on to him.

“ They are all pathetic liars, all of them...no, they don't and they never will. Only you my baby, only you my lady.”

“ I am sorry...I am being pathetic.” You pressed your wet face into his cloak, somewhere inside his heart was beating, only for you, Cregan had told you very much, when he traced your finger on his chest, there, he would smile, can you feel it ? , He would gleam like a teenage boy, yes, i can, thud-thud-thud, You would lean down to press your ear on his chest, he would spoon you, skin by skin, just two warm bodies and glittering souls, yeah, just for you.

“ No, you're not, my darling. You're not, they are... pathetic and jealous.” He was raging, you knew, but he wouldn't lash out, not now because it would mean he would have to let go of you, not yet.

You smile into his arms, it will be okay, as long as it's like this, you and him, you don't need a name, really — just him, he's your home, he's yours, he's where you belong.

“Okay, okay...now calm down my lord.” You looked up at him, his brooding sulking face, no, they don't deserve it.

“ Huh, What did you say lady y/n ? ” He cocked his head, the corner of his mouth tugging at one end, beautiful.

“ I am an exile.” You said, watching as he shaked his head, wriggling you along as he shaked your waist in a hug-like way.

“ No.” He pecked your lips, “ you're mine.”

Maybe love wasn't just grief preserving, but life blooming like twilight flickered by the horizon, almost blinding but so beautiful.

cregan stark aka mr attitude adjustment.

sometimes cregan needs to check himself, and make sure ur good too

this is part of a series which at the moment also includes benjicot blackwood. if there's anyone you'd like to see done next please let me know! general NSFW content warning, talk of impregnation.

lalala cregan stark lalala tom taylor...can i just preface this by saying he causes the ultimate brain rot. i look at him and my brain just goes " big man in pelts and amour big man in pelts and-" anyway!

to me cregan stark is the physical embodiment of non sexual dominance. i mean we all know how well the men of the north treat their women, like they are queens even if they wear the crown or not. and being with the lord of winterfell himself only makes things better. He walks into a room and he demands control and attention, and when people see you his pretty little wife hanging off his arm it only makes him feel that much more powerful.

back to the n.s.d thing, lets just says he's a natural "father" figure. i can see him falling for someone who needs some... light correcting... are u following me. finding love with someone who may be a bit mouthy. who isn't afraid to look him in the face and disagree with him, to offer a different opinion from the other daft cunts int he room. someone who will watch him train, who will watch him knock new coming knights onto the ground without flinching away.

i just think he would find excitement in someone with a little fight in them. someone he can back into a corner with his body mass alone, looking down his nose at you no matter how much to try to stand tall in front of him. staring you down into submission until you don't have a peep left in you, giving him the talking space to tell you how exactly things are going to go from here on out. [nsfw]

its hard to imagine actual angry sex with cregan, a man made of honor like that would never try and apologize with his cock before he does so with his words. however, i can imagine jealous, possessive, and passionate sex with cregan after his honor towards you has been tested. maybe someone eludes to you having an hard time producing heirs, suggesting someone else. or maybe they have the audacity to marry you off or send you away for some sort of gain for winterfell. all of a sudden there's knocking on ur chamber doors, and ur being pushed into ur room instead of opening the door properly.

from there the evening existed entirely of hot and heavy breathing accompanied by his harsh grip moving along ur skin. he touches you with purpose, like he's trying to leave some sort of trace of him on ur skin. teeth biting into ur neck, the feeling similar to that of a wolfs fangs leaving bruises on ur skin after a harsh nip. if it was up to him he would've torn ur shift away from ur body and throw it into the fire, leaving you bare before his eyes for the rest of time. his war torn hands run up along whatever parts of you he can reach. his touches are desperate in the way he pushes you into the chaise, in way too much of a hurry to move both of you to the bed it seems. fingers prepping ur sweet cunt while muttering words of owners ship and adoration into ur neck. his hair tickles ur skin as you begin to claw at the part of him you can. its clumsy and desperate, the kind of intercourse where you know there's something he's trying to get off his chest but he just doesn't have the words to say it. its when he finally sheathes himself inside of you that he tells you all about the lords who dared to speak of you to his face. heavy girth pumping in and out of you while his voice gets louder and louder, crying out ur name over the sounds of lilted moans. making sure all the lords and ladies down the hall know that you won't be going anywhere. especially away from him.

this is my first work for cregan i love him so much that wolf of a man. my ask box is always open tbh i love to yap especially abt hotd

natural instincts…

sick and laying in my bed which also means i can’t stop thinking about cregan and the stark baby making gene that definitely runs in the family. cw: dis is mostly smut with a side of fluff, no angst at all. talk of breeding and imprégnation, as well as some talk of family life.

so it’s no secret to any of the beautiful brains on tumblr that the stark men have a certain habit of tripping and falling and maybe putting a baby in their pretty lady wives. and well i believe that cregan stark is no different. it’s so fucking cold in the north, and even though he is a man grown that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a nice warm cunt to settle into at the end of the night. he works so hard :/ constantly walking around and performing his duty as lord of the north.

i can imagine how insufferable he’d be before you are wed. the thought of building a family with you always on him mind. sneaking into ur chambers before the sun is y over the hills, just to slide into bed with his hand on your stomach and dream about the life he can’t wait to have with you. talking over ir shoulder until you go to sleep and slipping back into his own chambers. it gets even worse once u finally belong to him under the eyes of the seven. on ur first official night together, during the bedding ceremony, he was incredibly gentle with you. so grateful to have you as his wife that he could even think to push you abt heirs. no he’s never allow those old fuck in the room to watch as he takes you over and over again, he allows them to listen to ur cries through the walls, opening the chamber doors and tossing the sheets at them after splitting u open on his cock for the first time that night. happiest man on the planet once he gets you back in his arm and under one of his favorite pelts.

i can imagine one day he sees you talking one of the young lords who had gotten lost and was search for his mother. stumbled upon you coddling him and wiping his tears until another his morhwr is found again. the whole ordeal has him feeling some kind of way, he can’t even find it in himself to approach you over the feeling of him stiffening between his thighs. he thinks about it for the rest of the day, the thought of making you a mother. just lalala scatter brained cregan stumbling around the training grounds things about stirring up ur guts the second you get back to ur shared chambers and keeping you on ur back until ur sure to be taken with his seed.

nsfw!!!!

baby making time! cregan is my man with a plan. he has been planting little seeds in ur brain for weeks now. talking about how cute having someone who looks just like you would be. or how much he would love to see ur belly get rounder with ever passing moon. wrapping his hands around ur stomach and pressing down right where ur womb would be, rocking you back and forth while pressing his slowly gardening cock into ur backside. his plan is going so well that it’s only be a matter of time before he has ur body crowded against the sheets of his bed. face down with tears wetting his sheets while his pillow sits comfortably underneath ur hips. sliding his cock in the space between ur thighs before finally oushing past the tight space of ur cunt. his front pressed against ur back while he lifts his hips and slams back into you at a toe curling pace. one hand keeping ur hips pressed against his while the other wraps around ur front, groping at whatever he can feel to lift you back into him, swallowing ur whines with a kiss. when all is said and done he likes to pull out and admire his work, the mess he’s made of you. rolling you over and sliding the pillow back under ur hips so you’ll be sure to bless him with a mini stark sometime soon.

he also is not the kind of man who refrains form touch you while you are with his child. it’s hard to ignore the way ur chest starts to swell along with your stomach, spilling out of the lovely dresses you wear. or the way ur body starts to beings softer.. more plush. completing him to dig his fingers into ur hips and revel in the marks he leave behind. so head over heels for his pregnant lady wife that he might wanna start keep her that way. swollen and sweet with his child.

this was typed during a fever dream so sorry for any mistakes. hotd requests are open!

the dear daughter

summary: At one-and-twenty and eight-and-ten, barely a year after their marriage, Ser Laenor Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen welcomed their first child, a daughter, into the world. The girl immediately became dear to the whole court, coddled and spoiled by all, but mostly by her grandsire, King Viserys I. The man saw in his granddaughter her mother, and as the girl grew to look like his late wife, Aemma Arryn, it became even clearer that he doted on her more than he did to his own children or his other grandchildren.

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: mention of hard labours, reader is a little shit and everyone loves her for that, language? pretty fluffy chapter if you ask me

author's note: this is my first time writing for hotd, so i hope that you like it lol. it's most likely going to be an AU, and as always, english is not my first language so (kind) criticism is plenty accepted lol

series masterlist

Once her first labours finally come to an end, Rhaenyra Targaryen finds herself blessed with a daughter: a small child with fair eyes and white hair, that in the years would become the only babe actually sired by her husband, Laenor Velaryon.

Rhaenyra watches with enamoured eyes as you latch onto her breast, suckling any milk you can get; your eyes are of a misty lilac, like hers once were, and as you look up at her, she’s sure she has never felt a thing like this before. She’s a mother now, she’s what Aemma once was to her, and she feels like she’s getting back a small piece of her mother as she brushes the small tuft of white hair upon your head. 

“Aren’t you the sweetest little thing?” Laenor, head laid upon her shoulder to have a better look, says. As you sleepily close your eyes, he nudges the hand that lays on Rhaenyra’s chest to seek a reaction from you, who in return wraps the entirety of your small palm around his index finger — not even managing to cover it all. By the look on his face, your mother knows that he is holding himself back from squealing. 

They both know you’re the only child they will ever have together. The months before your conception were made of dreadful nights, tears of frustration and awkward moments, so when Rhaenyra finally came to be with child they both took a relieved breath, and swore they would never lie together ever again. Rhaenyra, though, knows you probably won’t be her last; it’s expected of her to have more than one child, and if Laenor can’t give that to her, she’s going to seek that from someone else. He knows, they’ve talked about it, and he sees no problem with it; all children birthed by Rhaenyra are going to be legitimised, and he will be treating them as if they were his. 

But you’re the only one that’s going to be his. The blood of his blood. Ours runs thick. 

Rhaenyra, with the last forces left to her, delicately hoists you from her chest to give you to your father. “Why don’t you hold her?”

Laenor flushes, embarrassed, maybe not feeling ready for this moment. “Oh– I– I…” 

Despite his initial scepticism, he rests his back on the headboard, getting in a sitting position and undoing the laces of his blouse, as the maester has said that placing a babe on naked skin should calm and comfort them. So he carefully places you on his chest, and your head sits right above his heart, held and caressed gently by his hands. 

She was not born out of love, Rhaenyra thinks, but that shall not make her feel less loved by any means. 

Your dragon hatches in your cradle barely a sennight after your birth, just like every Targaryen worthy of their name, and your mother lovingly names her Merrax as she gives her to the dragon keepers to feed and train until you are old enough to bond with and claim her. 

Two moons after your birth, a feast is held in your honour, so that Rhaenyra manages to recover from her labours to participate and everyone that is invited can make sure to attend. Neither your mother nor Laenor are happy about it, as they would rather spend their time coddling and holding you in their arms, but Viserys is just too ecstatic about his first granddaughter — cooing and showing her around the castle, introducing the babe to anyone who will listen — so they indulge for his sake, and figure that letting him parade you around for just a night won’t hurt anyone. They surely didn’t think they’d have to thank a hundred lords and ladies for the gifts they brought to their firstborn for two hours straight. 

After the first hour, your mother checked to see how the line of nobles was going and paled, nudging to her husband. “This is worse than it was at our wedding.”

Laenor nodded, looking over at his father-in-law, happily chatting with Lord Bracken about the whole new wardrobe of dresses he just gifted to you. “We now have… what, ten cradles? And how many dresses and toy-dragons and dolls do we have?”

Rhaenyra sighs dramatically. “I stopped counting at the twelfth doll. Some Lords really are desperate for the favour of the King, it seems.” She looks over at you; despite the cradle sitting between her and her father for you to sleep in, it seems that Viserys has no intention of letting you stay there. You’re held in his arms, sat atop his legs, wearing a dress made of all puffy lilac silks that basically drown your little body. 

The King actually seems to be paying more attention to you than to the Lords, redoing the ribbon holding together your bonnet when it loosens and shushing you when you start to whine. “It’s actually quite interesting to watch,” Rhaenyra whispers to Laenor, “I don’t think she’s ever been this confused — nor endeared.”

You squeal when you like a gift, while you just stare when you don’t like one, and your grandsire seems to have caught up on it, managing his response to the Lords based on your reactions.

“Lord Rickon of House Stark, from Winterfell,” the page announces. Lord Rickon is a tall man no older than fourty, though his hair is already completely white — it looks like the North isn’t treating him well. He carries a son with him — Cregan, he says, — barely five summers old, and gives him a little nudge towards the makeshift throne where Viserys and you are sitting. “Come on, son,” 

Little Cregan almost stumbles upon the steps, “Your Majesty, it is an honour to be here. This is House Stark’s bestowal for the birth of the young Princess.”

Rhaenyra is impressed. She’s pretty sure no five-year-old can talk like that; Cregan seems to be much taller than the boys his age, too. The boy in question opens the box in his hands, revealing a necklet adorned with purple sapphires and pearls, and it’s so pretty that your mother thinks she just might borrow it from you. It’s not like you’ll notice the absence of it — you won’t be able to wear it for at least another seven years. To match it, there’s also a pair of tear-shaped earrings and an oval ring, all with the same lilac stones. Looks like the Starks have good taste. 

You stare at the jewels, then at the boy, then again at the jewels. You squeal, a hand reaching for the necklet — or at least, it seems. Because you actually reach for the little metal buckle that sits upon the Little Lord’s chest, holding together two leather pieces. It’s of a deep grey — silver or steel, perhaps? — and it’s adorned with the Starks emblem, the howling direwolf. 

Viserys doesn’t let you lean enough to take a hold of the buckle, taking your little hand in his and shaking his head. “No, not that, sweetling,” he chastises. He gently takes the wooden box from Cregan, showing you the jewels. “They are quite impressive, are they not? Clearly, it took an expert hand to make them.” 

Lord Rickon puffs his chest with pride, but as you reach and take the necklet, you don’t seem quite as happy as before. Your little hands wrap around the big, round gemstones and pearls, and you try to chew on it before the King can stop you. The court erupts in laughter, and your grandsire takes the jewel away from your hands as gently as he can. “No, sweetling, you can’t put it in your mouth–” 

But your attention is already elsewhere, towards the Stark boy, and you reach your hand out towards the buckle with the emblem of his House again. You really like it, it seems.

Cregan sends an unsure glance towards his father, who nods, then unclasps the buckle from the leather straps and hands you the little emblem. You eagerly take it, immediately chewing on it — and this time, Viserys chooses not to stop you before you importunate the Stark boy anymore — but you still don’t look satisfied. You reach towards Cregan, again, and this time, pull a chunk of his hair, squealing delightfully. 

Rhaenyra can tell that the child is trying his best not to protest — after all, even if a babe, you are still a princess — as you, with all the mighty force that a newborn has, happily try to make the Stark boy bald. You shriek and gurgle, happily playing with the black strands as the whole court tries not to laugh their asses off. 

Viserys, despite holding back his laugh, decides to take mercy upon the boy, separing you two and hoisting you up, laughing gleefully. “My dear granddaughter!” he exclaims. “Not even three moons old yet, and already terrorising the whole court!” he then looks at Cregan, a playful glint in his eyes. “I think she likes you, boy!”

He sends the Stark boy off with a pat on the shoulder and a truthful thanks to Lord Rickon for the gifts, as clearly, they were appreciated amply.

Further in the evening, they send you back in Rhaenyra’s arms, milk drunk from the wet nurse feeding, and she finds herself surrounded by Ladies and Lords who gape at you, who are starting to get a bit fussy and stirring and whining in her arms.  Your mother shushes you as best as she can, but since there’s a constant buzzing in the hall — it being the bards or the guests chatting — there’s not much she can do. 

You seem to regain your light when Lord Stark — or, more like, his son — enters your vision camp. You squeal happily, even if the boy winces, brushing his hair behind his ear just to make sure you won’t pull it again. Rhaenyra laughs, saccharine and a bit inebriated from the wine she has had, and looks over the child. “It seems that she has taken quite a liking to you, boy. Would you like to hold her?”

Cregan isn’t exactly fond of the idea, but when a princess asks if you wish to hold her child, you can’t exactly refuse. So he takes a seat in the nearest chair as your mother explains to him how to hold you, and once he does, he finds your eyes — big, violet and shiny — looking at him with what he could only explain as awe. The Ladies around him share a knowing laughter, chanting something about love at first sight, and you slowly fall asleep in his arms. 

He is finally relieved of the tremendous weight sitting in his arms as Rhaenyra retrieves you, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple and thanking the boy, before going towards the cradle sitting between the two makeshift thrones in front of the Royal Family’s table, guarded by two knights. She lays you down and murmurs a small promise of taking you back to the nursery as soon as the feast ends, and then sends a knowing look to Harwin, stationed right beside the crib to guard you. 

The rest of the night passes smoothly, and by the end of it, Cregan finds himself peering over the crib as almost every adult in the room is black-out drunk, poking your cheek with his finger. Ser Strong gives him a reprimanding but somewhat soft slap on the back of his head, asking him not to do that. 

And as he looks at you over the crib, stirring but not waking up, the only thing that Cregan Stark can think about is all the trouble you’re going to cause once you grow up.

Sometime later comes Jacaerys. 

You welcome him with a slap on the cheek and a high pitched cry, scared about the fact that there’s another babe in the arms of your mother that’s not you, and Laenor is quick to escort you out of the birthing chamber, shushing you with promises of buying you new dolls and taking you to ride Seasmoke. 

And he does, but that doesn’t seem to put an end to your jealousy. 

Rhaenyra is still strained by her labours, who weren’t so kind to her like last time; she finds herself in much more pain than she was when she had you, and for days can’t even stand up straight for more than a few seconds. This does not help the situation, because you want your mother to play with you and take you riding on Syrax, but she can't — and you end up, yet again, blaming your little brother and taking it out on him.

You start screaming as soon as you see him. You mostly reject the spare attempts of your mother to make you bond with him or even to hug her, and Rhaenyra, already suffering thanks to the stress of a newborn that looks nothing like Laenor holds, feels like a terrible mother. 

“Of course the child doesn’t like her brother,” the maids whisper. “He looks nothing like her, or her mother. She sees him as a stranger; she sees what he actually is — a bastard.”

The maids’ tongues are quick to cut, but whispers are hard to silence, and they continue. Alicent makes sure of it. She always seems to take a liking in making Rhaenyra’s life as hard as possible, thriving in seeing her pain. 

During this time, you don’t throw tantrums with only three people: Laenor, your aunt Halaena and your grandsire. 

Laenor, bless his heart, is a softie for you. He loves Jacaerys, he really does, but he can’t stand to see you cry and feel replaced. You’re young, but you’re smart, and even if you cannot articulate it, he knows you think that with Jace you’re no longer going to be as loved as before. That’s because when Laena was born, he’s pretty sure he thought and felt the same, but he’s also sure that you’re going to accept Jacaerys, so he often tries to persuade you into seeing him. It always ends in a pool of tears and yet another promise to taking you on a ride on Seasmoke with him. 

Helaena has no expectations of you, and she just lets you roam in the gardens, her chambers or the nursery as you like. She’s sweet, feeding you lemon cakes stolen from the kitchens and letting you sleep on her lap, curled like a cat. She makes you dresses — secretly altered by her septa so that they are actually functioning — and sings you lullabies, liking the idea of kinda having a baby of her own without birthing one or having to have a husband.

Yet, your favourite always ends up being your grandsire, the King; it seems that you can barely be separated from him. You become his little shadow, always following him, waddling around and clinging to his cloak. And when the lords in the Small Council ask him why there's a toddler sitting on his legs, playing with his cup and trying to drink from it, he just laughs it off and tells them to go on with the meeting.

He spoils you rotten, buying you all the toys and dresses you spare a glance to, even after Rhaenyra tells him again and again to stop doing that. It is clear that he has a favourite, as Alicent always reminds him, as he is “constantly neglecting his sons in favour of a spoiled brat”, as she says. Viserys doesn’t tolerate such language, and never makes it a mystery to his lady wife, not once backing down from reprimanding her about it. 

And Viserys ends up being a blessing, because slowly, he manages to make you warm up to Jacaerys. You soon begin to ask about your baby brother, if he can play or say your name, and decide that since you lack of male dolls, he’s little enough to make up for it. 

In the year that follows, Lucerys joins you and Jace. This time, you instantly treat him as if he was your own, happy with your newfound role of older sister, trying to play with him even if he can barely roll onto his belly. This time around, it is Jace who is jealous of the newcomer; his dear sister now’s all preoccupied with the new babe and barely even cares about him anymore, it seems. But his jealousy doesn’t last as long as yours, luckily, because soon enough he’s joining you in the quest of dressing up Luke as a dragon.

Rhaenyra is so happy with this turn of events that the rumours about her sons being bastards are almost completely tuned out. And as she sits in the nursery, watching you dress up Jacaerys as a true prince to save your dolls while Lucerys sleeps like the dead in the cradle, she thinks that weirdly enough, she wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

about children and trouble

summary: It is reported that in the year 121 AC, when the Realm’s Jewel was only six summers old, her hatchling Merrax was eaten by the Cannibal in a strange turn of events that found him moving from Dragonstone to the Dragonpit in King’s Landing. Princess Rhaenyra demanded to have the dragon’s head cut, but as nobody ever tried nor dared to get close to the Cannibal, it was impossible to do it. Thus, her daughter took the matters into her own hands.

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 8.2k

warnings: cregan being harassed by a six year old, tantrums, mentions of death, reader being young rhaenyra come back to life, overall pretty chill?

author's note: man do i love writing about reader annoying cregan.

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You spend the month before your sixth nameday on Driftmark, with your paternal grandparents and the other Velaryon family members.

There, your grandparents shower you with gifts, presenting you with a beautiful headpiece made of pearls and seashells that you fall in love with and a new array of clothes — all embroidered with diamonds and pearls, most in the sea-blue colour of the Velaryon emblem.

“We started out as fishermen,” Corlys tells you one day, holding you in his arms and motioning to the vastness of the sea beyond Blackwater Bay. “Then we became sailors, then explorers, then merchants. Then we took what was rightfully ours– Driftmark and a title. But never forget where you came from, little one. We owe the sea too much to discard it.”

You like the sea, almost as much as you like riding dragons. You and your grandfather take swims together when it gets too hot, taking your time to cool off before going back to the castle, trying to hold in your laughter and hide from the wrath of Rhaenys, who isn’t too fond of the idea of her granddaughter being wet like a dog. And since her husband isn’t getting any younger either and constantly complains about aching limbs, then maybe he shouldn’t dive into Blackwater Bay like it’s a hot bath, too. 

When she isn’t preoccupied in reprimanding you and her husband for being childish, your grandmother Rhaenys takes you on long rides on Meleys, the Red Queen, who has taken a liking in you and seeks your caresses every time you are near. You like the air brushing your face and hair, and the enormous castle becoming almost small from how much high up you two are.

Your father and grandfather make sure to start teaching you all they know about boats and navigating through the sea. You ask them when your brothers will be able to join you all, and they tell you that once they near their sixth nameday, they’ll take them out to the sea too; teach them everything they know, just as they’re doing with you. You cannot wait for Jace and Luke to be able to share this with you, because the sea has never felt more like home than right now. 

As you lean over the edge of the boat, you let your hand brush over the surface of the water, looking at your grandmother in complete awe. “We have to do this more often, grandmother, I can’t remember ever having this much fun in my life.”

She laughs then, a rich sound coming right from her heart, and pinches your nose, eyes tender and loving. “Ah, is that so, my sweet? Then I’ll be expecting a lot of visits from you once you claim your own dragon.” 

You perk up. “I promise, the first time I fly on a dragon, it will be to come here and visit you and grandfather.”

You catch your first fish that day — a little thing that could barely fill even the stomach of a child — and your grandfather takes you in his arms and promises that soon, he will buy you your own boat — after all, the feast for your sixth summer is only a sennight away. It’s also the first time you hold a real sword in your hands, and as you almost — and by accident — cut off Corlys’ nose, your father laughs his ass off and promises that soon enough, he’ll start training you to be able to manage a real blow with the blade.

Two days later, you all depart on dragonback for King’s Landing; and even if Corlys has always been hesitant about riding on Meleys with his wife, your laughs while you sat in front of your father on Seasmoke definitely eased his nerves. It’s a relatively short ride to the Dragonpit, as you leave in the morrow right after breaking your fast and by the late afternoon you’re already in the Crown Lands. 

Waiting for you in the Dragonpit are your mother and the King, a smile on their faces, Viserys with his arms open waiting for a hug. 

You get off of Seasmoke’s wing slipping like it’s some sort of slide as your father yells at you to please be careful, then immediately call out for your grandsire while running up at him. “Ah, my dear granddaughter!” he exclaims, holding out his arms and catching you as you jump in them. He tries his best not to grunt from the effort. “Have you been good to your father, Lord Corlys and Rhaenys?”

You excitedly nod, snuggling into his shoulder, and even if his knees and back are screaming for mercy since his health is getting worse and his muscles more frail, he refuses to accept that his precious girl is growing up — so much that in a few months he won’t be able to pick her up anymore. 

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow at your apparent lack of care about her presence. “What am I, chopped liver?”

You hold out a hand and pat it against her shoulder, almost like you’re saying sorry. You still don’t budge from your grandsire’s arms. She doesn’t seem to hold it against you, taking your little palm in hers and placing a kiss on it. She brushes your hair out of your face as you close your eyes, yawning. 

She chuckles. “Tired, my love?” 

You nod, eyes teary from the sleepiness. Your mother then eases you out of your grandsire’s arms without too many protests, holding you close against her chest. “Then we better go to bed as soon as we get back to the Keep, sweetling.”

It seems you don’t like this idea. “Don’ wanna,” you mumble, barely squirming, not even managing to formulate properly a sentence. “I wanna play with Jace and Luke, and, and… and train with them and dad. Grandma says she’s goin’ to teach me how to sew dresses for Emya and Melissa like auntie Helaena does, and grandpa wants to take me with him to sail across the seas.”

Emya and Melissa are your favourite dolls — just two of the dozens you have, the ones you gift to all the outfits Helaena sews for practice. Soon enough, she’ll have to start learning how to do that, too, your mother thinks, not without a pang of sadness in her heart. How time flies. “You’ll have time to sail with Corlys and learn from Rhaenys how to sew once you get older, sweetling. About your father and your brothers… well, they aren’t going anywhere any time soon.” 

She isn’t surprised to see you pass out in her arms not even a few minutes later, and by the time the carriage stops at the Keep, you’re dead asleep. She lays you in your bed and tucks you in for the night, thinking– My little girl soon enough will be a big girl. But then, she ponders that you could never be too big for her to stop considering you her little girl. 

The next day is spent catching up with your brothers; mostly Luke, who apparently took your absence particularly bad, and is now set on always having at least a hand on you — and that is when he doesn’t straight up wrap his body around one of your legs, hence you having to limp through the Red Keep with your little brother chained to your leg. 

Thankfully Rhaenys is quick to put an end to this madness, demanding the prince to stop harassing you, since you’re not going anywhere for a while. Lucerys departs from your leg — not without any protests — and lets you be, even if in the next few days he’s still pretty clingy — not that you would ever mind. He’s still your little brother, and you give him all the hugs and cuddles he wants, even if sometimes you’d rather be by yourself or with just Heleana without getting interrupted every single minute. 

When you bring it up to her, she shrugs. “I would pay to have brothers like that, you know. Be thankful for what you have.” Because my brothers are too stuck in their own misery to even care about me or notice my presence or absence.

You take her hand and squeeze it, then hug her tight. “But you have me,” you reply. “‘Tis not much, maybe, but I can try.” Helaena only shakily hugs you back, not saying anything. She usually doesn't like hugs, but this one feels strangely comforting.

(You don’t know how much she cried that night, thinking about how she wishes you were her sister and not a niece her mother despises. But it’s probably better this way, because maybe, if you were born as her sister, you wouldn’t be as loved as you are — and she can’t even imagine you being in her situation, always discarded by your family. Maybe you would become as careless as Aegon, or as closed off as Aemond. Maybe it’s a blessing you weren’t borne out of Alicent Hightower. 

Then, she prays that in another lifetime, you two are borne out of the same mother, a mother as loving as Rhaenyra, and she gets to be your older sister, without having to ask anyone for permission to have a hug from you.)

The day of your name day finally arrives, and with it the feast your grandsire has organised in the last two months. It is a grand affair, with almost all the lords from the Seven Kingdoms present, and your parents honestly have no idea where they’re going to put all the gifts you’ll receive. 

You sit right beside your grandsire, between him and your mother, wearing the pearl headpiece your grandparents gifted you and an aqua blue dress that has been tailor made for the occasion. Every now and then a Lord gets up from his table to bring their felicitations to you and your family, but you know it’s just a way to somehow get to talk to your grandsire about their matters.

Most of them are old and boring, and Viserys dismisses them without even a spare glance towards their problems, set on having a good time at least during your celebrations. You don’t pay them much mind either, focused on the food and all the gifts that you’ll get to unwrap in the next few days — that is, until a guy more or less of Aemond’s age comes over. 

The first thing Rhaenyra does — after thinking what the hell do they feed children in the North for them to be this big? — is nudging her husband on the ribs and nodding towards the boy. “Looks like he got a new buckle. Let’s hope she doesn’t steal that one, too.”

He’s grown since the last time she’s seen him. He should be ten, maybe eleven summers old now, but looks a bit older — northerners and their fucking genes. His dark hair is shorter, he has a ceremonial dagger strapped on his belt and this time he definitely looks like a Little Lord. 

“My King,” he bows, then nods to you and bows again. “My Princess, I wished to congratulate you on your sixth nameday and excuse my father for his absence. Unfortunately he fell ill just before the departure to King’s Landing, so he sent me in his stead." He raises his head and looks again at you, “To a hundred of these days, my Princess.”

You’ve got the same look you had when you first saw him as a babe, even if Rhaenyra is sure that you don’t remember even seeing him. She isn’t even sure you know who he is, but you’re already blushing and swinging your legs under the table. 

“Ah, you’re Lord Rickon’s son– Cregan, am I right?” Viserys looks over to his daughter for confirmation, and she nods. The boy nods, too. “Yes, Your Majesty. Unfortunately he had to stay in the North.” 

“Yes, yes, ‘tis no problem,” Viserys waves a hand at him, “Send him my regards. Last year your mother died — and so did your brother the year before, am I right? Another tragedy in the North is the last thing we want.” he grimaces at his bad phrasing, which clearly sounded better in his head. The boy doesn’t react, but he knows that if he wasn’t the King, he probably would already have that beautiful ceremonial knife up his throat. 

Rhaenyra coughs. “What the King means to say,” she interjects, “is that we wish you our deepest condolences and will pray so that Lord Rickon can get a fast recovery.” 

Cregan bows his head and half-smiles. “Thank you, my Princess.”

“Is it as cold in the North as they say?” you suddenly ask him, tone full of child-like awe. 

The boy winces, and Rhaenyra just knows he’s getting flashbacks of that one time when you tried to make him bald. “Erm… yes, it is. There’s snow all year.” 

“One day I'll make sure to bring you there,” your grandsire briefly cuts in, not wanting to bother the Little Lord any longer. He smiles at him, nodding, “I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening, boy.”

Cregan doesn't have to be told twice, because by the time he's finished bowing he's already sprinting to the table he left earlier. You pout, staring at him while he sits back down between some other northern lords, and you hear your mother laugh. “Why the long face, sweetling?”

You look up at her. “Is the North far away?” you do have geography lessons, but something like distance is still a pretty hard concept to understand. 

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, amused. “The North, or where the boy comes from?” You blush and keep your head down, “Why, where the boy comes from of course,”

Your mother laughs. “I’d say that Winterfell is… maybe a little more than a moon by carriage far from here.” your face falls, “But it’s a day or two by dragon.” 

You perk up. “When can I claim Merrax?”

Rhaenyra almost falls out of the chair laughing at this. It seems that the first love is never truly forgotten, even if you don’t even remember him. “Soon enough, sweetling.” 

Not much long after, the bards pick songs you can dance to; your grandsire offers you his hand to open the dances, even if he isn’t in the best conditions to do so, and you gleefully accept. You share a dance with him, even if it has to be cut short because of him not feeling the best, and happily swap him for your grandparents who like to twirl you around until you’re dizzy. 

You can’t even sit down before your brothers grab your hands and drag you to the dancefloor once again, demanding a dance with their sister too, and it’s only when the bards choose a slower song that you finally manage to sit down and catch a breath. That is, until you see the boy. 

Cregan Stark is about to retire for the night when he catches the scare of his life. 

“I have a buckle like that, too.”

He barely manages to hold back a yelp, eyes snapping behind him just to see you, bashfully looking at him, hands behind your back and on your tiptoes. He presses a hand on his chest, regaining himself. “Princess,” he says, but it sounds a bit breathless. “Yes, I remember. I gave you that buckle six years ago.” 

You tilt your head. “Ah, really?”

He nods. “Yes, at the feast for your birth. I remember it well.” I also remember how you terrorised me for a good part of the night. 

You hum, but don’t seem to have anything to say for now. He feels awkward, because he would gladly take his leave right now if it weren’t for the fact that he can feel the eyes of the whole Royal Family on you two. He’s not sure he can go without having the permission to — your permission, maybe — and the only thing his father advised him not to do was to cause a diplomatic incident. 

(Meanwhile, at the Royal table, your grandfathers and Laenor are discussing the very thing happening before their eyes, questioning what to do — and what you are trying to do. 

“Maybe she just likes the buckle again,” Laenor hushes. “Maybe she wants another one.”

“No, no, I’m pretty sure she’s asking him if he is already betrothed,”

Viserys and Laenor send a nasty glare to Corlys, “She’s six, I surely hope not,” mutters your grandsire, worried about his little girl growing up, and most of all, getting interested in boys. Have you really already passed that phase where you think that boys are gross? Is he really getting that old?

“Ten Gold Dragons that she’s waiting for him to ask her to dance.” Rhaenyra cuts in. Rhaenys nods, taking a sip of her wine. “I would bet a hundred coins on that one.”)

The music is slow, and it almost drags the silence between you and the boy as you just stare at him. “I like this music.”

“Erm, yes,” Cregan grimaces. He fears he knows where this is going. “It is pretty lovely.”

Another moment of silence passes. “I also really like dancing,” you add. 

He sighs. There’s really no escape now. “Would you mayhaps like to dance, Princess?”

You squeal, girlish and childish, and immediately take his hand to drag him with you to the dancefloor. You don’t know the dance too well and your steps are a bit clumsy, but your enthusiasm definitely makes up for it. At some point though his feet are begging for mercy after being stomped on for ten minutes, so he takes the matters in his own hands and lifts you up enough for your tiptoes to rest upon his feet, so that he has to dance and you just have to stay balanced.

You giggle, blushing and looking up at him, grinning. He has the terrible feeling that he’s not getting out of here anytime soon. 

(Viserys lets out a pained sigh, thinking about his dear late wife. “She looks so much like her grandmother,” 

Corlys nods, looking at Rhaenys. “She does.”)

People around you two are dancing and swirling, too, and they chuckle at Cregan, sending him back to six years ago and making him feel a terrible deja-vu. At least she’s not pulling my hair anymore. He does have to admit that you’re a bit cute, though — you look so focused, looking at his feet and trying to memorise the steps as best as you can. But the fact that you’re cute doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have preferred going to sleep over dancing. 

He finds his saviour in a servant, who awkwardly stops your dance by bowing. “My Princess, my Lord,” the boy doesn’t mind correcting him on the honorifice, since he technically is here in the name of his father. The servant’s voice has a certain urgency. “A raven has just arrived from Winterfell. It’s from Lord Rickon Stark.” 

Cregan nods, “I’ll come in a minute,” he’s already out of the dancefloor, but then you tug on his cloak, big doe eyes staring at him. “But we have to finish our dance,” 

He sighs, and from the corner of his vision he sees Laenor Velaryon coming to get you. “I’m sorry, Princess, I’m sure there’ll be another time for us to dance again,” I hope not, “But now I really have to go.” 

Your lower lip trembles, you let out a whine. Before he can even realise he’s about to witness a grade eight type of meltdown, Laenor saves the day. He comes up behind you, taking your arms in his hands, smiling as sweetly as he can. “I can dance with you,” he offers. 

“But I want to dance with him,” 

Your father tries to suppress a cry of horror from the fact that you don’t want to dance with him — you’ve never rejected a dance with him before now. This is a first. He looks at Cregan, trying his best not to glare at him, understanding that this is not a situation he will get out of easily. “Would you perhaps be interested in becoming a ward here, boy?” he asks, barely managing to stop you from squirming in his grip. “She really likes you, and you would have the chance to stay in the Crown Lands for the time being. It is a great opportunity.”

At this point, he’s sounding desperate. Please stay here, my daughter will throw a fit if you go away. It seems you have found yourself a new toy, and unfortunately it’s not one of the new gifts that the lords brought. “You could be squire, cupbearer– oof,” you land a particularly harsh blow on his ribs, and he loses his breath for a moment, “Lord Commander of the City Watch, anything you want.” he leans down so that he’s more to his height, “Please.” he whispers, all his desperation clear in his strained voice. 

For some unknown reason, you calm down in an instant. Laenor fears that if he looks at you you’re going to start complaining again, so his gaze remains on the boy, who now looks terrified. Evidently, he has understood that he has to run, and fast. “Um– I– I’m flattered,” the Stark murmurs. “But unfortunately I’ve got duties up in the North as heir, a– and um, a letter from my father has just arrived. So, please excuse me,” he bows one last time before bolting out of the hall, the servant in front of him. 

Laenor sighs. He finally looks down at you, disappointed, and–

“Is that a knife?” you put it behind your back before he can see better and try your best to resist his wrangling with one hand. It does not take much for your father to take the dagger out of your hands, and realise it was the ceremonial dagger Cregan was carrying around before. He pales. “Is that why you stopped whining? How did you even get this?”

You look away. “I don’t know. I just took it.” you blush, “It was shiny,” 

It is of beautiful manufacture — the hilt is a direwolf much like the Stark’s emblem, and out of his mouth comes the blade. Your father sighs. “This is bad, sweetling. You don’t get to steal from others, am I clear? Tomorrow, you'll apologise to Lord Cregan and you’ll give it back to him.”

You pout, but it doesn’t last long. Because your grandsire comes up behind you, waving a hand at Laenor. “Aw, come on, she’s just a child. If she likes it so much she can keep it. I’ll make sure to send the boy a dagger twice the worth of that one.”

Your eyes shine, looking up at your grandfather. “Really? I can keep it?” 

“Of course not–”

“Of course,” your grandsire says, and that’s all that matters because he’s the King. You snatch the dagger from your father and run to Jace and Luke to show them your prize. 

Rhaenyra comes up to her father and husband, Laenor sulking and Viserys grinning. “May I ask why my firstborn is parading a dagger that I saw the Stark boy wear earlier to her brothers?” 

“She liked it,” her father simply says. “Was I supposed to just leave her heartbroken by the boy? She had to have some kind of compensation, at least.” 

She rolls her eyes, “Father, that was not heartbreak. That’s the kind of reaction she has when we take away her dolls.” your mother shivers, “May the Gods help us all the day her first heartbreak comes through.”

Rhaenyra surely didn’t think your first heartbreak would have come so soon. 

“How is it possible?” she seethes, arms crossed and a glare that could kill. 

The dragon keeper falters. “Well– you see, my Princess, the Cannibal landed a few hours ago in the pit. We didn’t give it much thought, since he always comes and goes, but then we noticed that a few hatchlings were missing, and–” “And you realised he ate them,” Laenor sighs. He’s already preparing himself for the world-shattering tantrum you’ll throw once you'll know that Merrax was fucking eaten. 

The keeper nods. “Yes. And, he has, um… let’s say, usurped the hatchling’s cave. We secured the other younglings, but if he were to discover them, we wouldn’t be able to stop him. He’s a wild dragon and second in size only to Vhagar, so–”

“I want his head,” Rhaenyra declares. “And if I have to storm into the Dragonpit and kill him myself to do so then I will.”

“My Princess, please reconsider,” the keeper cries out. “The Cannibal is one of the oldest dragons and is thought to be one of Balerion’s offsprings– one of the only ones to have survived. Killing him would be like… like erasing a part of your family’s history!”

“Erasing a part of my family’s history?” Rhaenyra booms. “Erasing a part of my family’s history?! He’s already making sure of it! How are our children supposed to claim dragons if he eats them all? He’s an abomination! Nobody ever even dared to give him a name, and he’s one of the only offsprings of Balerion left just because he ate his own siblings in the cradle, some even before they could hatch!”

“Nyra, calm down,” Laenor chastises. “Yes, it is a tragedy, and I don’t even want to think about how our daughter will react–”

At that she laughs bitterly, “Ooh, she’ll be pissed!”

“–Yes she will, but you know what? At least she hadn’t bonded yet with Merrax. She can still claim some other dragon, or– or– another dragon could hatch before she is of age to claim one.” “She is in the age of claiming one!” his wife rages. “I was seven summers when I claimed one, and I made sure that she would be able to surpass me and become the youngest dragon rider at only six– but of course the fucking Cannibal had to eat her dragon!”

“Princess Helaena’s hatchling was eaten, too,” the keeper whispers. “And even though he hatched at birth, she never bonded with him, and is instead bonded to Dreamfyre. Dragons are put in cradles in hope of the bonding process being easier in the future, but still, not all dragons that hatch in the cradle become bonded with the ones they shared it with. The young Princess still has options.” “I don’t care that she does, I want the Cannibal dead!”

It is quite late in the evening after the feast, so all children should be asleep, but you are not. You are in your aunt’s chambers, near to your own, playing with your dolls as Helaena hums songs and sews new dresses for you. 

“And while the dragon’s scales were as red as flames,” she sings quietly, “the maiden’s eyes were as blue as sapphires…” 

The singing is easily tuned out by the screaming match that is happening outside, probably down the hallway or in the gardens. You can hear the voice of your mother, enraged, and your father, who’s just trying to calm her down. 

You rise from the floor, leaving your dolls there, opening the door of the chamber and peeking an eye out. Ser Harrold Westerling, stationed in front of the door, is quick to notice you even as your mother screams and rages. “Princess,” he whispers, kneeling down. “You should be asleep. Please, get back inside,”

Meanwhile, your mother cries out, “Merrax is dead! And with her another four dragons died, all because you’re too scared of a stupid wild dragon! Why should my daughter suffer because of your cowardice? I’ll slay the Cannibal myself, if you don’t dare to do so!” 

Both you and the knight stop in your tracks. Your breath hitches. Merrax is… dead? 

You’re just a child — you are yet to grasp the concept of death. You know the late Queen Aemma, your grandmother, is dead. She died giving birth to your uncle Baelon — who died, too. You are a child, surrounded by death, yet not touched by it. You know the names of people who have died, relatives and not  — Alysanne, Aemon, Balerion, Aemma, Baelon — but they were all before you were born. You’ve never suffered a real loss. 

“What… what does it mean?” you ask Harrold, trembling. “Where– where did Merrax go? To Old Valyria?” your grandsire, while telling you about Balerion, the largest dragon in the world that he once rode, said that when dragons died they went back there. “We can– we can search for her, right? We… we must.” 

Your mother is none the wiser about your presence down the hallway, cursing in High Valyrian and threatening the dragon keeper. Your father, instead, notices. “Nyra,” he calls her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Stop.”

She does, annoyed, but once she sees your little trembling form coming out of Helaena’s chambers she feels her blood freeze. There’s no way of breaking the news gently, now. 

She dismisses the dragon keeper, rushing to get you; Laenor takes you in his arms, bidding his goodbyes to Harrold and Helaena, holding you tight to his chest while walking towards your chambers. You’re awfully quiet, shaking like a leaf, eyes barred open despite the late hour. 

Reaching your chambers, Laenor sits you down on the settee by the fireplace, kneeling down in front of you with Rhaenyra and holding your hand. Nobody is saying anything, and it scares you. Somehow, it makes it all feel more real. You whimper, because it just can’t be. “I– where… where’s Merrax?”

“Sweetling,” your mother starts. “There’s a wild dragon, known as the Cannibal, that has been eating our hatchlings for centuries. We don’t know how old he actually is– some say he’s an offspring of Balerion, your grandsire’s late dragon, and Vhagar. That would make him one of the two only dragons still alive to this day to have seen Old Valyria before the Doom– that’s why us Targaryens were always adamant about getting rid of him.”

You know about the Cannibal — so why is she telling you this? “The other reason is that nobody has ever managed to approach him,” your father adds. “He eats everything that gets near him, and often wanders to Dragonstone from King’s Landing and vice versa. That is to say, sweetling… there’s nothing we could have done to save her.” That is not true, Rhaenyra thinks, but it is best if the guilt rests on us rather than upon her. 

“What does it mean?” you babble. “Merrax… where…”

“Merrax has been eaten, sweetling,” says Rhaenyra, ripping off the bandaid. “The Cannibal has taken her.”

You shake your head, eyes filling with tears. “But– but she was mine!”

“We know, sweetling–”

“She was born with me, for me! She was my dragon– she had just started to eat from my hand!” now tears flow down your face as you weep, cheeks blotchy and an angry red. “Am I supposed to live like Aemond from now on? Without a dragon, bullied by Aegon and rejected by every hatchling? Why– what will grandsire think of me? He was the last rider of Balerion and his only granddaughter’s dragon died before she could even bond with her!”

Your cries are now inconsolable, and you reach for your parents, falling into their arms on the floor with them. “Your– you gave me your riding clothes from when you were my age and had them tailored just for me, but I can’t wear them without a dragon! I’ll just look stupid!”

Rhaenyra coos, brushing your hair back from your face and kissing your temple. “Calm down, my sweet. You shall not become like Aemond — you had not bonded yet with your dragon. And as much as Merrax’s death pains me, too, ‘tis not the end of the world. There are other hatchlings and adult dragons without a rider, who are just waiting for the right Targaryen to claim them.” 

She kisses your eyes and cheeks, wiping your tears. “And I’m sure at least one of them is waiting just for you.”

You have a plan. ‘Tis not really smart, but you are six summers old and have a dream. A dream that your mother always reputed you capable of — becoming the youngest dragon rider, surpassing her. You’re not about to let that dream go just because a stupid grandpa of a dragon ate your hatchling.

Until the Cannibal is back on Dragonstone, your mother refuses to let you go to the Dragonpit, insisting that he’s already stayed for too long — surely, he’s about to go off his way again, right?

(Apparently not. Helaena, who wasn’t forbidden from going to the pit, said that the dragon keepers are worried: it seems the Cannibal is taking his time — waiting for something, or someone.)

The plan is secretly going with Heleana to the Dragonpit, right before supper. As she visits Dreamfyre, you should be able to seek one of the hatchlings — and maybe one of them will take pity on you and allow you to ride them. 

The first part goes pretty well. You get in the dragon riding attire your mother had gifted you and that she once wore — black, with red embroidery displaying the Targaryen emblem on your chest — and just get in the carriage, right next to Helaena. Ser Criston Cole, the knight assigned to her for the afternoon, doesn’t even spare you a glance; he never does, that’s why you chose today of all days to come with your aunt. 

She is nervous, fidgeting with her hands and playing with her rings. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be wiser for you to stay in the Keep?” she asks worriedly. “It doesn’t matter if for a while you won’t have a dragon. I claimed mine just last year, and I’m older than you.”

You don’t reply — you’ve been rather silent in the last few days, unlike your usual self. Rhaenyra finds it even worse than your tantrums — she wishes you would just get it out and scream instead of remaining as silent as a ghost, your ramblings now an almost distant memory. They all just wish you could be the same as before the feast, before Merrax was eaten. 

The ride to the Dragonpit is short but awkward, and you wonder how your mother will react once she realises you sneaked out. It probably won’t take her much longer to notice your absence, so you have to either be quick or hide in the Dragonpit for the night if you wish to ride a dragon before your seventh name day. 

As you exit the carriage, a dragon keeper welcomes you and Helaena; he looks confused as to why you’re here, but quickly shakes it off, guiding you two towards the caves where the dragons rest. He hesitantly sends a glance to you, “The hatchlings are also there — Dreamfyre has her own clutch, and with the Cannibal near, we prefer to keep them with their own parents so they may be protected.” 

You nod as he guides you into one of the caves, a pretty light-blue and silver dragon chained in there. With Dreamfyre, there are four hatchlings, all much similar to her, all sleeping and chained. 

The keeper frees Dreamfyre from her chains, and she immediately darts to Helaena, gently nudging her with her snout. “Rytsas, issa hāedar,” Hello, my girl, she says. You know the basics of Valyrian — your mother made sure you knew enough to be able to claim and ride a dragon, even if it’s not as fluent as you’d like. You just understand it better than you speak it. 

You watch the hatchlings as they start to rouse; there’s a pretty one with blue and red scales that you intend to approach– 

Then you hear something. 

A low rumble coming from another cave, one that shakes the whole pit. “The Cannibal,” the dragon keeper mutters spitefully. “What a monster.” 

Well, that’s too bad, because you’ve already lost interest in the hatchling you saw earlier, and now your eyes are set on another possibility. The Cannibal.

No one ever managed to claim him, and all that tried are long dead. He can’t be killed as the other dragons know better than to get near him and there’s no amount of gold that could convince any man to try. Yet, he’s the one who killed Merrax, the one to have killed the dragon that should have been yours; he owes you a debt, and it has to be paid. 

The dragon keeper is too preoccupied with Dreamfyre and her hatchlings to notice your absence, and you are quick to snatch one of the torches on the walls to guide yourself through the various caves. You can feel the Cannibal’s presence, somehow; it haunts the pit, hanging like a weight over the caves, and suddenly you understand why the dragons have been so uneasy since his arrival. The air is heavy and smells of burnt flesh, smoke lingering between the corridors. 

The rumbling that you heard earlier is heard again, and you know that he’s near. And he is — only two caves away, you find him. 

He’s of a pitch black colour, and is covered in spikes, which — much like his tail — fade in a deep green. Some of his scales, at the light of the fire, shine of the same colour too; now you understand why he’s thought of being the son of Balerion and Vhagar, because if it weren’t for the torch revealing his green shades, you’d think he was the Black Dread come back to life. Two horns rest above his eyes, tipped backwards and almost pointing at his wings. He’s massive, and it’s clear that this cave wasn’t meant for him, as it’s definitely much too small for his form. It was meant for the hatchlings — the hatchlings he ate. 

He opens his eyes, roused from his sleep, and two gigantic emeralds stare down at you, almost mockingly. He makes no move towards you, nor tries to eat you, so maybe that’s a good sign. 

“You’re the Cannibal,” you whisper, stupidly. “You’re the one who killed Merrax.”

He barely grunts in response, maybe uninterested in you, maybe in assent. 

You then understand that if you truly want to claim and ride a dragon, then you must gather all the courage your little body can muster up and use it. “You ate Merrax,” you state, more firmly, all the anger you’ve felt in the last few days finally getting the best of you. “Ao enkagon nyke iā gēlȳn.” You owe me a debt. 

This time, he props his head up; he looks entertained, almost as if he’s betting on what you’ll do. You can’t hurt him — you’re but a child — and you surely can’t kill him. So, what are you going to do? 

There’s a rack of rope near the entrance of the cave, probably used for the hatchlings when they were still alive. You put down the torch, leaving it on the sand of the pit, and roll up the rope, holding it between your arm and shoulder. The Cannibal has no saddle, so you’ll have to find a way not to fall off of him. Your mother’s going to kill you if you do — but let’s see if you live enough for her to be able to do that. 

The climb to reach the top of the Cannibal’s neck looks hard, but you’re stubborn and would rather die than let him go away with the fact that he ate Merrax. If you can't kill him, then you’re going to bother him for the rest of your life. So, the only thing you can do is start climbing. 

He seems confused by your doing, as you’re clinging to the spikes and scales trying to reach the top of his neck. He shakes it, somewhat in a gentle manner, and you fall on your butt, not from high enough to actually hurt, but from high enough to have a bruised ego. 

“What is wrong with you?” you scream out, angry. “You killed my dragon, the last thing you can do is replace her!”

Your voice dies a little by the end, because the Cannibal has gotten up and leant down, opening his left wing, almost inviting you to mount him. You’re completely weirded out, but surely enough, are not going to reject his offer. 

Quickly getting up, with the wing serving as some sort of stairs, in a matter of mere minutes you find yourself on top of the Cannibal, who looks like he’s just waiting for you to say something. “Okay, okay,” you mumble to yourself. You’re not scared — well, not of him, but of your mother. Oh, once she hears about this, you’ll be grounded until you’re ready to be wed. 

With the rope, you tie yourself to the dragon, using his spikes to hold the cord firm onto his body. You give him a pat on the scales, adjusting to the feeling of being so high up. “Um… iōrās?” you order him to stand, but it sounds more like a question. 

He does follow your demand, though, standing up straighter, ready to get out. “Whoa– alright.” you hold onto the spikes tighter, “Well, I have to name you first, big guy.”

He turns his head to look at you, almost confused. “I can’t just keep calling you the Cannibal, because I won’t let you eat any more hatchlings.” At this, he grunts in disapproval, but you go on, telling yourself that he surely doesn’t understand the common tongue and just wants to go against you. “My mother calls all her dragon’s hatchlings with names ending in ax, because her mount’s name is Syrax. So I could call you something like… I don’t know, Rhaerion?”

He grumbles, and you grimace. “I don’t think you deserve your father’s name, though. You eat baby dragons, while Balerion was loyal and obedient.” You search your brain for names, Valyrian or not, that would suit him, before having the idea of a lifetime.

You know some basics of High Valyrian, enough to make a dragon fly, always says your mother. Helaena is pretty good at it, Aemond is almost fluent and your brothers are still learning it. Your uncle Aegon, instead, is completely ignorant of it except for cursing words. He likes to call anyone an orvorta, but he has a favourite cuss word usually used for your brothers — and while it makes you mad that he refers to them in such a way, you have to admit that it is a name quite fitting for your dragon. 

“Your name shall be Nādrēsy,” you tell him. “That is, until you redeem yourself. Then I may decide to find you another name, maybe a kinder one.” 

He roars, shaking his head, looking at you in disappointment. You can hear the dragon keepers shout your name in the corridors, having finally noticed your absence — or maybe your presence, since you shouldn’t have been there since the beginning. You hold onto the dragon’s spikes as hard as you can, preparing yourself for some movement. 

“Jiōragon hen hen kesīr, Nādrēsy!” you order, with the same tone your grandsire uses while holding court. Get out of here. 

He does as you ask, moving on all fours with steps that make the Dragonpit shake. You see two keepers in front of you, frozen in fear, but it’s not long before they start screaming and running away. 

You get to the entrance of the Dragonpit, and from where you sit you see a group of gold cloaks standing not too far away, behind Ser Harwin Strong — who apparently barely notices the dragon behind him, too preoccupied in screaming in Ser Criston Cole’s face about how “it’s all his fault that the princess is missing” and how “the King should have his head”. 

While you never liked Cole too much, as he seemed to despise you for no reason, you didn’t wish for him to be beheaded because of you. So you stop Nādrēsy, and cupping your mouth with your hands you scream, “Ser Harwin! I’m here!” 

At first the Lord Commander doesn’t understand where you are, looking around and sending a glance at Cole that says this doesn’t end here, but once he sees you, all the blood drains from his face, as well as from the face of Ser Criston and the other knights. “Princess!” he screams, hysteric. “Get off of there, it’s dangerous! Your mother has been searching for you, and she’s worried!”

But it seems that you already can’t hear him, returning all your attention to your dragon. “Gaomagon ao gīmigon skoriot Driftmark iksis?” you ask him. Do you know where Driftmark is?

You have all the intentions of keeping the promise you made to your grandmother, about your first flight being one to visit her and Corlys on Driftmark. They had just gotten back a couple of days ago, but you’re sure that they would still be happy to see you. Right now, you don’t think about your parents, too euphoric of finally having a dragon of your own as you are — and that will probably cost you another two years you’ll have to spend grounded. 

Nādrēsy roars loudly, opening his wings and taking flight. 

Not even ten hours later you find yourself on Driftmark, under the worried glance of your grandparents, who upon hearing your story are asking themselves if Rhaenyra has already thrown herself into madness. You happily show them your new acquaintance, who unexpectedly purrs when you caress his snout and doesn’t look like the Cannibal who ate countless of hatchlings. 

“That’s… that’s marvellous, sweetheart,” Rhaenys is a bit shaken, but still tries to be supportive. “Does your mother, perhaps, know that you’re here?” “Of course not! She would throw a fit otherwise.”

All their fears are confirmed to be true, and your grandmother immediately asks a servant for paper and pen to write to King’s Landing. And as you tell them how you renamed the Cannibal, Corlys pales, thinking that with you being daughter of Rhaenyra, you could have chosen something way worse. He’s just grateful that the common folk doesn’t know High Valyrian. 

Two days later, a raven comes from Driftmark, finally putting at ease the concerns of the whole court and stopping Rhaenyra and Laenor from getting any more grey hairs. 

To King Viserys I Targaryen, his daughter Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and her husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon. The Princess (who you have been searching for, I assume) has just landed on Driftmark. She is safe and sound, thankfully, and she rode ten hours on a dragon known for his wilderness without a saddle, secured on him only by a cord. She renamed the Cannibal (funnily enough, if you wish to know, his name now is ‘Nādrēsy’) who is now eating all the whales and sharks of the Narrow Sea that he can see from the island. We managed to put a saddle on him, so that the next time she’ll ride him the chances of falling off his back are minimal, and I will accompany her back to King’s Landing on Meleys myself as soon as she takes a good rest and is able to get on the dragon again. Me and my husband took the liberty to give her an earful about her recklessness and irresponsibility, but we’re sure you’ll choose a considerate punishment for her behaviour once she returns to King’s Landing.  Yours truly, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.

Rhaenyra puts down the letter, taking a deep breath, telling herself that violence is not the answer. Unfortunately, all she can think about is giving you two slaps at a time until the number becomes uneven. 

Laenor sighs, rubbing his eyes. They both haven’t slept much in the last two days, too worried to even think about stopping the research for you. “Well, at least she’s alive.”

To their grand surprise, Viserys bursts out laughing. “See?” he says to his daughter. “That’s what you put me through when you were young. Ooh, you’re in for at least twelve years of worrying and suffering. Rhaenyra, my dear daughter, I’m glad to announce that your daughter came out just like you.” he then rises from his seat, laughing like a madman. “My granddaughter is the youngest dragon rider in history!” he screams, feeling as young as he hadn’t felt in a while. “Oh, boy, I’ll have to organise a whole other feast for this!”

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra just stares at the letter; she’s not surprised you sneaked out, because that’s what she would have done in the same situation, and she has to admit that there are some similarities between you and the way she was before having you. There’s just one thing that almost makes her think that you really are a younger version of her, come back from the past to haunt her for all the scares she gave her father during the years.

“Bastard,” she mutters. “My daughter, out of all the proper names she could have chosen, called her dragon Bastard.”

the heir and the wolf

summary: Being Rhaenyra Targaryen's heir is a difficult thing, but what happens when you also become one of the Realm's most prized posessions?

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader, reader x platonic targs/velaryon

i. the dear daughter (2.8k) - At one-and-twenty and eight-and-ten, barely a year after their marriage, Ser Laenor Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen welcomed their first child, a daughter, into the world. The girl immediately became dear to the whole court, coddled and spoiled by all, but mostly by her grandsire, King Viserys I. The man saw in his granddaughter her mother, and as the girl grew to look like his late wife, Aemma Arryn, it became even clearer that he doted on her more than he did to his own children or his other grandchildren.

ii. about children and trouble (8.2k) - It is reported that in the year 121 AC, when the Realm’s Jewel was only six summers old, her hatchling Merrax was eaten by the Cannibal in a strange turn of events that found him moving from Dragonstone to the Dragonpit in King’s Landing. Princess Rhaenyra demanded to have the dragon’s head cut, but as nobody ever tried nor dared to get close to the Cannibal, it was impossible to do it. Thus, her daughter took the matters into her own hands.

iii. little big lady (5.0k) - Court whispers tell us that during her third pregnancy, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen was particularly sensitive. She managed to cover it up pretty well, apparently, but she had one weak spot: her daughter, her firstborn and heir, who later on witnessed her little brother Prince Joffrey's birth by request of her mother. Despite openly disliking the experience, it is said that the Realm’s Jewel insisted on being present to future labours in case things went downhill — and she did, attending her mother in giving birth to all her future children.

vi. dragons' scars (tbd) - And after the events that happened during Lady Laena’s funeral at Driftmark, two dragons were left scarred.

more to come!

extras:

snippet cut from chapter three

sneak peak at reader and cregan's baby number #1

CREGAN STARK ♱ 𝒯HE ℰND

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ KING VISERYS HOSTS a tourney and feast after the birth of his seventh grandchild, though you’d rather hide yourself in your books, dreaming of your own prince charming. fortunately for you he comes in the form of a muscular, brooding northerner named cregan stark.

𝒫AIRING. . . cregan stark x fem!velaryon!reader

𝒲ORDCOUNT. . . 11.4 k

𝒢ENRE. . . lots of romance, fluff, angsty ending, no dance of the dragon au, love at first sight, kinda grumpy x sunshine but not really.

𝒲ARNINGS. . . profanity, ooc cregan?, unrealistic relationships, death in childbirth, mention of decapitation, targcest (not reader tho), reader has white hair and violet eyes but her father isn’t explicitly described, pregnancy, nudity, birth, mention of sex, blood, aegon, not proofread, uhhh i think that’s it??

ℐOAEZZ. . . this has been in my drafts for a while but i was too lazy to publish it… anyways it was supposed to be a small drabble but turned out much longer than i had expected.

ℬooks had always been your form of escapism. The fairytales kept the harsh reality off your mind even if for only a couple of hours. Your brothers never understood your love for it as they preferred to fly around on their dragons. Your mother found this passion of yours endearing and wasn't surprised to discover that you weren't as opposed to marriage as she had been when she was younger.

The tales in your books spoke of true love. Both passionate and gentle, which you couldn't help but crave to have one day. Although the couples that surrounded you weren't as sincere as you would have liked for yourself, you still held out some hope that you would find your own Prince Charming.

He came in the form of Lord Cregan Stark. A brooding, muscular man from the North who hadn't even given marriage a thought until his council forced it upon him. He needed heirs they had said and so with much protest, he began scouring for a wife that could take on the title 'Lady of Winterfell'. He had never dared to even consider you, who was the princess of the realm, believing that both your status and blood would not be fit for the brutal winters in the North.

Yet when he met you for the very first time at a tournament in King's Landing to celebrate the birth of Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena's second child, he couldn't imagine having anyone else as his wife. He could still vividly remember the way your pastel pink dress hugged your form as you sat beside your younger brothers, a book in your grasp as you entirely ignored the cries of a knight who had been decapitated. As much as he tried, he was unable to rip his eyes off you as a remote smile graced your lips at something that must have occurred in your book.

During the feast that followed you were seated at the extensive table in the front, between your uncle Aemond and brother Jacaerys as some form of barrier to separate the Greens from the Blacks. Music was played beautifully and people danced joyfully, yet you remained invested in the happenings of your book. Cregan cast a look at the Maester he had brought with him before moving to stand. The people around him watched on in curiosity, the Lord of Winterfell didn't exactly seem like the dancing type. He made his way towards your table, bowing his head at the King and Queen as well as to your mother, who was just as inquisitive as everyone else.

He shifted to stand in front of you, not that you noticed as you turned another page of your book. Cregan didn't mind your oblivion, waiting patiently for you to notice him which could have taken much longer if not for Prince Daemon who nudged you softly. You looked up at your step-father with questioning eyes before turning to face the Lord who your father motioned to. A blush spread across your face as you ultimately caught sight of the handsome man in front of you who watched on in amusement.

“I apologize for not noticing you earlier Lord Stark,” your voice was sweeter than any honey he had ever tasted, which made his heart throb beneath the layers of fur. “It is I who must apologize for distracting you, princess. I take it is an entertaining story you were reading?” the words caused Aemond to scoff as he quietly listened on but neither of you took notice of it.

Your eyes shone brightly at the mention of your book, exhilarated at the prospect of sharing something so dear to you, “it certainly is one of my preferred books. I could lend it to you if you wish?” Your offer entertained Cregan as he'd never even considered reading something that hadn't been for studies, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Perhaps you could tell me more about it whilst we share a dance,” his offer was sly, Rhaenyra had to give it to him, but she was pleased as long as her daughter was. Heat rose to your cheeks as you shyly nodded, not used to such kind Lords who were truly interested in you. You rose to your feet, placing your beloved book on your chair before stepping around the table. He offered his arm which you gratefully took only to be stunned by his muscles which were hidden underneath the layers of clothing. Cregan had quickly taken notice of your astonishment and felt a sense of satisfaction fill him as his lips scarcely tugged upwards.

He led you towards the dance floor as people got out of your way, but your gaze remained on the man beside you. His dark eyes met your violet ones, which sent your heart racing as you offered him a nervous smile. You fell into the rhythm of the music, dancing with such a grace that left Cregan speechless, but he had to snap out of his daze if he wished to impress you.

“I like your accent,” the words escaped your lips so easily which startled him. His eyes dilated, his eyebrow raised as a rare grin rose on his handsome face. “Thank you, princess. I find yours entrancing as well,” his low voice sent flutters through your stomach as you smiled at him. “I must admit, I have never seen anyone so enraptured by a mere book.” The excitement rose in you once more at the turn in conversation, speaking with much vigor, which Cregan appreciated more than anything.

Your evening was spent with the Warden of the North, never straying too far from him as conversation flew between you, never faltering. Your family had witnessed this as well, deeming it unusual behavior from you but not unwelcome. After all, it had been time for you to get married, which Rhaenyra attempted to put off for as long as possible in the hopes that you would find a husband on your own.

“Is this Cregan Stark still available?” Your mother questioned as the King glanced at his wife with much excitement, which she didn't reciprocate.

“Yes, he has yet to marry. I heard he is in search of a wife,” Viserys expressed his elation effortlessly which made his eldest son envious of his niece as the King hadn't even been half as delighted during his marriage, not even for the birth of his grandchildren. The following day most Lords and Ladies began returning towards their own regions, which included Cregan Stark.

The man felt disappointment within him that he would be parting from you so soon, but you had promised him the evening before to come bid him farewell in the morning. A profound frown was etched upon his face, which perished at the sight of you approaching him in a simple yet exquisite red dress. The rather sad expression you wore tugged at his heartstrings as he took quick steps to reach you. His hands enveloped your soft ones, and he pressed a gentle kiss on them which made you smile bashfully.

“I shall miss our banter, Lord Stark,” you mumbled, heart heavy, but the man attempted to soothe you despite his own heartache. “There are no words to describe how much I will as well my princess.” A reassuring smile tugged at his lips, streaks of his hair flying around at a sudden soft breeze of wind. Your eyes softened, and you glanced around to make sure there were no eyes pointed towards you before quickly engulfing him in a hug that took him by surprise. While he knew it would be frowned upon, he couldn't resist wrapping his arms around you to relish in your touch.

You stayed like that for a couple more moments before you had to let go. However before you got another chance to say anything, a hand abruptly fell upon your shoulder. You jolted slightly, taken by surprise only to relax once you saw it was your father. Cregan narrowed his eyes at the sight of the Rogue Prince but respectfully bowed his head, which amused Daemon.

“The King has requested your presence,” his words were laced with what you could only call mirth as Cregan furrowed his brows in puzzlement but nodded nonetheless. The two men walked beside one another, their presence demanding respect, as you were left to follow them with a much softer grace.

The three of you entered the throne hall where your grandsire was seated, the Queen by his side whilst your mother stood on his left with a reassuring smile on her face. "Your Grace," Cregan bowed deeply, his form tense as he awaited what Viserys had wished to discuss.

"I propose a betrothal," the words were straightforward and surprised the both of you. Your fingers clenched behind your back as you remained impassive, keeping your shoulders wide and chin high, "my daughter has brought the notion to my attention to betroth you to my firstborn granddaughter, go princess Y/n Velaryon to you as I heard you were in search for a wife as well." Your eyes widened and jaw slackened as you glanced between your family who were watching you with a keen eye. You then turned your gaze towards Cregan who met your eyes with much vigor. His eyes were questioning whether you wished for this as well and at the quirk of the corners of your mouth he smiled in return, relief falling upon him as he realised you would remain by his side.

"I heartily agree with this proposal," his voice was low yet clear, and it sent shivers down your spine as you watched your betrothed with adoration despite only knowing him for a day.

The king smiled widely, "This is absolutely wonderful news!" He cheered loudly. Alicent cast her gaze down, a trembling sigh leaving her lips as she thought about what this meant, "Though it does bring us to the complication of agreements." Cregan dutifully nodded his head as a thoughtful look appeared on his face while you watched on in worry that he might retract his previous statement due to you being Rhaenyra's heir.

"As Princess Y/n is Princess Rhaenyra's heir she shall inherit the throne one day, and you will have to become her King-consort," Cregan had realised this as well and nodded along, figuring it would be long from now that this would happen, and he would have an heir of his own to become Warden of the North, "Your firstborn child will be set to inherit the Iron Throne and your second-born will inherit Winterfell."

Your breath hitched as you awaited Cregan's reply, hoping he would agree, "I see no issue with this, your grace," a wide smile spread across your face. Your feet itched to move closer to your betrothed who couldn't stand to be away from you either, but he had a final proposition to make, "Though I have one request." Your mother raised her brow in anticipation, wondering what he might have to say, while your grandsire nodded.

"I wish for the wedding to take place in Winterfell, in the way of the Old Gods," Alicent was quick to protest but Viserys hushed her as he pondered about it. He cast a glance at his daughter who didn't seem to be against it, she knew her daughter wasn't exceptionally religious.

"Very well, you shall travel back to Winterfell and within six moons we will follow for the marriage," the King agreed. Cregan nodded, bowing a final time before turning to leave with a pleased expression on his face. On his way out, he intertwined his hand with yours which sent your heart fluttering as you followed him outside.

"I am sorry you didn't have a say in this-" but before Cregan could finish his sentence, you wrapped your arms around his neck, much more intimate than the modest hug that you had shared earlier. "Do not apologise. I could not have been happier with this betrothal," you mumbled into his ear, his face pressed into your neck as he smiled widely, which was so unlike his usual brooding expression.

The months passed by far too slowly in your opinion. Winter washed over, and your grandfather ensured that supplies were sent to Winterfell so they could survive this winter more easily. Some on the council had protested as they had never done such a thing before, but the King declared it final as Winterfell was about to become your home. Cregan was grateful for the supplies which greatly helped his people, but a lingering bitterness remained at the fact that so many lives could have been spared if the King had done this sooner.

The preparations for your wedding were larger than the one of your uncle and aunt, the entire realm was eager for the marriage of the woman that would become their Queen one day. The people in the North were delighted to be able to host such an extensive event, as it took their minds off the dreary weather. The wedding would take place in the middle of the summer during the warmest days of the North, but snow would still cover everything in sight.

You exchanged letters with Cregan through ravens, who was always delighted to receive them as you told him everything that had happened since your last letter. It took the young Lord a while to come up with his own anecdotes as he was a man of few words, but he made an effort for you as he knew how much joy the letters brought you. He had given you the charge of most things like flower arrangements, cake, and guests as he wished for you to have your dream wedding like within your stories while he handled the more tedious aspects.

When the week of the wedding finally approached you couldn't wipe the smile off your face, much to your family's pleasure. They listened on and on about your dear Cregan who had sent you new books. Your brothers had the tendency to whine about it, but your stepsisters quickly shut them up with a kick to the shin as they admired how you radiated contentment.

By the time you and your family would be departing from Dragonstone on dragon back, most of the Kingdom had already reached Winterfell. They stayed in the most luxurious inns the North had to offer, which wasn't quite a lot while suffering from the cold.

You climbed upon Vermithor, who seemed glad to see you, and you could only pray he wouldn't mind the cold too much. You and your family left Dragonstone together, everyone flying on their respective dragon, joyful to be spending time together before you would be separated from them. Your uncles and aunt had wished to travel by dragon as well, even willing to fly with your family, but their mother had refused, ordering them to ride in the carriage with her and their father.

It took you a couple of days to reach Winterfell and you had to admit it was colder than you had expected, but you didn't mind it as much as Lucerys who was shaking in his boots. You admired the white snow that covered every surface when people started shouting from beneath, announcing your presence. Cregan stood at the clearing they had prepared for the dragons with his half-sister somewhere behind him, watching on in amazement as the large creatures landed.

His eyes were filled with marvel as he saw the different sizes and colors of the dragons, recalling all the things you wrote about your beloved Vermithor. His gaze searched for you atop your dragon and once he finally found you his heart leaped in his throat, his hands itching to touch you after such a long time apart. Caraxes screeched loudly as people all flocked around, in an attempt to see their future Lady for the first time. Daemon was the first one to descend his dragon, followed by Rhaenyra and Rhaenys.

Lucerys all but clumsily fell off Arrax, his teeth chattering as Rhaena caught him with a hearty laugh after having climbed off Meleys. You chuckled at the sight, patting Vermithor as he attempted to acclimatize to the cold weather. He bowed down for you to descend him and Cregan's breath was caught in his throat as he all but wished to wrap you within his arms, but he knew better than to approach you with so many dragons around. Once you noticed your betrothed, a smile appeared on your face, and you dismissed the whispers around you as the people of Winterfell gawked at you.

Although everything within you screamed to jump into his arms as you had yearned to for months, you stepped closer to your family as it was your duty. "My princess," Cregan's eyes were filled with adoration, an uncommon sight for the people around him as Sara had to contain a very unladylike snort. Your eyes shimmered with what most people could only describe as tenderness as you gazed upon your betrothed. He greeted your family members respectfully and much to your delight they seemed to accept him quicker than you would have thought. It wasn't too far-fetched as they knew of how an honorable man he truly was and your continuous tales of how sweet he was certainly helped to get used to the thought of accepting him as your husband.

He stretched out his arm which you took happily, glad to hold him once more before he led you towards the hall where a feast would be held. Your grandfather and remaining family had shown up as well as the most notorious Lords such as Jason and Tyland Lannister and Otto Hightower. You took a seat at the head of the table, beside your betrothed with your cousin Baela on your other side as she squeezed your hand in support, a giddy smile on her face.

The meal was enjoyable as you conversed with Cregan and his half-sister, already quickly falling in place within the North. Your uncle Aegon had been drowning himself in his cups and once the time came for toasts you nervously fiddled with your rings. Cregan instantly took notice of this and encased them within his own calloused ones, you moved to sit closer to him, which he didn't oppose to. He gave you a loving smile that felt way more intimate than you had expected.

Viserys moved to stand, his cup raised as the table turned quiet, "A tribute to my dear granddaughter who is to be married to the honorable Cregan Stark. I wish your marriage good prosperity and demand that you visit your poor grandsire," he jested lightly, and a smile cracked on your face as you nodded at him, stroking your betrothed's hand underneath the table.

He placed a brisk kiss on your delicate hand before standing as well raising his glass, "Thank you, your Grace. I am incredibly honored to be the husband of my princess Y/n and shall vie to appease her every wish during our marriage. To my princess Y/n." Everyone at the table took a sip of their beverage, and you blushed under Cregan's gaze as a teasing grin tugged at his lips, his hand resting on your thigh.

"I wish to raise my cup to my cousin, princess Y/n," Baela declared. She glanced towards you, her eyes sparkling underneath the fires that illuminated the room before she spoke, "Although we haven't grown up together as children, I feel as though we are sisters. She has been the greatest comfort of mine when my late mother passed, and I believe there is not a finer woman in the Seven Kingdoms. To princess Y/n," you took a sip from your goblet, sending your cousin an appreciative look.

Sara hesitated for a second, as she technically wasn't supposed to be at the feast with her being commonly known as a bastard but upon seeing your reassuring smile she gathered the courage to stand, "I would like to toast to my half-brother, Lord Cregan," your betrothed seemed visibly surprised but remained quiet as he listened to what she had to say. "As many of you may know, he is an honorable man. Stern and oftentimes grim as he fulfills his duties to take care of his people. Though ever since he met princess Y/n all those moons ago, he has become more loving, and I have no doubt in mind that she has melted the cold ice that surrounded his heart, which I heartily thank her for."

You smiled widely at her words, turning to look at Cregan who was already watching you as if you had hung the stars in the sky. His face was free of any creases, an accomplishment in itself, and the warmth surrounding him seemed so inviting as you wished to be buried within his arms. At that moment, you conceded that you had truly found your own fairy tale. The feeling within you couldn't be described with mere words despite your wide vocabulary. The way that your beat for him was almost unorthodox, and you thought that if you could, you would truly have given the organ to him if he wished so.

"I raise my cup to my niece."

The words snapped you out of your daze as dread filled your senses. You quickly turned towards your uncle, Aegon who was shakily standing with the help of his mother after she had attempted to silence him. Your hand tightened around Cregan, the peaceful expression that graced his face long gone as he worried about you. He had heard rumors about your drunken uncle who bedded girls that weren't willing and ignored his poor sister-wife.

Rhaenyra let out a deep sigh, bringing a hand to rub her temple while Jace seethed from beside her. "I reminisce our years together with much fondness," he slurred, a hazy grin on his face as he gazed upon you. Cregan glared at him but remained silent, "I recall the day your mother had proposed our betrothal, and I was sad to learn that we would not be married. After all, I am sure that you will please your husband in various aspects though know that I am always ready to please you as well-" Alicent hissed at him, pulling him down while Viserys slammed his hand into the table angrily.

"Aegon!" You were absolutely mortified and Cregan had stood up, a vicious storm behind his eyes as he towered over the table. Your hand quickly reached for him, caressing his skin softly as you attempted to calm him with loving words. "It is alright, my love. Do not worry about me," you whispered to him, brushing his hair behind his ear. The remaining part of the meal went by smoothly though Cregan kept a close eye on your uncle and once the time came to return to your chambers he made sure no maids were anywhere near Aegon.

He walked you back to your chamber, placing a kiss on your cheek before you went to sleep. Come morn you awakened with much jitters, not having slept much as it was the morning of your wedding. Maids were rushing around you, opening the curtains to let the sun in, which, according to one of them was a sign of promising marriage. Your mother had entered your chamber not long after, expressing her wish to dress you herself, and you agreed with a smile.

You were sitting in a plush chair, already donning a deep red colored dress with black embroidered flowers. The sleeves dangled from your hands that rested upon the armrest while your mother stood behind you with her fingers in your hair, plaiting your silver hair delicately. You cast a glance towards the cloak that bore the Velaryon sigil, before returning your gaze to your reflection with a trembling sigh.

"Do not worry, sweet girl," your mother sent you a warm smile which always managed to soothe you whenever you were anxious. Her fingers skillfully braided the last loose strands, revealing an intricate Targaryen hairstyle that would represent your heritage partly. "Though I'm delighted to be marrying Cregan, I am sad that I will not see you as much mother," the words tumbled from your lips, so quiet that Rhaenyra had barely heard them. She let go of your hair, moving to stand in front of you before placing a warm hand on your cheek. Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she straightened your brows gently.

"We will visit as shall you," she promised, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against your forehead as you closed your eyes. A knock echoed across the room, and you called for them to enter, only to reveal Jace, who would be the one to give you away. Since your father was dead, that duty passed onto him. "It is time," he declared, closing the door behind him as he decided to wait aside with a nod from Rhaenyra.

She offered you another motherly smile that you shakily returned before pulling yourself from the comfortable chair. The sleeves of your dress slipped into place as you smoothed the gown of any creases. You straightened as you noticed your mother holding the cloak you were to wear during the ceremony. She gently placed it upon your shoulders as its warmth engulfed you.

“You look beautiful,” the words lingered in your mind, and you gave your reflection one last glance before gradually turning to walk towards Jace. Your brother smiled at you, and you reciprocated the sentiment, wrapping your arm around his as he escorted you outside. The streets were barren as everyone had assembled by the Weirwood tree where the ceremony would take place. Your steps synchronized with your brother's while your mother had gone ahead.

“How are you feeling?” The inquiry made you look up from your feet, opening your mouth, yet no words came out, “Do not attempt to fool me, sister,” he grinned which loosened you up a bit. “I am happy, truly. I am a bit nervous, but I suppose anyone would be,” she hummed.

“Do you have any regrets about this union? If so, I will not hesitate to take you back to Dragonstone,” the statement brought a laugh out of you as you glanced at your brother. “I appreciate the offer but no, thank you.”

The walk had come to an end as you saw the mass of people awaiting your arrival. The two of you halted to let you ready yourself as Jace placed a kiss on the crown of your head. With a nod, you resumed the trek and people quieted down once they caught sight of you.

Cregan felt as though he might cry as he looked upon you.

You looked utterly heavenly. He could stare at you for hours on end without tiring of the sight, and suddenly the amount of people didn't matter anymore. The agonizing months he waited for you were all worth it. The unhurried steps you took towards him couldn't be any slower as he longed to hold you once more, to protect you from any harm that the world had to offer.

Your hand tightened around Jace's arm as you gazed at Cregan and you knew that you would never regret being with him. His dark hair was in his usual manner, but it fit him perfectly, and you longed to touch it. Once you reached the heart tree, you could only look at Cregan fearing that if you'd tear your eyes off him, you'll perish into a heap of nothingness.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Cregan had chosen his closest friend Lord Cerwyn as the officiator since he didn't have any male family left. “Y/n, of the House Velaryon and Targaryen, princess of the realm and heir to the Iron Throne, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, true-born and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” Jace spoke the words he had been rehearsing the entire week faultlessly, which made a sense of pride fill you. Cregan stepped forward, his shoulders broad as he looked down at you, eyes filled with adoration, “Cregan, of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?”

If Daemon were to be truly honest he found the ceremony a bit bizarre but kept his mouth shut as he shot a glance at his wife who was watching on with watery eyes. “Jacaerys, of the House Velaryon and Targaryen, who is her brother.”

“Princess Y/n, do you take this man?” Your eyes spoke for themselves, and you didn't hesitate to speak the following words, “I take this man.” Cregan repressed the wide smile from spreading across his face, but you could simply tell how joyful he was by the shimmering in his darkened eyes. You gently unwind your arm from your brother's as you take a step forward, joining hands with Cregan who softly caressed your skin.

You two turn towards the Weirwood tree before kneeling. Your knee dug into the cold snow, and your skin lit on fire as you truly realised you were to be with your beloved Cregan for the rest of your days. You bowed your head as a token of submission, you think of a prayer but decided to keep it simple since you were still affiliated with the Valyrian believe. Prayers about the safety of your family were the first ones that came to mind, which were followed by prayers of a good marriage with healthy children. When time came you rose, not bothering to wipe the snow off your knees as you turned to face Cregan.

His hands move towards your shoulder, removing the cloak that held the Velaryon sigil before handing it to your brother who stood not too far from you. A shiver ran through your body at the loss of warmth, but it was quickly quelled by the fur coat that bore the sigil of House Stark. A deep breath escaped your tinted lips which caught Cregan's attention. His fingers rested under your chin as he tilted your face up gently before leaning down to capture your lips, sealing your life together.

Your fingers were nimbly holding his cloak, attempting to keep it as modest as possible. His lips were dry but soft, he breathed life into you as his nose pressed into your cheek. You wished to remain like this until your last days but retracted once you heard cheers from the crowd. When you separated, you could only describe yourself as breathless despite it being a timid kiss. The corners of Cregan's lips, which you had just kissed, tilted upwards at the sight of your mild pants. He glanced up at the abundance of people before returning his gaze to you with a teasing glint in his eyes. You furrowed your brows, a question hanging on the tip of your tongue, but before you ever got to ask anything he leaned down to carry you.

Your eyes widened as you hung in his arms, your knees dangling from his arm while his other one supported your back. Your arms had automatically wrapped around his neck, which moved your faces closer. His eyes held a warmth that never ceased around you as he looked up at you. “Have I told you yet how beautiful you look?” His brow raised as a teasing smirk graced his pretty features.

You wordlessly shook your head, still in some after-shock which only made him chuckle, “We are surrounded by so much beauty but nothing could ever compare to you.” The words made you giggle softly, hiding your face in the furs of his cloak in an attempt to hide your growing blush. Cregan couldn't express the pure love he held for you in that simple moment, so he resorted to placing a soft kiss to the side of your face.

“Are you two going to stay here forever?” Baela teased after most guests had moved towards the hall where a feast would be held. Lucerys was one of the first people to leave, nearly running to escape the harsh wind outside. Your husband nodded before carefully carrying you back towards your home.

The feast was a joyous event, spent by your family's side and opening gifts. You let out a gasp at the sight of a stack of books that were presented by Lady Arryn. “I do hope you enjoy these books that we had shipped from Dorne. They differ from ours greatly, so I reckoned that you have yet to read tales like these,” you thanked the woman earnestly, already reaching for one to show to your husband who nodded along, listening with much pleasure to the sound of your voice.

“I have a gift for you as well, my love,” he announced which made you perk up in your seat beside him. Sara quickly nodded, hurrying off to fetch your supposed gift as you questioned Cregan insistently which made him chuckle while caressing your hair gently. Your sister-in-law returned not long after, and the sight had you jumping out of your seat to meet her halfway. Your husband quickly followed, keeping a hand on the small of your back as he eyed your reaction carefully.

A tiny direwolf was placed into your arms that made you coo softly. You looked up at Cregan, your eyes sparkling with gratitude, before you leaned up to place a kiss on his lips. “Cregan, thank you so much. I wish I could give you a dragon in return, but unfortunately…" you trailed off with a sheepish smile which made him chuckle, moving to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder while looking down at the white wolf in your arms. The animal had quickly settled in your arms, content with the warmth you provided.

“Have you decided on its name yet?” He inquired as his breath tickled your skin in a delightful manner. You pondered for a moment, “Perhaps I should call him Laenor.” Cregan offered you a soft smile, kissing your cheek as a form of comfort.

“I see you have completely integrated already, dear cousin,” Rhaena jested, glancing at the direwolf curiously, which made you giggle. “I think it is time we retreat to our chamber, do you not Lady-wife?” Cregan's voice was low as he whispered the words into your ear, eager to get away from everyone to be with you in solitude. You blinked owlishly, nodding slowly before glancing back at your parents, who were already watching you with tender smiles. You returned the gesture, waving as best as you could with your direwolf in your arms before moving to leave with your husband.

The halls were mainly empty sans for the maids and guards, but you didn't pay them any mind as Cregan led you towards your shared chambers. Once you entered the large room you noticed that the fireplace had been lit in advance, but you didn't get the chance to explore your new apartments as Cregan tugged you towards the bed. You quickly paused to gently place Laenor on the rug that was placed in front of the hearth before returning to your husband's side. He was sitting on the side of the extensive bed that was piled with furs and covers which you already knew would feel heavenly.

You stood in front of your husband as he placed his hands on your waist before he lifted you to sit on his lap with your legs thrown on either side of him. “I could get used to this sight,” he chuckled, his hands moving across your back as you leaned down with a grin, “could you now, Lord-husband?”

He hummed, nose pressed against your neck as he placed kisses anywhere he could reach. A deep sigh left your nose as you closed your eyes, leaning your head back to give him more space to work with, which made him chuckle. Your fingers tangled between his hair as you had wished to do all day. Suddenly, you felt him scrape his teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck which nearly made you moan.

Your grip on his hair tightened, a resonant groan escaping his lips before he gently twisted for you to lay on the bed with him hovering above you. He gazed intensely into your eyes before leaning up to get rid of the clothing that was donned upon his upper body. Your fingers traced the muscles on his stomach softly before you leaned up to place kisses against his chest. “I cannot take this torture any longer, my love. I must know whether you want this as much as I do?” He gripped your head firmly, resting his forehead on yours while his nose bumped into yours.

“I do Cregan,” you swore, he let go of any restraint that he had left in him and passionately pressed his lips against yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. A low moan escaped his lips, right into your mouth as you accidentally pressed your knee against his bulge that had formed beneath the layer of clothing.

And that night you discovered that there was no sound on earth that you loved more than his.

Years had flown by, and you remained with your husband, the love you two shared for one another never diminished. While you enjoyed your life greatly, you couldn't say that it was all easy. The winters were harsh, and you missed your family incredibly as you only managed to visit one another a handful of times.

The thing that was bothering you the most though was the fact that you still hadn't become pregnant. It certainly wasn't for lack of trying, as you couldn't remember a time when you hadn't been bedded for more than three days. Cregan wasn't too bothered by it, but you could tell that it was something that some people gossiped about. After all, you had to have at the very least two children, one for you as heir and one for Cregan. Your husband insisted that it didn't matter and that he was happy with you either way, but you couldn't stop the doubt from seeping in, especially not with the council hovering around you every second of the day.

“Perhaps she is infertile,” the Maester had suggested, which sent them into an uproar, asking what of the heir that was needed. Cregan quickly silenced them by slamming his fists into the table, a seething expression on his face as he defended his wife. “You shall not discuss this matter as if it involves any of you. You asked me to marry three years ago, and I did now stay out of my marriage.” This quickly shut their mouths, but it didn't manage to stop the whispers from spreading. While most didn't mean any harm, it didn't help with you to quell your worries as you sat in the bath motionlessly.

“My love?” Cregan called from the entrance, entering upon hearing your hum. His expression softened at the sight of your discouraged form, ridding himself of his clothes to join you. You moved forward so he could settle behind you before leaning back into his firm chest. He wrapped one of his arms around your waist whilst the other played with your silver hair lovingly. You simply chose to relish in the affections he provided you with.

“Do not worry, my love,” he mumbled, his words echoing in the empty room as you mindlessly nodded with your head resting on his shoulder. “I promise you I will put a child into you if that is what you truly wish for,” he swore, willing to do anything to please you, which made you smile gently. Your eyes sparkled with the pure adoration you held for your husband.

“I love you Cregan,” the usually solemn man softened, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek before returning the sentiment, “I love you as well, my love.” Your eyes flickered to meet his before you moved to sit in his lap, turning to face him while he watched with a raised brow. “Do you wish to ride me, Lady-wife?” A smirk was etched upon his face while you tilted your head with a sultry grin.

“I am a dragon rider after all, but I suppose I shall ride a wolf tonight,” the words sent Cregan into a flurry, water slopped from the edge of the bathtub while moans spilled from your pretty lips.

As he had promised that night, you were pregnant, much to your elation.

The first thing you did when you found out was rush towards the dining hall where Cregan was eating, Laenor following you swiftly. Your husband looked up at the sound of your pants and fastened footsteps, putting his fork down as he slid his chair back. You all but leaped into his arms, a wide smile gracing your features as he watched on in disarray, but before he got the chance to question your odd behavior you cut him off.

“I am with child,” the words made him widen his eyes as he was truly shocked for once in his life, before a giant smile spread across his face, his eyes crinkling from joy as he threw his arms around you. He got up from his chair, holding you up with ease as he kissed you with much vigor. You smiled into the kiss, tears of bliss slid down your cheeks that transferred onto his face, not that he minded.

Cregan gently placed you back down to your feet, his hand immediately reaching for your stomach, even though there wasn't anything visible yet. “Aye, I promised you didn't I,” he grinned which made you roll your eyes before you leaned up to place another kiss on his lips.

That evening you wrote to your family, joyful to announce the news of your pregnancy, while Cregan spread the word to his council and friends. You truly couldn't be happier at that moment. Once news of your pregnancy reached both King's Landing and Dragonstone your mother insisted on coming, wishing to be there for the birth of her first grandchild. You and Cregan were glad to welcome her back, along with Jacaerys and Baela who had wanted to come as well. Daemon had expressed his wish to be there with you, but someone had to stay back on Dragonstone. Lucerys had preferred to stay home as well as he couldn't stand the cold and Rhaena chose to remain by her betrothed's side, but they made you promise to visit with your child as soon as you recovered.

At first, the pregnancy went by fine, you had expected the morning sickness as your mother had described. It was only after the first three months that your bump finally began to show, much to Cregan's delight. He had often found his place directly behind you with his hands resting on your stomach, to protect you and your unborn child from any harm.

Though after the first trimester had passed, had you begun to feel worse. You were frequently challenged by abdominal pains and high temperatures which baffled your mother as she had never gotten such symptoms so early on which in turn sent Cregan spiraling up to the point that you were appointed to bed six months into your pregnancy. The Maester had claimed that everything was fine, that you were simply having slightly different symptoms than most women, but it didn't quell your family's concerns.

It was around the seventh month that Rhaenyra, Baela, and Jacaerys remained permanently glued to your side as you suffered the painful aches. They wished to assist you ease the pain in any way they could but once you passed the safe amount of Milk of the Poppy, you couldn't take any other medicine if you did not want to harm your child. Jacaerys had pressed on, stating that it was better that you took the medicine, but you refused which frustrated Cregan. Your husband had desired to be by your side as much as your family members, but he still had to rule over Winterfell.

Your water broke a month too early. You had been lying in front of the hearth on the sofa with Laenor resting his head on your legs when the contractions started. A cry left your lips, quickly alerting your mother who was sitting not too far from you while embroidering a blanket for her future grandchild. She shot up, her eyes furrowed as she lifted your dress only to see dried blood coating it.

Her eyes widened in terror, glancing over to Baela and Jace, “Call for the midwives and Cregan! Y/n has started her labors!” She then shooed your direwolf away, which made him scowl, but he listened when you softly ordered him to make place for your mother. Jace nodded, his eyes broad in panic before rushing outside while Baela hurried to Rhaenyra's side as they attempted to help you sit up properly. “How can this be? She is supposed to give birth in one moon!” Rhaenyra couldn't find a reply as she attempted to hush your worries.

“It seems that she has started her early labor,” the older woman muttered, caressing your cheek comfortingly as sweat started to form on your forehead. “Where the fuck is Jace?” Baela hissed, already sitting beside you to hold you tightly.

The prince was running around, much to the confusion of the people around him, but he couldn't register anything as he searched for your husband. He had already called for a maid to get the midwives before starting his search for the Lord of Winterfell. Eventually, he managed to find the solemn man outside, training knights in the courtyard with his sword. “Lord Stark!” Jace's shouts startled the surrounding men, but he set his sights on your husband, who watched on in confusion as your brother rushed towards him.

“Prince Jacaerys what-” “Y/n has started her labors!” Cregan's eyes widened as his breath hitched. He didn't waste a second as he pushed past his brother-in-law, running quickly to reach your side faster. When he burst into the room, he noticed that you had been moved towards your shared bed while midwives were scurrying around. Your mother was seated by your side, attempting to calm you while Baela was arguing with the Maester for some Gods-forsaken reason.

Cregan discarded his cloak and sword on the rug, kneeling by your bedside, while you looked up at him with a fatigued smile. “You came,” the words came out more hoarse than you had wanted, but your husband simply brushed some straying hairs from your sticky forehead, placing a quick kiss on the side of your head. “Of course I came,” his eyes were drowning in concern as he looked around, trying to find an answer as to why you were forced to give birth so early on.

He clasped his hand around yours, squeezing it tightly to give you some form of comfort. Jace had returned as well by now and decided to join the argument between Baela and the Maester despite not having a clue what it was about. A chuckle left you at the sight before a pained whine escaped your lips. Cregan grabbed a piece of cloth, moistening it before gently dabbing it on your face, only hoping that it relieved you in some kind of way.

Hours were spent that way and no one had wanted to leave your side, refusing when the Maester had said it could take a couple of hours, even days at most. Cregan had simply snapped at him, ignoring the ache in his knees as he remained seated by your side. During those hours, you had changed positions numerous times, but eventually, you returned to rest on your back once the substantial pain had started.

Your breathe fastened even more than it already had, and your grip on Cregan tightened. Your eyes turned towards your mother as you opened your mouth to speak for the first time in a while, “I need to push.” The words sent the room into a frenzy as midwives positioned themselves between your legs.

“You have to hold back, Princess!” One of them called, to which you let out a loud groan. “Everything will be fine, my love. You can do this,” your husband mumbled. Tears left your eyes as you prayed for this pain to end already. “Have you thought of names yet?” Baela questioned in an attempt to distract you for a while longer. You glanced at your husband, and he nodded reassuringly before you turned back to face your cousin with a wavering smile, “Rhaenor for a boy and Daenara for a girl.”

“A Targaryen name?” Rhaenyra smiled warmly as Cregan nodded, “We thought it would only be appropriate for the future heir.” Your family sat around you which warmed your heart, but the feeling quickly vanished at a particularly agonizing contraction.

“Push!” The midwife called, your hand tightened around Cregan's as you screamed out. It seemed like there would never be an end to it as the cries ripped from your throat. “You are doing incredible, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra tried, but you completely ignored her as you sobbed. “Get it out! Fuck!” Your nails sunk into Cregan's hand, but he remained steady as he whispered sweet words into your ear. You would have thought that after almost an hour of endless screaming your voice would have become hoarse, but it seemed like it only turned louder.

“I can see the head!” Baela was assisting the midwife as you wailed. “Just get it fucking out of me!” You shouted angrily and with one last push, the baby fell into your cousin's awaiting arms. “You did. You've done so well, my love,” Cregan placed kisses upon your sweaty forehead as you let a weak smile appear on your face. Leaning into your husband's arms while Baela helped the midwives clean your baby.

“I am so proud of you, sweet girl,” your mother grasped your hand softly, and you nodded thankfully at her, choosing to remain in Cregan's muscular arms. “It is a boy, sister,” Jace announced with much excitement, as a wide smile appeared on your face. Cregan couldn't contain his delight as he pressed yet another kiss against your lips. “Rhaenor,” you mumbled already wishing to hold your son when a familiar pain abruptly hit you again.

You threw your head back against your husband's chest as a cry left your lips. Rhaenyra immediately jumped up while the midwife attempted to reassure you all by clarifying that it was most likely the placenta, but you shook your head. “I feel like I must push again,” you managed to get out before another scream ripped from your throat. Your husband watched on in disarray but refused to even step away from you as he hugged you closer, your arms wrapped around his as you tried to stabilise yourself.

A gasp made you look up with worry only to find Baela smiling, “Another babe.” Cregan's eyes widened while you smiled feebly, genuinely ecstatic that you would have twins. Your mother returned to your side, holding your hand as you sobbed into your husband's chest.

Fortunately, this time it went by a lot quicker and not long after you were already pushing out another baby. Your cousin was once more ready to catch your second child whilst Jace held Rhaenor in his arms, attempting to soothe his nephew lovingly. As you made the final push a sigh of relief left your lips before looking over at Baela, eyes curious to see your second child.

“Another boy,” you pressed a kiss to Cregan's throat, melting into his hold as you attempted to stay awake to see your sons. “What will you name him?” Jace questioned, an expression of pure joy spread across his face whilst you pondered for a second. You glanced up at your husband who was staring lovingly at you before you decided, “Ned.”

Rhaenyra raised a brow as well as Cregan. “Ned you say?” Her mother tried out the name which made you giggle quietly, “Short for Eddard.” Your husband tilted your face to look up at him, and you grinned at his astonished expression, kissing his cheek sweetly while he caressed your face, “A Northern name? I quite like it,” Jace grinned, glancing over at Ned in Baela's arms whilst he held Rhaenor, waiting for you to properly unwind. “Thank you, my love,” Cregan's reply to it all made you laugh softly, but you kissed him nonetheless mumbling something against his lips, only for his ears to hear.

The midwife smiled at the cheerful family and moved your dress to prepare you for the placenta that was yet to come when a frown appeared on her face. “What is it?” Rhaenyra inquired as she noticed the worrisome expression that the woman wore. She ushered your mother towards her quietly but Cregan had caught sight of yet another issue. Rhaenyra approached, fear settling in her gut as she could only pray nothing was wrong with you.

“Why is there so much blood?” She whispered, her eyes wide at the gruesome sight in front of her. “I believe she suffers a hemorrhage,” the words sent fear spiking into Rhaenyra as she could only remember her own mother before she turned to the midwife, a frantic look in her eyes. “Will- will she survive?” The words were barely able to leave her lips when yet another whine escaped your lips.

Cregan looked around with wide eyes, wondering what was transpiring around him as he tried to soothe you while glancing at your mother. She panicked and looked back under your dress along with the midwife who gasped loudly which caught the attention of everyone else. “What now?” An angry groan made its way out of you as your fingers clenched around your husband's hand that held you tightly. “I believe you are to have a third child!”

Your eyes widened, and your mouth fell slack at the news, rapidly looking up at Cregan who was just as dumbfounded, but he attempted to pull himself together for your sake, “It is alright, my love. You can do this.” Baela and Jace helplessly stood beside the bed, holding your children while you screamed relentlessly, pushing a third child out.

“What is wrong with you? Putting three fucking children into me at once!” You angrily yelled at your husband who only chuckled, nodding along while remaining oblivious to what was happening. “What will this mean for her?” Rhaenyra hissed, continuously glancing up to check on you while the midwife shook her head. “We cannot know but at this moment anything is a high risk.”

“Can we stop this birth then? Will it benefit her?” Your mother was desperate now, willing to do anything to keep you as the older woman beside her shook her head. “There is nothing we can do now.” The words absolutely mortified Rhaenyra and when your third child finally left your body she had quickly handed it to another maid before rushing to your side.

“Mother-?” The woman quickly shushed you, caressing your soaked hair with trembling hands as tears gathered in her eyes. You turned fearful at her odd behavior and Cregan tightened his hold on you. “What is it?” He hissed, your cousin and brother approaching with confusion lacing their expressions, but Rhaenyra disregarded them all as she kept her grasp on you, “You have done so well. I love you, sweet girl.” You glanced down, eyes wide in horror as you finally noticed the amount of blood. Cregan held in his tears as a lump rose in his throat, his hold only tightening around you as he attempted to convince himself that if he held you, you wouldn't be able to leave him. “What is the meaning of this?” Jace furiously asked while keeping his hold on his nephew gentle.

“Princess, you must push one last time. To get the placenta out. It is necessary,” you nodded shakily, closing your eyes as you collected all your strength to push yet again. Sobs raked your body violently until suddenly you felt dizzy, the world around you turning dark while sounds faded. A loud sob came from Rhaenyra as she hugged your body, praying for anyone to save her precious daughter, but it seemed like no God was interested in keeping you alive.

Cregan stared on in shock, his quivering hand moving to your neck only not to feel a pulse. He took your face into his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks as he shook your head. “Y/n? Wake up,” his voice cracked. Jace’s knees buckled as he fell onto the floor, his eyes bright red while he buried Rhaenor in his arms. His betrothed gasped, tears falling as she loudly cried at the sight of your limp, bloodied body that was held by your mother and husband.

The midwife felt her eyes brim with tears, but she swiftly turned to inform the Maester of the news. She opened the door and the old man looked on questioningly as he heard loud sobs emit from the room. “What is the matter?” He questioned as she closed the door behind her to let the family grieve the loss of the princess. “Princess Y/n has passed,” the words startled the man as he furrowed his brows, bowing his head in respect. “What of the child?” The question hung in the air for a while before the woman replied sorrowfully.

“Princess Y/n has given birth to two sons and a daughter,” the man's eyes widened, triplets were extremely rare and mothers barely ever made it out alive during those labors. He nodded absentmindedly, processing the news, “I shall inform the council.”

Letters were quickly written to spread the news across the realm before they announced the passing of their Princess to the residents of Winterfell with much despair and regret. The people cried out for their Lady, participating in their Lord's mourning, and made offerings to your dragon Vermithor who had been restless. The ravens reached their destinations swiftly and left an impact on the Lords and Ladies of the realm who had remembered you as a lively soul.

“An urgent letter has arrived from Winterfell, your grace,” Ser Erryk declared, as the King nodded motioning for him to read it out loud while he continued eating. He had been one of the people most overjoyed of the news of your pregnancy and couldn't wait to meet his great-grandchild. Alicent placed her utensils down, glancing at her father and children before turning to her husband, “It must be from Princess Y/n.”

“Is she not due for another month?” Otto wondered out loud which caught the attention of his grandchildren as they all watched on in wonder.

“With much pride we can announce that Princess Y/n has given birth to triplets,” Aegon choked on his wine while Aemond simply raised a brow. “That certainly explains the early labour,” Otto mumbled.

“Her firstborn is a son named Rhaenor Stark, her second born is yet another son named Eddard Stark and her third born is a daughter named Daenara Stark. Unfortunately, we must announce that our dear Princess Y/n has passed during her labours.” Ser Erryk's eyes widened at the last part but remained quiet as the news settled within the royal family.

Colour drained from the King's face as he abruptly stood up, his eyes moist with tears as he lost yet another woman in his life due to childbirth and stormed out of the dining hall. Alicent let out a shaky breath, quickly praying for her step-granddaughter while her father sighed deeply not heartless enough not to pity the poor girl. Helaena cried loudly before she too rushed out of the room to find comfort with her own children.

Aegon rubbed a hand over his face, as he recalled the last time he saw you. He grabbed the wine pitcher, not glancing back as he left to drown himself in his drinks with you in his memory. The younger prince watched on with furrowed brows, he wasn't fond of you, and yet, he felt a tug at his heartstrings at the thought of you. Perhaps somewhere deep down within him, he did care for you, the early days of your childhood you spent together instead of with your brothers who enjoyed teasing you for the lack of dragons.

The castle was glum that day, both the Royals and commoners mourning the loss of their dear princess.

The funeral preparations started early on with Daemon insisting that you should be buried like a Targaryen, while Cregan fought back, wishing for your body to remain in Winterfell.

“She is a Targaryen!” Daemon roared, his hair sticking to the back of his neck as he fought with the other men while Lucerys was weeping in his mother's arms. “She is my wife! I do not see the point of arguing over this with you,” Cregan seethed, his hair had grown out longer than he'd like, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. “She is also a Velaryon!” Corlys butted in, which made the two angrily turn to him. Viserys pinched his brows together, his head aching from all this screaming and arguing, “I have had enough of this! She shall have a Targaryen funeral in Winterfell.”

Daemon seemed pleased with this while Cregan clenched his fists together as he had wanted to bury you. He wished to have the ability for your children to visit your grave when they were older, but now they didn't even have that privilege. “Now, I want to see my great-grandchildren,” the King sighed, as the Northman hadn't shown anyone his children.

“Yes, I would like to see them as well,” Daemon agreed, moving to stand closer with his family which consisted of Rhaenyra, Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena. Cregan reluctantly nodded, his face unmoving as it had been for weeks before he departed the room to get his children, knowing his wife would have wanted for her family to meet them. As he entered their chamber, he let out a shaky breath, placing his hands on the back of a chair in support as he tried to keep his tears at bay. When knocks echoed through the room he quickly straightened and turned his face solemn only to see Jace. “I thought I could help carry them.”

Cregan simply nodded, walking over to the cradles where his three children laid. His eyes softened at the sight of them before reaching down to take Rhaenor into his arms. He was gentle with them which was so unlike him ever since you passed. Jace handed him his daughter into his free arm before reaching to hold Ned carefully. The babies gurgled, pulling at their father and uncle's hair as they sauntered back in silence.

The Targaryen and Velaryan family turned towards them as they entered the room, the King immediately reached for Rhaenor with a warm smile. “Who might this be?” He questioned, caressing the boy's cheek with his finger carefully while Alicent looked over his shoulder. She quickly took notice of his silver hair that resembled yours but raised her brow at his grey eyes which he got from his father along with all his other features. “That is Rhaenor,” Cregan reluctantly handed his daughter over to Daemon who had moved to grab her and chuckled at Daenara, placing a kiss on her chubby cheeks as she giggled. She had been born with your violet eyes and her father's dark hair.

“This must be little Ned,” Corlys grinned, as his wife held the baby. He was an odd case in their opinion, he ended up with violet eyes, but his hair was dark brown with streaks of silver hair. Cregan kept a close eye on all of them, making sure nothing happened to the babies, who were the only things left of you. “We must place dragon eggs in their cradles!” Viserys exclaimed, his eyes turning towards his daughter and cousin who both nodded.

“Luke, Rhaena would you like to pick them out?” Rhaenys questioned as Rhaenyra was quietly staring at her grandchildren with a heartbroken expression. The two nodded before hurrying off as Daemon glanced around, deciding whether to enrage the Northman or not. “Lord Stark does not know how to take care of a dragon. Especially not three. I suggest they come live with us for the time being,” Rhaenyra was silent as she reached to hold Daenara, holding her close as her eyes watered while Cregan glared harshly at the prince.

“No.”

Alicent pondered over it for a while before she piped up as well, “Think about it, Lord Stark. You had only been prepared to take care of one babe, but now you have three. You have no previous experience, and you do not have your wife to assist you. Then there is the matter of the three dragons as well do you truly think it would be best for them to stay here? Perhaps they could stay with us for some time, one in Driftmark, one in King's Landing and one on Dragonstone?” Regan wouldn't hear of it, shaking his head furiously and Rhaenys could truly sympathize with him, but it was clear that he would need assistance.

“My children will stay with me, in Winterfell. I will take care of them and if you worry so much about the dragons, then you may come and help with them. But that is final, they are staying here,” it was clear that there was no room for any discussion so they decided to indulge themselves in the babes for a while before Cregan would take them back.

The funeral took place two days later, near the snow covered forest. Cregan had hardened his face, holding Ned in his arms, while Daenara was with Rhaenyra and Rhaenor in Jace's arms. He wore black furs and numbly stared at your body that was placed further away. Vermithor roared loudly, distressed with yet another rider of his dying, but the Northman paid no mind to him. It had been decided that the bronze fury would remain in Winterfell, in case that one of your children's eggs wouldn't hatch they could try to claim Vermithor.

Jace cleared his throat, as he had been the one that was appointed to lead the ceremony. He took a final breath before saying the dreaded words, “Dracarys.”

Vermithor roared once more, hesitating for a moment before flames engulfed your body. Cregan closed his eyes, his heart aching at the sight and pulled his son closer to him. He promised you that he would take good care of your children so you could be proud of them.

Years blurred into one another and while it was hard for Cregan, he always tried for his children who loved him relentlessly. The four Starks often visited the crypts where Cregan had a statue build for you and even whenever Rhaenyra and her family visited they would always stop by the statue with sorrowful expressions.

Throughout the years Jace had been named heir which retracted Rhaenor's claim which meant that he would be Lord of Winterfell one day. The eldest boy didn't mind it, preferring to stay with his father as he was clearly a Northern by heart. His egg had hatched first revealing a surprisingly calm swarthy blue dragon. Daenara's egg came out as well but was slightly harder to control as it was a rather energetic white dragon. The only egg that hadn't come out was Ned's but once he was old enough he had managed to claim Vermithor.

The council had suggested numerous times that he remarry but they couldn't use the excuse of heirs anymore as he had plenty of them. Cregan adamantly refused, he didn't care for it and stated that he would remain faithful to his first and only wife and so he did, eventually passing with his children by his side and a lasting ache etched into his heart.

the end © ioaezz, 2024.

Scraped knees and warm baths

{Cregan Stark knows how to take care of his wife}

I’ve been wanting to write for him so bad, I just haven’t had the time to write for any hotd characters recently, anyway hope you enjoy!! 💕💕

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You hadn’t meant to stay out so long, just for a small walk, you told yourself however time seemed to slip away from you, as you took in the serenity of nature, how the packed snow crunched underneath your feet, or the soft joyous melodies of birds, the crips air filled your lungs and it felt refreshing, it was good to get out the castle.

However it came with its dangers, ice, and somewhere along your journey you had lost your footing, slipping with a gasp against the stony path your palms grazing against the ragged surface along with your knees, just your luck, you think standing back to your feet with a huff.

And while you take your calm stroll outside Winterfell castle walls, Cregan was losing his mind, going mad with worry as he searches for you frantically and you’re nowhere to be seen, your absence sends his mind spiralling with horrid thoughts.

“She can’t have gone far my lord, I’m sure she’ll return… eventually” Maybe it’s the lack of worry in his tone or the smug smirk that teeters on his lips that sends Cregans’ skin tingling with anger as he turns to the guard.

“Ser Duncan I suggest you go help the rest of the men prepare- no one sleeps until my wife is found” he snaps walking closer to him, “Do I make myself clear?” He asks, trying to bite back the concern that sits on his tongue.

“Of course, my lord” and with that Cregan walks over to the stables a crease haunting his brows as he racks his mind for where you could possibly be.

“Lord Stark! She’s been found!”

Cregan is quick to look over and sure enough there you are, an overwhelming feeling of relief washes over him as he looks at you, bright-eyed with a giant smile, your dress stained with mud and he runs over to you, wrapping your shoulders with one of his furs protecting you from the harsh northern winds.

“Silly girl” he murmurs, urging you into his arms tightly.

You can hear the unease that weaves through his tone and it nips at your heart making you feel a little guilty, "I'm sorry" you whisper.

he pulls away slightly, looking at you with gentle eyes before turning around, “Lyra prepare a hot bath,” he says and she nods curtly, turning on her heels.

You silently scold yourself for causing so much trouble as you look around at all the men and women gathering around, you didn’t realise you were gone for so long, his hand rests on the small of your back leading you back to your shared bedchambers.

“I almost had the whole north searching for you,” he tells you, his big hands cupping either side of your face and he just can’t bring himself to be mad at you, the way you smile so sweetly at him, “I reckon you’ll send me to an early grave my dear” he sighs pressing a kiss to your forehead.

His hands reach for yours, and you gasp as fingers brush against the graze on your palm, “What? What is it- what happened?” He panics, taking your hands and studying the abrasions that adorn your palms with concern.

“It’s nothing, Cregan,” you say pulling your hands away, and before you can dismiss his worries he’s already pulling up the fabric of your dress noticing the blood that stains your knees, along with the small cuts.

“How did you manage this?” He asks, guiding you to the steaming tub, his fingers make work with untying the lace of your dress, letting the sleeves fall down to your arms and he peppers gentle kisses to your shoulder.

You giggle at the memory, “I slipped on ice, it wasn’t too bad” You smile stepping out of the dress, and you're not too sure if you're trying to convince him or yourself, your hands grasping at his arms as he eases you into the bath, the warm water soothes the dull ache in your muscles.

His hand cups at the water pouring it over your skin, “Wasn’t too bad? Look at your knees my love” he says nodding over to your knees that are pulled to your chest, he leans to press gentle kisses to them careful of the cuts, “I’ll go get the Maesters to take a look at it, don’t want it getting infected” he presses a kiss to your forehead and he goes to stand but you're quick to stop him.

“Wait- stay for a second more” you whisper and his face softens, he doesn’t think he could ever say no to you.

He sits back down on the wooden stall, picking up the small jug, “Of course my dear” takes his forefinger resting it underneath your chin as he pushes your head up slightly before pouring the warm water over your hair.

He washes you gently, peppering occasional kisses to your wet skin, “Come on my dear let’s get you warm and something to eat” he says helping you out of the tub, the water now lukewarm, he dries you off with such loving eyes, helping you change into something comfortable.

You sit by the fire humming at the pleasant warmth that surrounds you like a blanket, “Thank you Lyra” Cregan smiles as she places a hot bowl of stew on the table along with bread before walking out of the room with a nod.

“Eat something, my dear, I’ll go get the Maesters,” he says, pressing a kiss against your temple.

“Thank you, Cregan” You look up at him as his thumb brushes against your cheek, his chest blooms with love and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

He looks at you with adoration in his eyes, “Of course, anything for you” and you swear your heart stops at his love, the lord Stark of Winterfell, how you owned his entire heart.

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Oh thats ok! The prompt doesnt really need a smut bit anyway so here goes: snowballfighting with cregan but after your ice incident (your prev cregan fic) he's worried about you running and slipping on ice. So he doesnt run and just lets you pelt him with snowballs, watching you laugh and have your fun. Cregan has this 'gods i'm so in love with her' look on his face 😂😂😂

Snowball fights and kisses

{Cregan and you take a break from Politics}

Aww, this is really cute!! Please I love him so much I think he would just be the sweetest to his lover!! 💕 {you can read part 1 here!}

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You feel awful watching Cregan go crazy with stress, lord after lord sending ravens in attempts to have an audience with the Lord of Winterfell, and you couldn’t do much instead you just watch as his problems keep building up.

“My dear, let me help— please, I could help with the smaller problems,” you tell him knowing full well he’d turn down your offer, but you ask anyway, you just felt so useless standing around doing nothing.

You watch as he shakes your head, “I am the lady of Winterfell, surely that gives me some authority to help” you tell him, and he puts his quill down looking over at you from where he was sitting motioning for you to come over.

“Yes you do, of course, you do— but as my lady, I don’t want you to make yourself sick with stress,” he says, looking up at you with loving eyes, he takes your hands pressing kisses against your healing palms.

Cregan has always been so caring when it came to you, even when he was first courting you he was nothing but gentle, a side of him you didn’t expect, and he made you feel so needed, the way he was always asking for your suggestions on things.

“Well then, at least take a break just for a little,” you say, his hands resting on your hips as your fingers thread through his hair, and he smiles at the feeling.

His chest blooms with adoration, “What would we do my love?” He asks, with genuine curiosity, he knows you’re always going off on your own little journeys, often causing him heart failure in the process but he endures it, anything to keep you happy.

“It’s a beautiful day outside don’t you think? Let’s go out for a walk— that way you can make sure I don’t slip again” You giggle thinking back at the memory, and he looks up at you with unimpressed eyes.

You watch as stands from his chair, stretching as he does, “I’m glad you find it funny dear” he says with a smile, the type you can’t control, “You almost killed me” he says, as he leans down to tie the lace on your boots.

You look down at him, “Yes, but I made it up to you didn’t I?” You tease, and you watch as a gentle red dust against his cheeks slightly at the memory of you by the fireplace.

He shakes his head with a chuckle, draping one of his furs around your shoulders before you both walk side by side making your way outside, and you both feel great, breathing in the fresh crisp air.

You look around at the sight, taking it in, the pure white blanket of snow that covers the ground, gentle snowflakes that fall from the pewter grey clouds, you notice how they collect in Cregan's hair, a storm was brewing you could feel it.

He watches with a smile as you walk slightly in front of him, looking around at the nature that surrounds you both, he watches attentively as you slip slightly on the icy path, and his chest tightens as you regain your balance.

“Please, be careful love, I don’t want another incident,” he says, a hand against your back as you both continue to walk, enjoying the crunch of the snow underneath your boot.

Cregan watches with confusion as you bend down, “Have your laces come undone?” He asks, your silence only confuses him further, and before he can say anything else a snowball comes flying at him, hitting him straight in the chest.

He chuckles at the boisterous laugh that erupts from you, how your eyes squint with joy as you double over clutching your stomach as you continue to launch snowballs at him.

He would run after you, chase you around the snowy landscape, but he recalls back to your incident, how your knees were bloodied and raw and the way your face contorted with pain as the Maesters applied ointment on the wounds, and he doesn’t want to ever see you in pain again.

So, he stands there trying to evade your attack, as he dodges some of them, enjoying the sound of your beautiful laugh, it’s a sound that he swears to the gods could fix all of his problems.

He watches as you pact the snow into a ball before throwing it at him, how the tiny snowflakes collect against the furs you’re wearing, and how they sit in your hair and he thinks you’re the most enchanting person in all of Westeros, you’ve completely captured his heart and soul.

“I win!” You giggle jogging over to where Cregan stands with a huge smile, ear to ear, and it warms him to see.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders bringing you closer to him, “Yes you do my love” he whispers pressing a loving kiss to the corner of your mouth.

He takes a moment to admire you, your beauty and flaws, you mean so much to him and Cregan knows he’d go to war for you.

“Gods I love you, so much,” he says, and you can’t help the fluttery feeling in your belly as you turn suddenly bashful under his loving gaze.

Your hands rest on either side of his face as you pull him down to you, pressing a meaningful kiss to his lips, his cold nose grazing against your skin, “As do I my love” you whisper, lips brushing against his, and you wonder what people would think if they ever seen this side to the lord of Winterfell.

“Come on, let's get you inside my beautiful wife,” he says guiding you back into the castle and to your shared bedchambers, and he thinks he might take breaks more often, then again, he’d do anything to see that wonderful smile of yours.

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Cold

{Cregan drops his duties for you when you fall sick}

Hope you enjoy lovelies! 💕

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The north was abysmally cold and once winter pushes through it only seems to get worse, when the sun is hidden beneath the shadowy grey clouds, and the wind rushes through the trees and the castle walls, it was only a matter of time until you would fall sick.

Bedbound is what Cregan told you as soon as the Maesters informed him about your illness, bedbound and not to move a muscle until the sickness was gone, but there were only so many books you could read before you go crazy.

You were wrapped up in furs, thick blankets and the fire was lit, surrounded by nothing but warmth, another thing Cregan had told the Maesters after you woke up practically shivering, and gods, you were so bored.

“Lady Stark please stay in bed” Lyra asks so politely that you almost feel a little bad, you only wanted to go for a walk, just to stretch your legs a little.

You shake your head, akin to a stubborn child, as you ready yourself, “Lyra I’ll be fine, all I want is to stretch, I won’t go too far and I’ll be back before Cregan returns” you tell her, voice hoarse and scratchy.

She looks at you very concerned, “I will be fine, I promise” You smile as you erupt into a coughing fit, your chest aching with every breath.

Lyra is quick making her way to your side, a gentle hand against your back as she urges you to sit back on the bed, “Please I insist lady Stark, you must rest” she panics a little, but you’d rather have to listen to lord Cerwyn’s boring rambling then go back to bed.

“I’m fine Lyra” she sighs giving up on your relentless fighting, you were stubborn and she had learnt that the hard way, she nods curtly before bidding you farewell and Lyra makes her way straight to Cregan.

Cregan had an inkling that you wouldn’t listen to his nor the Maesters words, he knew you far too well that it was hard to really hide anything from him, and his suspicion was only proven correct when Lyra came bursting through the doors, disrupting one of the lords, as she nervously rambles about how you're up and out of bed.

You don’t even get halfway down the hallway of the freezing castle before you’re stopped by your husband, “What exactly are you doing out of bed” You tense up at the sound of his stern voice, a smile teetering on your lips at the slightest playful hint in his tone.

You turn around with a sheepish smile, he wasn’t meant to be here yet, “You’re supposed to be attending to your duties, lord Stark” you tell him, a smirk playing on your lips, trying to ignore the soreness that itches at the back of your throat.

“And you’re supposed to be in bed, resting,” he says, wincing at the croaky chuckle that falls from your lips, he walks over to you with a gentle hand on the small of your back as he guides you back to your shared bedchambers.

You don’t fight him on the matter figuring you would just lose anyway, because If there was anyone that could outdo your stubbornness it was definitely your husband, especially when the matter involves you.

But that doesn’t stop you from complaining, “My dear, I feel fine” you sigh, yet again overtaken by your feverish cough, the burning in the back of your throat causes tears to well up in your eyes.

Cregan’s heart breaks at the sight, how your shoulders shake, and gods, the sound of your painful cough near enough brings him to tears, he hates seeing you in pain, hates that there’s nothing he can do about it.

“My sweet girl, please sit” he says, noticing the way you shiver slightly as a gust of wind whistles through the castle, you groan slightly as you climb back into bed, “Good girl” he teases, chuckling as you roll your eyes.

He fluffs up the pillows before you lay against them as he pulls the blankets back up to your shoulders, “I’m starting to hate this bed” you mumble, you’re tired of being ill.

“I know, but the more you rest-“ he glances over at the cup of herbal tea that’s now gone cold, his eyebrows knitting together, “-and actually drink the tea the Maesters give you, the quicker you will get better” he presses a kiss to your warm forehead, brushing your hair behind your ear.

You smile up at him, “I’m sure the other Lords aren’t too pleased about you leaving them to fuss over your sick wife” You giggle as he takes a seat beside the bed.

His face softens, “They can wait, you, my love, are the most important person to me— you come first” he smiles, pressing another kiss to your temple, and his thumb gently soothes your cheek and you can’t help but lean into his gentle touch.

Your limbs are overcome with a sudden dull ache and everything just seems to hurt, your hand reaches for his and your fingers entwine, “It hurts so bad” you whisper, your eyes closing with pain and you try so hard to ignore the stinging sensation that scratches at the back of your throat.

“Where sweet girl?” Cregan asks, taking your hand up to his mouth as he presses gentle kisses to your knuckles.

“Everywhere” You squeeze his hand slightly, and he looks down at you with worry laced in his eyes.

He looks over at Lyra who’s preparing tea, just like the Maesters told her, she passes the cup to Cregan with a nod, “Here my love, sit up” he prompts and you groan slightly as you do, he hands you the warm cup and you grimace slightly at the taste as the sharp liquid sits against your tongue.

His hand finds yours squeezing them with encouragement, “There you go” he smiles, taking the cup from your hands as you lay back down, nuzzling against your pillows, sleep already hanging heavy over you.

“Can you stay, tell me about one of your great adventures” You give him a weak giggle as he nods clearing his throat before he recalls the one time, with Jacaerys, about how he taught him how to shoot with a bow and arrow.

He doesn’t leave your side, not until you’re fast asleep, and he prays to the gods that you get better soon.

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A cold heart

{After distancing yourself from Cregan the truth finally comes out}

Hope you enjoy as always lovelies! 💕

CW// reader is pregnant

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Cregan grew up in the North, he became acclimatised to the cold weather as he grew, but yet he’s never felt so cold then he does right now in your shared bedchambers, despite the warmth of the fire. It’s a type of feeling that completely renders him numb. An aching feeling that sits heavy against his chest, it’s almost as if he can’t breathe.

He watches you climb into bed slipping underneath the many furs. His heart freezes as the realisation slowly sets in, he’s in for another night of silence, and like every other night for the past few weeks you’ll sleep as far away as possible, shrugging off his touch.

It's not that you didn't want him to touch you, quite the opposite actually. You just couldn't risk his wandering hands grazing against your tiny bump, you wouldn't let him find out, not that way.

He doesn’t think he can go another night of isolation. So he reaches out to you in hopes you’ll reopen your caged heart to him once again, just as you did all those moons ago when he confessed his feelings to you.

“Love, will you please tell me what’s bothering you? I can’t stand this silence” he says, a gentle hand against your shoulder and he winces when he feels you go rigid under his palm.

He retreats his hand not wanting to be the cause of your discomfort. You don’t look at him, far too afraid of the pain that will stain his face.

It’s not that you don’t want to tell him, in all honesty, you so desperately wanted to share the news, but you’ve heard so my awful stories from other ladies about their husbands seeking pleasure through other means, how they are completely abandoned by them simply because they were ‘undesirable’ it hurt to hear. You couldn’t imagine going through that.

So maybe that’s why you push Cregan away, because if you do it first it’ll hurt less when does inevitably happen.

“Nothing is wrong Cregan, I’m tired,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of comfort.

He likes to think that he is a calm man, never quick to anger but right now in this moment, anger is quick to warm his heart.

“Do not lie to me” he says, tone firm. You have only ever heard that when some lord made the mistake of insulting you in front of him, you remember thinking how you never wanted to be on the receiving end of that, yet here you are.

You sigh, biting back the tears that sting the back of your throat. “I just want to sleep Cregan” you whisper and he doesn’t miss the way your voice quivers.

You hear him let out a deep breath, then the bed shifts and he’s getting ready. The sudden change in the atmosphere makes you sit up, bringing the furs up with you, protecting yourself from the bitter cold.

“Where are you going?” You ask, watching as he laces up his boots, his eyes flicker to yours for a moment but they don’t linger long.

“I have work to do. Don’t wait up for me” he tells you and before you even have time to try and even think of what to say he’s gone.

You don’t bother stopping the tears that fall so effortlessly from your eyes. A regretful sob broke through your lips as you feel yourself engulfed by unwavering guilt, the type that pinches at your heart leaving bruises in its wake.

You can’t find solace in sleep, not without Cregan beside you. So you wait, and wait a book in your lap but you pay it no mind as your eyes stay fixed on the door.

You questioned whether or not he had already found another woman. Filthy thoughts tainting your mind, and you know it’s silly. Cregan would never break your trust or heart like that, never.

The hours seem to drag, and you contemplate if you should go out and find him yourself to say your sorries and give him a well-earned explanation, but the Maesters told you rest is the best thing for the babe.

Then the heavy wooden door opens, and there he is. “I told you not to wait up,” he says, and you watch him intently as he takes off his furs and leather.

You want to speak but you haven’t the slightest idea of where to even begin, there are so many words that rattle around in your brain but none of them seem good enough.

He looks over at you, and if it weren’t for the anger that still tingles his skin he would’ve felt sorry for the way you seemed to go in on yourself.

“Have I done something? Offended you somehow?— hurt you?” He wonders, wincing at the way his voice trembles, and the sound brings tears to your eyes.

You shake your head, trying to string a sentence together but the only thing that comes out is a pitiful sob. Emotions collide in your chest.

“Then what is it y/n? Why are you treating me as if I’m a stranger?” He asks, sitting at the end of the bed.

You study the scars that litter his chest, the one that travels across his ribcage that you love to you trace with gentle fingers, and you yearn to be held by him once again.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, your hand splayed against your collarbones. You can’t stop the cries that escape you. You shuffle down to where he’s sitting, a careful hand against his shoulder. “I’m sorry Cregan- I can explain” you gasp.

His slightly calloused hand soothes the expanse of your back, he hates seeing you so upset. The painful expression that paints your face, how your eyebrows furrow together. He promised himself that he’d do anything in his power to prevent this.

He wants to be mad, but he can't not when your shoulders shake as you try to stifle your cries behind a shaky hand.

“Love, breathe,” he says, taking your hand in his as he guides you through deep breaths. He’s always been so good at that.

He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently and you sigh at the feeling of his beard against your skin.

“Cregan, I-” you look up at him as he urges you to continue, worry laced through his eyes, “I am with child” you whisper, your eyes flickering down to where your hands lay against his lap entwined with his own.

“The ladies have said- told stories of how their bodies change, how they no longer look the same as before- their husbands, they-” you sob, not being able to finish the sentence, a desperate need to get him to understand. And he does, he knows what you’re trying to say, and it hurts him beyond words that you would ever even consider the possibility.

His hands gently cup your tearful face, and he gives you the most endearing look he could muster. “My precious wife” he starts, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “You are the light of my life, my heart is yours entirely,” he tells you, a sense of relief washing over him as you fling yourself into his arms.

It was silly of you to doubt his love, especially for you. “I know- I’m sorry,” you tell him, kissing his shoulder.

“How long have you known?” He asks, his hands grasping at your hips.

“I had a suspicion for a while” you confess, bringing his hands to your belly. You let out a breathy giggle at the way his eyes light up with excitement as his hand soothe the expanse of your stomach.

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before wiping away the stray tears that fall from your lashes, “A pup of our own eh?” He says, a teasing look flashing through his eyes as he urges you to lay against the pillows.

His hand dips underneath your nightdress grazing along your thigh travelling to rest at the curve of your stomach, your bump was barely there but yet he knows the difference. He smiles at you softly, enjoying the way your breath hitches at his touch.

“I promise I’ll take such good care of you, and our little one” he says, love bleeding into his tone as he peppers your neck with kisses. Your fingers thread through his hair as you urge him closer to you, you had missed him more than you thought.

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Forever in my heart

{Just a cute moment between you, Cregan and your son}

I love him sm!! Hope you enjoy! 🤭💕

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Cregan's heart blooms with love, warmth expanding within his chest as he watches you with soft eyes. You’re sitting on the bed, furs beneath you with your legs crisscrossed as you look down at your son, Brandon Stark, his arms stretched out as he lays before you, his tiny hands grabbing at nothing as he gurgles up at you.

There’s a look in your eyes that has Cregan feeling all choked up, he isn’t quite sure what it is exactly, but it’s full of love and amazement as if you couldn’t quite believe your child was here. He watches as the back of your finger brushes gently across his cheeks, smiling when he blabbers at you.

“How is he?” He whispers, carefully shutting the door to your shared bedchambers so as to not disturb his son. You beam up at Cregan, a giant smile splays across your lips, and even despite your exhausted expression he still thinks you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met.

You pat the space next to you happily, urging him to sit next to you, and he gladly does. “He’s perfect,” you say, your tone hushed. You smile as you feel his big hand soothing your lower back with a pressure that has you sighing with pleasure.

“He is, just like his mother,” he says, gently kissing your hairline. He looks down at his son, chuckling at the way he kicks his legs up in the air, “Strong too”

He admires your strength, and how you still insist on caring for your son by yourself through everything. It warms him immensely to know you care so deeply, then again, he didn’t expect anything else from you.

You turn to him with a grateful smile, your fingers running along his stubbled jaw before you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Just like his father” you say, leaning your head against his shoulder. You watch as his thumb gently smoothes over Brandon's soft cheek, giggling when your son smiles, his eyes wide and bright, full of wonder.

The sight has your heart clenching in your ribcage, how Cregan is so gentle, the love that flashes through his eyes as your son's little hand wraps around Cregan’s fingers.

Then he gurgles something that sounds a lot like ‘mama’ but it’s not quite correct, and you grab at your husband’s hand with an excited gasp. He chuckles at the shock that takes over your soft expression.

“Can you say, Mama?” You giggle, fingers gently tickling his sides as Brandon lets out an excited squeal, and the sudden noise has Cregan chuckling.

You try to get him to say it five more times but to no avail, as he only lets out incoherent gurgles, blowing raspberries before laughing, kicking his legs wildly as he does. It causes a warmth to spread across your chest and it feels like you’re melting.

“So close lovely, so close” Cregan teases, nudging your shoulder ever so gently. He looks down at Brandon, pushing back the dark tuff of hair that curls over his forehead.

Cregan feels his heart beam as his son looks over at him, his dark brown eyes glistening under the glow of the fire and he mumbles something that sounds dangerously close to ‘papa’

“Traitor” you gasp with a chuckle, looking down at your son with soft eyes. Cregan takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he smiles.

“Thank you” he whispers, gaining your attention, “Thank you for everything,” you notice the tears that start to build up in his eyes, his tone so soft that it leaves you breathless.

You wiggle your hand from his to cup his jaw, thumb grazing against the stubble, as he looks at you with those pretty eyes of his, “I love you, so much” he looks down at his son, his hand gently holding his tiny one, “Both of you” and you swear, you could live forever in this quiet moment.

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Unwavering desire

{Cregan doesn’t do well with out your touch, duties be damned}

Kinda nervous but I hope you enjoy lovelies!! 💕

!18!

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Cregan is undoubtedly in love with you, heart, body and soul. He loves how sweet you are, your gentle words and touches that have him completely enthralled and at your beckoning call. He knows for a fact that there’s nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for you.

He wakes before the sun and he takes advantage of the serenity that blankets the cold castle. He props himself up on his elbow as he watches you with gentle eyes, noticing the way your face is relaxed with sleep, how every now and again you nuzzle yourself within the soft pillows.

He brushes your cheek with the back of his finger, tucking your hair behind your ear before leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. He chuckles at the way you inch yourself closer to him in a search for warmth, your hand brushing against his stomach as it rests on his waist.

There’s a small, almost satisfied, smile that splays across your lips once you find his warmth, and the sight has his heart racing.

You press your face to his chest, “Good morning my love” you mumble, smiling against him as his hands soothe the expanse of your back, urging you close to him.

He leans down to press a kiss to your hairline letting his lips linger for a moment before speaking, “Good morning dear” he smiles, his breath hitching ever so softly as your hand runs over his stomach.

“How long have you been awake for?” You ask, sleep still lacing with your soft tone. Your fingers brush through his hair.

“Not long,” he tells you, his hands pushing the fabric of your night dress up and you catch on rather quickly as to what he’s doing, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you stop his movements.

You look over at the window, noticing the sun as it peaks over the horizon, “Cregan, we don’t have time you’ve got a busy day ahead” you remind him, and lets out a long deep sigh, frustration tingling at his skin.

He can’t, he can’t go another day without feeling you, without having you completely come undone before him, “I’m finding it very hard to care lovely” he says, his fingers playing with the hem of your silk dress.

He smirks at the way your breath hitches as the tips of his fingers graze against your soft skin, trailing along your thigh.

“You need me as I need you dear” he whispers, lips grazing against your ear and he notices the way you shudder at the feather-light touch as he traces patterns into your inner thigh, “I can tell” he smiles into your neck as he peppers your skin with warm open-mouthed kisses, enjoying the way you gasp.

You couldn’t deny it, the tightening feeling in your stomach conjured from the desperate need of your husband's touch spoke for itself, “Tell me, my beautiful wife. Tell me what you want” his lips graze against your jaw. Cregan would give you anything you so desire if you asked, he spoiled you.

“Just you, I want you- please” you whisper, and you let the morning lust consume you without a care in the world because Cregan made it hard to care, especially with the way his calloused hands traverse your warm body, squeezing at your hips as he sits himself between your legs.

He notices the way your eager hands immediately go towards his hardening cock, a look of pure desperation flickers through your eyes and he stops you, fingers wrapping around your wrist, “Let me savour you first hm?” He smiles at the way you let out a whine, head falling back against the pillows with a huff.

Cregan chuckles as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, small loving pecks that soon turn into something much needier, his tongue hot against yours as he chases after your warmth. “Such an impatient little thing” he mumbles against you.

He brings a hand to run up your thigh, spreading your legs wider and he hums with satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, slick with your pleasure and there’s a feeling of pride that bursts through his chest, he’s barely even touched you and you’re already so worked up.

“Mhm, Cregan please” your hips writhe in anticipation, as his hand inches closer, and you gasp. Hands grasping at his shoulder as his fingers trail along your wet slit.

His fingers rub firm circles into your clit as he presses kisses against your collarbones, “I’ve been mistreating you, forgive me dove” he whispers, the slightly rough skin of his fingertips against your clit elicits a moan from your supple lips, a sound so delicious that it has Cregan's mind spinning.

You mumble incoherent words, a whiny mess as he pushes a finger into you watching the way your arch into his touch, you blabber for more, to be ‘filled up’ and Cregan couldn’t ever deny you, not when you sound so needy.

So he pushes a second finger into your wetness, curling them so deeply as his thumb teases your clit. The sound of your soaked cunt only causes him to fuck you harder with his fingers. “Cregan- ah! m’so close- please” you moan, arching into his touch as your hands clutch at the furs that layer beneath you, your stomach tightening.

“Not yet lovely, I want to feel you” and just like that the growing knot that tightens in your stomach unravels as he moves his hand away from you, a feeling so disappointing it brings tears to your eyes.

He kisses your tears away, as your hand dips between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his painfully hard cock. He seethes as you squeeze it gently your thumb grazes against his leaking tip. “Take me Cregan- I need you” You look up at him as he lines himself up with you, his hand holding yours as he pushes himself into your wetness.

You squeeze his hand, “You’re so beautiful” he whispers, grunting as his pelvis presses against yours, hips meeting. You whine out in pleasure at how he fills you up, and you feel complete.

“You- you can move, oh gods, please move” you beg, your eyes shut as he sets a pace, your hips moving with his as you two become one. A feeling so intense that it leaves you senseless, you can’t think of anything but Cregan, he surrounds you completely.

His lips are pressed against yours, a sweet loving kiss, a feeling only saved for you. “Take me so well my love, fuck- so tight” he groans as you tighten around him, your legs wrapped around his hips, locking him in place as he continues to fuck you.

He can tell you’re close yet again, the way you gasp, how your thighs shake. “Let go for me dove,” he tells you, his finger circling your clit.

“Ah! Cregan-” The tightness in your stomach finally snaps as you cum, gushing around his length as he pushes further into you, the feeling soon brings him to completion with a deep groan, and the warm feeling has your skin tingling with pleasure.

He collapses on top of you with a slight grunt, the weight of him grounds you as your hand soothes against his back, trailing the scars that litter his skin.

“Duties be damned, I want to spend the day with you” he mumbles against your skin as you both slowly come down from your highs and you can’t help but chuckle at his words, “I’m serious” he quips.

You turn your head to press a kiss to his cheek, “There are people counting on you Cregan” you remind him softly smiling at the way he peppers your shoulder with soft kisses.

“What about you hm? You’re much more important to me” he whispers, and there’s something about his tone that makes your chest ache.

“I love you, Cregan, more than anything. I’ll be fine, promise” you tell him, he looks up at you with gentle eyes and you wonder how you got so lucky.

“I love you too my dear” he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “At least let us take a bath together before I have to leave” he says, as he pulls out of you seething slightly at the sensation. You sit up wrapping yourself in a robe.

“I would love nothing more,” you tell him, as he presses a kiss to your hairline, letting his lips linger for a second more before preparing a bath for both of you.

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HI, i love your work about the marauders and hotd and i was wondering if u would write cregan stark fluff with jealous reader but if u don't want to its okay. HAVE A GREAT DAY

-Cregan Stark x reader

{House Ryswell seeks an audience with Cregan Stark, and their daughter seems to take quite a liking to him}

I got extremely carried away with this, I hope you enjoy lovelies! 💕

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It's strange how time can seem so slow when your mood has been soured by something so silly, something that you're sure you have made up in your own mind, to defend the feeling of this unadulterated jealousy that slithers its way at your heart tugging on it every so often.

Foolish, you think, although you're not quite sure what exactly it is about this whole situation you find, foolish. Is it the way, Cregan smiles at the ever-beautiful Lady Darla of house Rsywell? or is it because your mind has convinced you that Cregan would break your trust like that? maybe, it's her ever thinking she stood a chance with your husband. Whatever it might be it's sure is foolish.

But it's real nonetheless, horrible and very real. The jealousy that bubbles deep within you only fuels the doubts that plague your mind, and those same thoughts conjure another dreadful feeling, something that pinches at your heart as you watch Lady Ryswell place a dainty hand on Cregan's arm, insecurity it finds an unwelcome home within your chest.

Despite sitting so close to Cregan, you still feel miles away, watching him converse, lost, within his own world with the Lady next to him. You feel ignored and as you glance around the room you're sure that everyone else sees it too, you've been pushed aside like some sickly wife that's nearing her time.

It's only when you hear Cregan's warm chuckle do you look over to the pair once again, her hand sits higher up on his arm, there's something about the sight that breaks you. As if it couldn't get any worse Drala turns to you with a smile that makes you sick to your stomach, warm and inviting.

"Your Husband is so charming Lady Stark" she giggles, her hand still against his arm, and you swear she squeezes it ever so softly.

Slamming your cup down against the wooden table, with more vigour than you had meant, you clear your throat, "Yes he is- charmed me right into marriage" It gets a laugh or two from the others is House Ryswell.

Drala's mother even leans to you whispering a humoured, "My husband could learn a thing or two" You watch as she glances over at him with a teary smile, he seemed quite caught up with gawking at the maids, "That man knows nothing of charm" she spits before leaning back into her chair.

Cregan's hand rests against your thigh, and for a second, your racing mind seems to calm down, it's as if you can finally breathe, and then he pulls away going back to what must be a riveting conversation with Darla. You've had enough of this torture, no longer being able to bare it you call for Lyra, keeping a hushed tone as she bends down to you slightly.

"I think I am ready to retire for tonight," you tell her through gritted teeth, trying to keep the barrage of emotions at bay, she gives you an understanding nod.

"Of course M'lady " She smiles softly as she hurries off to your bedchambers preparing a change of clothes for your arrival.

You stand keeping a strict posture, it's only now do you feel as if you finally have caught Cregan's attention. "Forgive me, but I think I shall call it a night" You bite back the tears that collect along your lash line nibbling your cheek.

"Aw already? Just when I thought our conversation was bearing good fruit" she whines, her voice going straight through you just like nails on a chalkboard, she pouts, a spoiled brat who knows no discipline.

"Oh please, don't feel inclined to stop on my behalf" You smile with a curt bow before turning your heel and leaving, ignoring the way Cregan calls for you, an advance he must've given up on quite quickly as Darla calls for more drinks practically begging your husband to stay, you don't hear the rest of the conversation too focused on trying to calm your breathing.

"Lady Stark" Lyra bows softly as you walk into your bedchambers, shutting the heavy wooden door behind you with an exasperated sigh. "I have prepared you some tea m'lady," she says with a gentle tone as you sit down in front of your vanity. She makes starts to unclasp your necklace.

"Thank you Lyra, you're far to-" and before you can finish your sentence the door opens with a low groan. You don't bother turning around already knowing who it is.

"Lyra, could you give us a minute" Cregan huffs, sounding very unamused as he walks into the candle-lit room.

"Of course m'lord," she says, bowing as she rushes out of the room, and it's then the silence hits, smothering the room with its thick presence that you're sure it could snuff out the flames of the various candles.

You look at him through the reflection of the mirror as he sits down on the fur-covered sofa, running a hand through his hair before finally glancing over at you, there's something in his eyes that makes you feel... small, you have always said you would hate to be on the receiving end of Cregan's anger, that any man to challenge him would be a fool.

"Would you like to explain to me what exactly just happened?" he asks, frustration seeping into his tone and your answer or rather lack thereof only fuels it further. "Do you find pleasure in ignoring me?" he huffs, giving you a rather annoyed look.

And as childish as it might seem, you were. "Yes, well now you know how it feels, don't you?" you mumble, untying the pins in your hair before taking off your rings.

"What?" he questions watching in slight shock as you stand up, the chair behind you drags along the floor with a shriek.

"Tell me, Cregan, do you think our marriage is a farce?" you ask turning to face him with tears in your eyes, tears that you try so hard to hold back, "Do you take enjoyment out of making a mockery of our marriage?" your hands shake with the sudden adrenaline as you point at him, your finger nudging his should as rage pinches at your skin, he looks up at you with hurt in his eyes and for a minute you feel inclined to apologise.

He stands up, trying to reach for your hands but you don't let him as you pull away from his touch, he accepts defeat with a heavy heart, the sight of your tearful face makes his stomach drop.

"A farce? What in the seven hells are you on about women?" the hurt that sits in his chest slowly churns into something much more as it wraps around his heart squeezing it with force.

"Do not play ignorant with me Cregan" You speak through gritted teeth as he inches closer to you, "You sat there the entire night ignoring me whilst you entertained that naive girl" You feel your knees buckle under the stress of it all as you fall back onto the bed with a soft bounce.

"I was merely trying to be a good host" his voice is so gentle, calm that it makes you angrier.

"Being a good host does not substitute you pushing me aside like some sick dog as you fool around with her!- the entire night." you huff biting the inside of your lip.

"You're jealous?" he asks in almost disbelief.

"What?- Jealous I'm-" You can't deny it, you were, you were jealous of the pretty Ryswell girl and how she seemed to have captured Cregan's attention.

"You are missing my point entirely," you whisper leaning into him as he sits down on the bed next to you.

"I'm sorry- you're right, I should've paid more attention to you," he says, wiping away the tears that fall from your eyes, "I meant no harm by it, I swear." he presses a gentle kiss to your hairline.

"It was embarrassing Cregan, the way they all looked at me with pity in their eyes. I am your wife." you sigh, the events of tonight wearing down on you more than you thought, and now the fabric of your dress felt all too tight and itchy.

"Forgive me my love- my beautiful wife" he says pressing another kiss to your shoulder as he helps you up from the bed.

"You can get Lyra to help me if you want to go back to entertaining our guests" you whisper, testing him a little as you sneak a glance his way.

"There are no guests to entertain sweetheart, I called it off as soon as you left," he mumbles against your neck as he continues to peppers soft kisses to your warming skin.

He undoes the lace of your dress, pulling at the fabric as it loosens around your shoulders, coming undone to reveal your back, his gentle fingers trailing along your spine as his soft lips traverse to your neck.

"I never meant to hurt you or make you doubt your place within my heart" he whispers as he tugs your dress completely off, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud before going to get your nightdress, slipping the soft fabric over your body before wrapping his strong arms around your middle, nuzzling his nose in the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he breathes in deeply.

"I swear, by the old gods and new that my heart belongs to you, all of it." Cregan turns you around to face him and it's only then he sees your tear-stained face, the way your bottom lip juts out at his loving words.

"I love you," he says as you push your face against his chest, letting all the built-up emotions go as they leave you in the form of tears. His big hand soothes the expanse of your back as he sways you in his arms ever so gently. He swears to never make you feel as you did tonight, ever again.

"I love you too" you whisper against the leather he is wearing. He cups your face within his hands, the warmth of his palms bleeding with affection as his thumb soothes against the apples of your cheeks.

"Come on my love, let's go to bed eh?" you nod as he tucks your hair behind your ears. You fall asleep wrapped up with him, a mess of limbs underneath the furs as he holds you gently and in the morning and every morning after that Cregan sings your praises, never letting you doubt your place beside him, ever.

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heyy!! i saw that your reqs are open ans i was wondering if i could ask for an "cregan stark x fem reader" in which the reader is giving birth but she ends up having complications during the birth (blood loss or the baby simply taking too long to come out) and she ends up being unconscious for a while... if that's not ok please ignore it, thank you!! <3

-Cregan Stark x reader

{The birth of your son Brandon Stark was nothing but stressful, and it makes Cregan face some horrible realisations}

CW// descriptions of blood/ reader is giving birth

Hope you enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

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It was early in the morning when it began. You were eating breakfast with Cregan when the sharp shooting pain erupted through your lower stomach, it took your breath away and you couldn’t help but reach over to clutch onto his arm with a gasp.

He stops mid-sentence as he watches your face contort with an awful look of discomfort, panic rising in his chest when your eyes meet his.

“My love? What is it?- what happened?” He asks, standing up from his chair. He helps you up, wincing as you scream out in pain. Cregan guides you to the bed his hand soothing your lower back in hopes it’ll relieve your discomfort, but his attempts are fruitless when he notices the tears that fall from your eyes and his heart drops.

You shake your head, squeezing your husband's hands as you try your best to ignore the blood that pools between your legs, “The maesters- please” You gasp between breaths and Cregan doesn’t need to be told twice as he rushes out the door.

It isn’t long before people start to barge into the room, orders being thrown around as the midwives lay you down on the bed pressing a cold wet towel on your forehead.

Your body aches as a hot flush wash over you, and every sensation is far too overwhelming, it certainly doesn’t help that your skin is sticky with sweat. You can hear Cregan outside your shared bedchambers before walking through the wooden door, much to the dismay of the nurses.

“What is happening?- please” his voice is strained and he can’t bear to look down at you, the sound of you hyperventilating is enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

The maester looks up at him, “She has started her labour early lord Stark” he takes a deep breath, watching the worry that deepens within Cregan’s eyes, “You must let us work”

Hours have passed since then, the late afternoon sun is peaking behind the curtains and Cregan hasn’t left your side as your clammy hands squeeze his. He chokes back a sob every time you let out an agonising cry, your face pressed into the sweat-soaked pillow as you grit your teeth.

The nurses tell you when to breathe then push, breathe then push and you know for a fact that your body cannot handle much more pain, exhaustion is creeping through your already weak body.

“Almost there lady Stark, almost there” one of the nurses promises, as she switches your cold rag for a new one, and Cregan doesn’t miss the worry in her eyes as she glances down to the blood-soaked sheets beneath you.

“You hear that my love? Almost there” He leans down to press a kiss to your damp hairline, pushing back the wet strands.

His thumb caresses the space under your eye, wiping your tears away as he holds your cheek. “I can’t- Cregan I can’t” you sigh, trying your best to smile up at him.

He shakes his head, pressing his forehead against yours “Yes you can. You are the strongest woman I know” he whispers.

You nod, taking a deep breath before squeezing your eyes shut, pushing one last time as the nurses and maesters all shout praises. “A boy!” You hear someone gasp but they seem miles away, and then you hear your baby cry as the midwives move quickly to clean him, wrapping him up in a clean blanket.

The noise of the room seems to bleed together, muffled as if you were underwater and with it goes your sight, then everything seems to stop and for a moment, for the first time in the last seven hours, there is clarity and the ache in your body ebbs away as your eyes flutter close.

The moment your grip on Cregan's hand loosens his heart stops, and the sight of your limp body covered in sweat makes his whole world come crashing down. He can’t think straight and the feeling only grows stronger as his eyes drift to the blood-stains all over your legs and bedsheets.

There’s a lump in the back of his throat that chokes him, and all the words he wants to say, needs to say, die on his tongue.

“My wife- is-” he isn’t able to finish the sentence as the Maester hands him his son, his cries hit Cregan's ears, a painful reminder that no matter what happens to you he has to carry on, a harsh reality that he can’t bare to face.

Before he has time to even look down at his child he’s already being whisked away from his arms, wet nurses attending to him. It’s almost as if the world has slowed down, and he can’t breathe.

“She has lost a lot of blood, my lord,” The maester says, his tone soft and gentle as he cleans up, taking out some strong-smelling herbs. “The best we can do is let her rest, if she doesn’t wake within the hour hold this under her nose” he nods about to leave the room.

“She’ll live?” Cregan's voice is weak as he gently holds your hand.

“Of course my lord, as you said, she is a strong woman” he smiles before leaving the room, and it’s only when the door closes that his tears fall so effortlessly from his eyes, and he pleads to any Gods who are willing to listen to him that you’ll be okay.

Cregan doesn’t leave your side once as the hours pass by. His hand gently lays over the top of your heart. The feeling of it beating beneath his palm gives him hope. He gently pushes your hair back, tucking the strands behind your ear as he waits on bated breath for you to wake up.

He watches your eyes flutter and immediately sits up, shuffling to sit closer to you. You groan something incoherent, but he can tell from the way you sound it’s out of nothing but pain. He’s quick to hush you, guiding you to lay back down, to your dismay.

“Y/n, please- relax, my love” he pleads with you as you grab ahold of his hand.

“Our son? Is he-?” You panic, voice hoarse as you try to sit up, ignoring the pain that seizes your body.

“He’s fine, I promise-” He whispers, watching your panicked eyes flicker frantically around the room, "But you, my love- please you need to rest” The way his voice trembles with worry makes you listen, that and the unbearable ache in your bones.

You look up at him, tears in your eyes as the heaviness of the situation finally weighs upon you. “I want to see him, please?” You whisper, and the hoarseness in your voice makes his heartbreak.

He wipes away the tears that fall from your eyes, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You will, I promise.” His voice calms your nerves. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? He’s not going anywhere” Cregan smiles as you nod.

“Okay. I do need a bath” You let out a raspy giggle, relief washing over you as Cregan chuckles beside you.

“Of course, my sweet wife” he smiles, his hand gently caressing your cheek before disappearing off, but not without looking back at you, a sad look clouded over his tired eyes.

The water is pleasantly warm against your skin, your hands grasping onto your husband’s shoulders as he helps you into the wooden tub. There’s a thick layer of silence that falls upon you both, it almost feels suffocating.

Cregan doesn’t mutter a word as he washes you. The water sloshing around, and the harsh wind is the only thing you can hear. It’s you who breaks the silence, catching his hands within your own.

You bring his hands to cup your face, “I’m okay. Cregan? Look at me, please?” You plead, noticing how he hasn’t been able to keep eye contact since you woke up.

There are tears that build up in his eyes, a dam of emotions that burst out of him. “I thought I lost you” he whispers, voice strained as he breaks down completely, the last hour finally catching up to him.

“But you didn’t Cregan, I’m right here” You don’t bother trying to hide your own tears, and he’s quick to wipe them away.

He leans to rest his forehead against your own, “I know” his voice is so quiet that if he were sitting any further, you wouldn’t be able to hear him, “But you almost weren’t, and I can’t live without you” he presses his lips against yours in a gentle, loving kiss.

“You don’t have to, I am right here, my love,” you tell him, kissing him once more before he pulls away. “I love you” you smile, as he goes to start washing your hair.

“I love you more… more than words could ever express” he finishes washing you. His touch is overwhelmingly gentle, so full of love that it makes your chest bloom with warmth.

The way his fingertips graze along your arms, how his lips feel as they press kisses along your shoulders. Small whispers of sweet nothings shared between you both in the candle-lit bathroom only ever to be heard by the pair of you.

You lean on Cregan like a crutch as he helps you from the bath, drying you off and changing you into fresh clean sleep clothes. Your bedchambers have been aired out by herbs and incense, and the bed sheets have been changed.

It feels so heavenly as you climb into bed. The sun was well and truly set. “I have a visitor for you” Cregan smiles, walking into the room with your son in his arms, wrapped in a blanket.

You gasp as he hands him to you. He stirs from his sleep with the movement. His tiny fingers wrap around your own as you admire him. “He’s perfect” You press a kiss to his forehead. Cregan sits beside you on the bed, the back of his fingers caressing his son's cheek.

“Brandon Stark” you whisper, looking over to your husband as he glances over at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes.

You lean your head against his shoulder, smiling when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer, before pulling the sheets over your legs. “Brandon Stark” he repeats with approval, and you both chuckle as your son gurgles up at you with wide eyes.

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hi, may i please have some cregan stark x fem!velaryon!reader (aka black reader) with cregan helping her take care of her really curly hair when she's tired after a long day?? thank you so much in advance <33333

-Cregan Stark x Velaryon!Reader

{Cregan takes care of you after a long day}

Of course my love! Hope you enjoy 💕

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You are half asleep, lying down on the sofa as you bathe in the warmth that bleeds from the fireplace. Exhaustion creeps upon you sitting heavy against your chest and despite your best efforts to fight it off you can’t help but close your eyes leaning further against the soft furs that draped over the couch.

Cregan had left just seconds ago to ask one of the maids to prepare you a bath, telling you to try and stay awake before leaving, something you were currently failing horribly at.

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of the old heavy wooden door as it creaks open. “Keep them eyes open pretty girl” Cregan smiles as he walks over you, joining you on the sofa and without missing a beat you shuffle closer to him.

“M’awake” you mumble, nuzzling closer to him as he wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers a gentle ‘good girl’ against you as you continue to try and stay awake.

It had taken several weeks to convince Cregan to allow you to go hunting with him, trying to soothe his worry about you getting hurt so when he finally agreed you had to jump at the opportunity, and you don’t regret a second of it even if your curly hair was now dirty and frizzy and all your muscles were aching.

You smile gently to yourself as you start to recall the ways Cregans hands settled against your waist, pulling you closer to him as he guided you to shoot the arrows despite the fact you knew exactly what to do. He’d find any excuse to touch you.

“Come on Sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up” He whispers in his gravelly voice, pressing his lips against your shoulder as he helps you up from the couch

Exhaustion sits heavy against you and the warmth of the fire certainly doesn’t help. You lean against Cregan, his strong arm wrapped around your waist as he guides you to the bath.

“Here I’ve got you” his fingertips graze against your skin as he begins to undress you, peeling the dirty fabric off of your body before helping you into the wooden tub, the water is pleasantly hot against your skin that it causes a sigh to fall from your lips as you lean in further.

Cregan smiles as he admires you and the way your eyes flutter close, how your soft lips curl up into a gentle smile. The lights of the candles only add to your beauty, how the warm light dusts over your skin making you glow.

“You’re beautiful” he whispers through his rough voice, hand slipping into your own beneath the hot water. You glance over at him, heart blooming with warmth at the sight of his lovesick eyes.

You pull his hand up to your mouth pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “As you often remind me dear husband” You grin against the back of his hand before he pulls away, reaching over to the small wooden bowls that lay beside the tub, full with different ointments for your hair.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever stop” he adds, leaning slightly over the edge of the tub, peppering your shoulders with kisses, lips trailing along your dewy skin. “Can I wash your hair, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice is so tender as he gently holds your chin between his thumb.

His offer makes your chest bloom with a sudden admiration, it melts your heart and you can't help but lean into his touch. “Of course… I’d love that” you admit, and you can’t help but close your eyes at the comforting atmosphere.

Cregan never fails to take your breath away, in fact, he takes pride in the way he can render you wordless with just a simple gesture. “Lean back for me dear” he whispers, as he carefully pours the warm water over your curly hair before gently working the oils into your scalp.

He remembers the night you told him the many steps you take to look after your hair, the prideful look in your eyes made him realise just how important it was to you. He paid extra attention to you and now he knows your routine like the back of his hand.

You lean back into his warm touch as he continues to wash your hair, pressing gentle kisses as he does so. The water soon turns tepid, and Cregan helps you out of the bath quickly wrapping a towel around you securely.

You dry yourself off before changing, sitting down on the bed as Cregan sits behind gently tying your hair wrap around your head, so it doesn’t dry frizzy. “Is it too tight?” He whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, the stubble from his beard tickles your skin, as you lean back against him.

“No it’s perfect, thank you my love” you whisper, smiling as his hands wrap around your waist hands settling against your lap. It doesn’t take too long for you to find sleep, wrapped up in the safety of Cregan's arms.

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-Cregan Stark x Reader

{You learn that your husband is a very affectionate drunk}

I’m so back… Enjoy my lovelies! 💕

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Northern men know how to drink, it’s something you learned from first-hand experience on the night of your wedding. How the lords and ladies danced and drank together throughout the night, slurring their words and spilling their ale.

Today was no different, a celebration for your husband's name day that has been going on since the sun had started to rise. You couldn’t complain about it, it was nice to see Cregan not overwhelmed with his duties.

The dining hall is dimly lit with candles that are littered everywhere, the white wax melts in clumps on the wooden tables that are stained with ale and wine. You notice how much calmer the atmosphere seems to be, now that the evening has approached, as you lean back into your chair.

Most of the guests had taken their leave by now and only a few Lords and Ladies remain, and even their faces were visibly exhausted. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you glance over to Cregan, who is already looking at you with soft, glossed-over eyes.

“You look beautiful” he whispers, his words are slurred from his drunken state, but they still carry so much honesty and love that it melts you.

The smile that teeters on your lips is uncontrollable and it only makes Cregan admire you even more. He leans back in his chair whilst he drinks the sight of you in with hungry eyes.

You rest your hand over Cregans as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Have you had a good day?” You ask as he nods his head, his big hand caressing your thigh lazily.

“The best… thanks to you my lady” he says with a soft chuckle at the way you give him an almost shy smile. He can’t help but adore everything about you… you’re beyond perfect, 'a gift from the gods' as Cregan always says.

“I’m glad, though, perhaps it is time to call it a day now?” You tell him as you take his calloused hand within yours. He hums in agreement as his thumb soothes against your palm.

Getting him back to your shared bedchambers was a very humorous challenge. You were practically dragging him along as he leaned onto you for support, his hands soothing against your hips and waist whilst you guided him through the cold halls of the Winterfell castle.

The fireplace warms your bedchambers, bathing the cosy room in a soft light, as it crackles and pops. Cregan watches you take off your jewellery before changing into your nightgown with a soft smirk, his eyes gleaming with fondness.

“Gods, look at you… an absolute goddess” he says, his raspy voice just above a whisper. He wastes no time in approaching you clumsily, his hands grasping needly on your body as he tugs you closer to him.

The giggle that escapes you leaves Cregan breathless and it certainly doesn’t help when your fingers begin to brush through his hair as you stand between his legs. He looks up at you with a smile as you cup his face gently… he simply can not get enough of you.

“You should sleep,” you tell him softly knowing how awful his morning fog will be. He shakes his head softly as he rests against your stomach, his hand still grasping at your hips.

“Not before I thank you properly… my queen” His tone is teasing as he lets out a soft chuckle at the way you gasp.

“Shh… your words are dangerously close to treason” you whisper softly as your hand moves to clasp over his mouth, you look down at him with an almost shy smile.

"My words will only be treason if someone hears them... and we are alone." He pulls your hand away from his mouth, his fingers caressing your wrist. The way you look when he praises you makes him crazy. Your eyes, your smile, you are beautiful.

He hugs you close, pressing a kiss on your cheek. "But you are my queen. You rule over my heart. No one could ever take that place from you."

The honesty and love that are woven within his each and every word takes you back, your expression softens and your eyes start to well up with tears. It’s an overwhelming feeling that warms your chest and makes your skin tingle.

You take a seat on the bed beside him with a soft sigh. His thumb wipes away your tears as he presses another kiss to your cheek. “Don’t cry… you’re far too pretty for that” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

A bright smile teeters on his lips at the sound of your precious laughter, he brushes your hair behind your ears before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“I love you, Cregan.” The words feel so natural and he absolutely relishes in the way you say it. He buries his face into the crook of your neck with a boyish smile.

“I love you too… my queen” he replies, his tone heavy with exhaustion as the alcohol starts to weigh on him however that doesn’t stop him from pressing lazy kisses all over your face, his hands soothing against your hips and waist whilst he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

Cregan will soon find sleep, with his arms wrapped around you and his face buried into your neck. You’ll have to tease him tomorrow about how much of an affectionate drunk he is.

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-Cregan Stark x reader

{Cregan finds you curled up, sleeping in your shared bedchambers}

Enjoy my lovelies💕

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Lord Stark wasn’t unfamiliar with busy days, the type that consumed all of his attention and energy to only leave him exhausted. The endless amount of problems that seemed to grow with each passing hour, it was a tiring feat that he handled with ease.

His duty to his House and the North was admirable, you often find yourself marvelling at how much care he has for every single minute detail that most seemed to not notice. However, his duty to you was tenfold this… perhaps that is why Cregan decided to end his day earlier than usual.

Making the eager escape back to your shared bedchambers, just the thought of you turns him into a ball of giddiness, hidden behind the rugged nature that exudes him.

He forces himself to slow his movements down as he spots you, curled up in the middle of the bed, against the furs in your cotton nightgown. He silently curses the creaky, heavy, door of your bedchambers, the groan it lets out as he closes it shut causes you to gently stir from your sleep.

“Sorry, my dear.” He whispers brows pinched together as he takes off the furs that drape over his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head in weak protest to his words, rubbing your eyes with a smile at the feeling of him sitting down on the edge of the bed. He admires you for a moment, how the warm fireplace casts an orangey light over your body, painting you like some sort of goddess.

“I wasn’t sleeping… just resting my eyes.” You whisper through a sleep-laden tone, your gaze meeting his own.

With a chuckle he cups the side of your face, his calloused palm resting against your cheek, his thumb smoothing over the space underneath your eyes.

“Really? Then why are you drooling all over the pillows love?” He teases, lips curled upwards into a smirk.

“I did not!” You gasp and he watches you quickly push yourself to sit up and check the pillows, rolling your eyes with a small huff.

“Maybe just a little.” He whispers, thumbing at the corner of your mouth, wiping away the remnants of a really good nap.

You shoot a playful glare up at him, moulding back into your comfortable position. A sigh escapes your lips as his fingers brush through your hair, his fingertips grazing against your scalp soothingly.

His eyes soften at the way you lean into his touch, how your body seems to completely relax once more. “How long have you been ‘resting your eyes’ for?” He asks, amusement threading through his gentle tone.

“A while… I lost track of time.” You reply with an almost sheepish smile, enjoying the way he begins to play with your hair which has become a little tussled from sleep. “I did try to wait up for you…”

“Hmm, that didn't last too long, did it?” He asks, looking down at you with adoration, his chest blooming with warmth as you nuzzle yourself against the roughness of his hand.

“No… but I did try.” You promise, making space for him as he shuffles closer to you, drawing your body to rest against him.

Cregan props himself up on his elbow, looking down at you with a tenderness in his eyes that completely melts you. He watches as you curl up against him whilst he brings the furs over your shoulders to protect you from the harsh winds that continue to howl through the castle.

"I appreciate the effort, my love, but you needn't tire yourself out waiting for me." He responds in a low and soothing tone, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your forehead.

"You know I would never want you to lose sleep on my account." Cregan continues, letting his lips linger against your forehead. His hand comes to rest against your hip, caressing the curve and dip of your waist.

He has always been so sweet to you, putting you before anything else and never once letting you doubt your place in his heart. It was a shock, especially after the rumours you had heard about him when in reality he was a huge softie... at least to you he is.

A moment of silence passes and he thinks you might’ve fallen back asleep, that is until you’re pulling him back down to steal a sweet kiss, which he is quick to deepen. He hums in contentment against your lips at the feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair.

“I’ve missed you today.” You whisper against his lips, the kiss tapering off into small loving pecks.

He grins, caressing your cheek as he pulls back slightly to look down at you. “Well… I’m right here now and I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.” He replies, his thumb trailing along your bottom lip as he holds your face before capturing your lips once more.

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I need him!

helloo could i request a cregan stark x reader? Where the reader has the ability to see the future or possible outcomes? I hope it isnt to bad of a idea😅 Thank you so much 🫶🏻

-Cregan Stark x Dreamer!Reader

{Your dreams are often plagued by nightmares of events that are yet to unfold, Cregan is always there to hold you}

Love this! Thank you for requesting, enjoy lovelies💕

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It was not lost on Cregan Stark that Rhaenyra’s daughter was… unique to say the least. It was known way before your engagement was planned, a quiet ceremony hidden away in the woods near Winterfell, it seems love still prevails even through war.

Although this never deterred Cregan, he was utterly head over heels for you yet confused at the same time whenever you would whisper cryptic insanities into the cold night air with wide fearful eyes full of knowledge about events that loom over the horizon like dark storm clouds.

He would spend hours brushing your white hair, speaking gentle, loving words against your shoulder when your mind seemed to have wandered too far from your grasp.

He was just as lost as you were when it came to figuring out what exactly it all meant and the Maesters were no help, especially on nights like this when you were awoken by such horrific sights that infest your mind.

“Aliments of the mind are far more trickier than those of the body, my Lord.” Maester Owryn says, still adamant about just giving you tea to help you sleep.

His words only serve to annoy an already exhausted Cregan, he can’t count how many times he has been told the same thing with a look of pity. It killed him that he could not provide you with more comfort, he cannot help but feel as if he has failed you.

“Do you see her, do you?— it’ll take more than damn tea to calm her from this.” Cregan scolds, looking down at the Maester with dark narrowed eyes. He glances back over to where you are curled up on a chair, your fingers buried within your messy locks, clutching harshly as you mutter the same words over and over again.

The Maester shuffles, fiddling with the small piece of parchment, his brows pulled together in confusion. “Might I suggest milk of the poppy?” He whispers, clearly unnerved by the glare that Cregan was scrutinising him under.

“No, bring her the tea.” The Lord settles, his tone rough with irritation. He did not want to subject you to the horrible drowsiness that the sweet milk brings, numbing your mind was not the answer.

With the Maester gone Cregan tries once more to approach you, drawing closer to you like he would with a wounded animal, he wraps his fingers around your wrists in an attempt to stop you from pulling at your hair, his touch is gentle despite the callouses on his palms.

“Not so hard my love… you’ll hurt yourself.” He whispers, eyes searching your face desperately for any signs of the woman you were before you woke up from this nightmare.

Although he finds nothing of the sort, you are all glossy-eyed and chapped lips, blankly staring at the floor like you were miles away.

A moment of silence settles around the room, the sound of your heavy breathing and the soft crackle of firewood is the only thing breaking through it. It takes a few moments and soft words of encouragement before you allow him to lower your hands down to your lap, your fingers still clutched tightly into fists.

“Dragon breath… burning flesh.” You whisper fearfully, a gasp escaping past your red-bitten lips. The same words you’ve been muttering all night, it unsettles him, calling to something deep within him.

Cregan hums, brushing your messy hair behind your ears. “I know my love.” He sighs, grazing the rough pads of his thumbs across your knuckles.

“Come back to me y/n, come on…” he whispers into the backs of your hands, closing his eyes as you continue to whisper the words madly.

The mumblings stop, your breathing coming back down into a steady rhythm as you begin to unclench your fists slowly. Relief hits Cregan like a gust of wind, his expression softening when your gaze meets with his own.

“… burning… bedevilled crown.” You try to explain to him all too quickly, stuttering over your words in a panic-stricken manner. Your hands trembling against his own rough ones.

“Slowly now, breathe for me first, my love.” He whispers, reaching over to cup your jaw to keep you grounded on the here and now, his thumb caressing your cheek.

Your senses soon come back to you making you aware of your surroundings, the softness of your nightgown and the warmth of your husband’s hand against the side of your face.

The Maester walks in with a small cup of soothing tea, placing the ceramic down on the dark oak table before taking his leave with a curt nod. The herbal aroma brings you into the present moment, keeping your mind occupied.

You watch with tired eyes as he gives you the cup, minding the way your hands still shake ever so slightly. He guides you to take small sips, smiling gently in encouragement.

“There were two, but I could not see— the smoke and flames— screams.” The words are a struggle to get out and it pains him to see you like this, the pain and fear in your eyes.

Your words are too vague to try and make any sense of them, after all, it was a war between Targaryens, and the involvement of dragons and their formidable flames was inevitable.

“I want to stop it… to prevent the pain but I do not know how.” You whisper, voice strained with unshed tears.

“That may be beyond you. I won’t have you shouldering blame for anything that transpires.” He says, his tone full of love despite the roughness of it.

You nod softly, looking down at him from where he is kneeling in front of you. The soft glow of the fireplace flickers against his features, highlighting the exhaustion that hangs below his eyes.

“You can go back to sleep…” you suggest softly, clearly feeling too shaken up to go back to bed.

At your words he immediately shakes his head, taking your hands to pepper gentle kisses along your knuckles, his beard tickling your soft skin. “Not until you’re okay…”

You know there is no point in arguing the point, he is as stubborn as a mule. Instead, you shuffle over, giving him room to sit down next to you. The warmth between you, as he pulls you onto his lap, calms the restlessness that has built up within your chest, allowing you a moment of respite.