L'Héautontimorouménos

RHAELLA WAS EMBARRASSED.

It was a simmering sort. One she tried her best to hide yet, it prevailed anyhow. Here she was in a land that was unknown to her, exorbitantly tired after an elongated journey and Aegarax possessed the attitude of a disobedient child. 

All the northerners looked at her as if she was a madwoman. To Rhaella, this was better than everyone knowing she had little control over the actions of her wild dragon.

And now here she sat in the halls of Winterfell, a slight cold from outside still permeated the walls—-Rhaella kept telling herself not to shiver like a newborn goat. She sat stiffly in the wooden chair without daring to shed any armour in this room full of men.

“I do hope the winds were not too harsh.” Cregan began for her. Rhaella’s steely gaze settled onto him easily.

“They were decent, my lord.” Rhaella lied. In truth, the winds in her flight were both fierce and icy, she scarcely was able to see in front of her. Aegarax didn't fare any better.

“How is the prince Jacaerys doing? Last we spoke he was pleased with the agreement we reached.” Cregan asked.

“I’ve been told there has been a promise of betrothal for his offspring to your own.” Rhaella said. “To ensure your loyalty to our house.”

“Is that how he put it?” Cregan raised a brow.

“That is what I understood him to mean.” Rhaella said. “I did not travel all this way for small chatter, if you please my lord.”

Beside him, Cregan heard Ser Maron snort. Rhaella’s eyes flickered to him, either confused or offended or perhaps both.

“I still do not see why you were sent.” Lord Mormont spoke sternly. “The Lord has provided her grace with the men she’s requested.”

“Old men that will surely die. Now the queen wishes for a squadron of younger men to pick up the fallen swords.” Rhaella said. “As your oath bids you to do.”

“We cannot afford supplying more men at a time like this.” The old voice of Maester Kennet said. “Winter shall be upon us—A harsh one at that. Preparations must be made.”

Rhaella said nothing to him, instead turning her attention back towards Cregan himself, looking for an answer.

“I have fulfilled my duty.” Cregan spoke. “But I have a duty to my people as well.”

“Are you refusing, my lord?” Rhaella blinked. In her own inexperience, she hadn’t even considered the possibility that he'd deny her.

“I am.” Cregan replied. “I am afraid you’ve journeyed here for nothing.” 

The snickers of the northern council mocked Rhaella as she sat in humiliation. But Rhaenyra was expecting success from her or perhaps to fail and humble herself, Rhealla was unsure. So, she racked her brain for something biting.

“Her grace has the Velaryon fleets, the Vale and the Riverlands.” Rhaella began. She fixed her posture to resume some semblance of control. “Yet, The Greens foot soldiers and financial backing is greater than our own.”

“And so?” Cregan asked. Rhaella leaned forward, eyes like death leering into his very soul.

“If her grace loses this war, with Aemond as sitting prince regent he will likely be crowned king. He will want to make an example of those who were against him and in a show of power he shall target the North. Vhagar will decimate your houses into ashes, and you will have no people to be dutiful to.”

It was quiet in the room now as the lords considered Rhaella’s words. She wasn’t concerned about what they thought—-Only what the lord of Winterfell did.

“Are you implying that this offer comes with protection?” Cregan asked. “From you?”

“If that is what you require.” Rhaella said. “Or, perhaps you would prefer Jace? I understand you've become quite close to him.”

“If I may, my lady.” Maron interjected. “Why should the lord place any trust in you? We’ve heard of your doings in Oldtown. Letters have been sent regarding the slaying of the little princeling Jaehaerys. Though I do admit, I imagined the one who rides death to be different.”

A man, he meant. Rhaella had become aware of her apparent reputation. She could burn masses and command her dragon to eat all the children she’d like. In here, Aegarax could not protect her. His flames could not combat the fortitude of manly expectations.

“Letters?” Rhaella folded her hands in her lap. “From the traitorous Greens you mean?”

 With a wave of his hand, Cregan had a maester usher in the piles of parchment and placed them in front of Rhaella. She combed through them—-Some of them were from Aegon, obviously written by either Otto or Alicent, they were mountains of lies against Rhaenyra. Her gaze fell on one particular letter that contained Aemond’s penmanship.

He had written about her—-Details of her monstrous atrocities against Oldtown, striking down a kingsguard. 

Rhaella’s lips twitched ever so slightly in amusement. It was quite the passionate letter, taking care to paint her as a creature rather than a lady.

She could nearly picture Aemond with his feather quivering in anger as he recalled the way she’d embarrassed him that night. 

“My lord.” Rhaella pushed the parchments far away from her in fear she let her giggles slip. “You’d believe the words of usurpers over the dignity of her grace?”

“Course not.” Cregan responded immediately. He leaned forward, large frame swallowing the chair he sat in.“You, however. Do you deny the claims levied against you?”

“I do not.” Rhaella said. “Will my doings push you to betray the queen?”

“Your doings?” Maester Kennet burst out, pointing a shakily accusing finger towards her. “You murdered maesters—Old friends of mine. You destroyed the house of the Gods!” 

“There are no Gods here.” Rhaella scoffed as if the statement was from the sputters of a child. 

“There are monsters and there is death, that is the whole of the matter.”

The room fell into a terrifying silence that Rhaella felt quite satisfied at. Let them think properly this time around. She was inexperienced, yes but a fool Rhaella was not.

“All of you have taken life from this world. In your own uprisings,” Rhaella continued. “You’ve taken fathers and brothers and sons in your efforts. My grandmother’s body lay in ash and her dragon’s head was displayed though the streets of Kingslanding as if it was a mere parade. My attack was strategic, and I shall not apologize for vengeance.”  

Cregan sat back, nearly astonished yet considering. The lady Rhaella Targaryen was clearly beyond fierce and a poor negotiator, however, her words rang true. She was fighting for the future of her house, as he did at one time. The pressure of her presence was incredibly heavy but somehow, the lord was more intrigued than anything else.

“The hour has grown late.” Cregan stood and his council stood with him. “I shall give your words more thought my lady.”

Rhaella stood as well but she did not speak, her stare continued to pierce him.

“There is a room for you, one of the maids shall escort you.” Cregan said, walking into the halls. Rhaella silently followed, quietly sizing him up from behind.

So this was the wolf of Winterfell. Lord Cregan was both icy as well as sharp, his company held him in high regard. She had come off with a big head, Rhaella realized. The lord's experience had threatened her. 

“My lady?” A gentle voice addressed Rhaella. “I shall show you your room now.”

She was a short thing with dark brown hair like Cregans’ and her eyes were grey like his as well. Her rounded cheeks were slightly flushed, Rhaella could not imagine why.

“The storm will pick up on the hour.” She said as Rhaella came to her side. “I warmed your bath and the fire.”

“Thank you.” Rhaella said once they reached the room. “And your name?”

“Sara.” She spoke softly. “Snow.”

Another basatard. That witch must've cursed her. 

Sara stood by as Rhaella removed her gloves, placing them by a tray of fruit. Suddenly, Rhaella felt impossibly hungry as she stuffed a bunch of red grapes into her mouth.

“I saw your dragon atop the castle earlier.” Sara set out things for the bath. “He is…large.”

“It was my own panic that caused him strife, I venture.” Rhaella stripped down from her armour and small clothes revealing the ripples of newly formed defined muscles of her back. She sunk down into the hot water with a sigh, leaning her head back against the tub. Reaching for a comb, Sara began to work through the horrid tangles she decided not to comment on.

“He is in tune with how you feel?” Sara asked. 

“Sure.” Rhaella said. “Though, I am still learning his feelings. At the moment, I assume he is cross at the weather. 

“Some of the guards say he flew towards our warmer outskirts.” Sara let the white curls of Rhaella’s hair drop into the water. 

“Better for them then.” Rhaella said, her eyes trailing slowly back to Sara’s face. “Lest he eat them.”

“Would he?” Sara gasped, clearly amused. 

“To spite me, I am sure of it.” Rhaella flitted into a small smile. The girl was nothing like Astris but her presence was much preferred to that horrid council. 

Her Astris—-Rhaella missed her deeply. She could only hope that Mysaria heeded her words to ensure that Astris left King's Landing.

“The Lord Stark.” Rhaella spoke again. “What else can you tell me of him?”

“He can be stern.” Sara began, lightly scrubbing Rhaella’s arm. “But he is fair and honourable, a gracious host.”

“Not that, that I know.” Rhaella waved her other hand. 

“His lady wife, Arra Norrey passed in the last year. She left a son with him, Rickon.” Sara said. 

“I see.” Rhaella hummed. 

“They were very close, childhood friends I recall.” Sara reached for the towel, ushering Rhaella to stand. Rhaella wrapped the towel around her body and stepped out.

“I fear I may have misjudged him in my impetuousness.” Rhaella stated, pulling on the silk of her nightdress and heavy velvet robe. “I shall do better on the morrow.”

“It is said that the lord possesses a heart of ice, but that is not the whole truth you see.” Sara said. 

“He enjoys meaning in conversing.”

“I said nothing meaningful, only the truth.” Rhaella sat on the plush furs of the bed. Despite the fire, Rhaella was already cold.

“I’m sure Lord Cregan thought otherwise.” Sara said. “Is there anything else I might do for you, my lady?”

“No.” Rhaella decided. “That would be all, you may go.”

Sara curtsied before leaving the room, shutting the heavy wooden door with a thump.

Finally alone, Rhaella still could not relax and the pains in her stomach still lingered. She devoured the remaining cheese and fruit on the platter before laying back down.

Tiny shivers shook her body as she buried herself inside the furs, trying to find sleep.

On the morrow, she would try a different approach. Rhaella refused to leave without success.

  —---------

IT WAS STILL NIGHT WHEN RHAELLA WOKE.

Wind had been beating on her room window. The fires had burned out leaving only the barest of warmth. And Rhaella was hungry.

Oddly ravenous, more like. 

Placing slippers onto her feet, Rhaella entered the mostly dark halls lit only by torches. She hadn’t the faintest clue where she was going, but her stomach possessed her thinking as she walked with her arms tightly around herself.

She then heard a noise, almost a grunt of sorts followed by a sigh. As Rhaella rounded the corner she found herself in the kitchens—-It was better lit, indicating that someone was there.

And she was correct. There was Ser Maron Greyjoy, seated in a chair with Sara bent over in his lap. His shirt had been undone to his stomach and Sara’s cheeks were flushed a deep red.

Rhaella simply stood, her blank gaze catching the pair by surprise.

“My Lady!” Sara squealed, rushing to make herself decent. “I–I-.”

“Were you just stalking about in the dark?” Maron looked amused and careless, not bothering to fix himself at all. 

“I was hungry.” Rhaella stated as if nothing unsightly was happening in front of her. “But I shall leave you to your whoring.” 

Rhaella’s eyes followed blankly as Sara left in a rush. Maron sat there still, smug and satisfied.

“I assumed you were prudish.” Maron said. Rhaella eyed some bread and cheese on the table and was unable to help herself as she sat down, tearing into it.

“All men are slaves to their urges in one way or the other.” Rhaella shrugged as she ate. “You are a Greyjoy, so it does not shock me.”

“Is that what they teach you in the West?” Maron tilted his head teasingly. “Beware of the brutish Greyjoy men.”

“I know histories.” Rhaella grabbed another piece of bread. “Plundering and raping is cause for caution, is it not? You do not sow.”

“Smart girl—-Must be why her grace sent you.” Maron’s dark eyes sparkle. “Though, you could stand to be more personable.”

“Like you?” Rhaella sat back in the chair once she finished eating, staring at him carefully. “Is that what made the bastard girl lose her wits?”

“Aye.” Maron smiled. “Charm never hurts.”

“I’ll try my best to remember such a thing, Ser.” Rhaella responded blandly. 

“My lady, I must satisfy my curiosity with you.” Maron leaned forward. “I have not had that pleasure of meeting a lady Targaryen.”

Rhaella concluded she was unimpressed by this man—-But disregarding that, he was not useless to her. She supposed now was the time to be personable.

“You might tell me something first.” Rhaella said. “The red kraken, your lord has yet to declare for her grace.”

“Ah, I see now.” Maron smiled. “My lady, you are hardly subtle.”

“There is no use for subtleness in war.” Rhaella said. 

“Perhaps not.” Maron responded in amusement.

Rhaella waited in silence, disregarding his games completely. Whether Ser Maron wished to mock or to bed her, she did not know. Both concepts irked her greatly though.

“My cousin Dalton is young, not yet settled into serious matters.” Maron said finally. “The matters of the throne do not interest him, you see.”

“Surely there is someone at his side to guide his decisions.” Rhaella said. “ Young lords can be quite impulsive.”

“Last I spoke to him, he had no interest in involving himself.” Maron said. “The Greens sent word to him requesting he become their master of ships.”

Rhaella scoffed. A folly plan, something only Aegon could scheme up. 

“At the moment, he awaits for your side to offer something far more interesting.” Maron said.

Rhaella considered this. Rhaenyra would greatly benefit from House Greyjoys help, and Rhaella couldn't quell her own curiosities about the red kraken. She suspected the two of them had some certain things in common.

“I have something for him.” Rhaella sat back, light from the torches reflected against her hair in a soft dance. “When I am finished with business here, I intend to venture to Pyke.”

“What makes you think he would listen to you?” Maron chuckled. “He’d sooner make you a salt wife.”

“He will listen.” Rhaella stood, brushing her nightclothes. She had grown tired. “If he has any regard for his life, he shall consider my proposal.” 

Rhaella paused, turning back to Maron. She placed herself directly in front of him, her body leaning slightly over his. Those awful dark eyes of hers fixed him still.

“And if you value yours, you’ll speak to me properly—-I am not some mindless young girl to be slighted.”

“I—Yes, my lady. My apologies for my insolence,” Maron said. 

“There was no need for me to charm you.” Rhaella straightened. “You understood perfectly well.”

 —---------

THE COLD WOKE RHAELLA VIOLENTLY.

With it, came a wave of stomach nausea that forced her to pause until it passed completely. It took away her want for a morning meal.

She was sure she’d never dressed quicker in her life. When Sara reached her, Rhaella was suited in a heavy black coat with thick furs around the shoulders and hood, her brown gloved hands were clenched slightly.

“My lady.” Sara bowed, her cheeks reddening from the memory of being caught the night before.

“Come.” Rhaella beckoned. “If you find something to do with this hair of mine I will not mention the event.”

 Sara bustled immediately, combs and thick bristled brushes laid out in a moments time. 

“Lord Stark requested you in the courtyards.” Sara said, twisting Rhaella’s thick curls back. The style was more northern than anything else, but Rhaella figured this was the best the girl could do.

“I see.” Rhaella said, watching those same stubborn front curls fall by her ears and forehead. It was a manageable style, if anything Rhaella thought it made her appear more womanly.

The heavy clothes hid her body well, which she preferred. The cut of it was manly in nature. Better that than to be leered at in a gown.

Winterfell's halls were straight and empty, Rhaella assumed most of the servants had decided to stay out of her way. Pushing the heavy door open, Rhaella was smacked in the face with the cold assault of frosty air. Her cheeks puffed out as she braced herself, walking to meet Lord Stark.

He was attending to a nursing maid who was holding his child. A small little boy no more than two, Rhaella ventured. His tiny hand grabbed at Cregan's dark hair. 

“Lord Stark.” Rhaella called to him. Cregan looked up to her—--The harsh winter had almost paled Rhaella’s brown skin, the apples of her cheeks tinted red.

“Good morrow, my lady.” Cregan approached her. “I trust Sara took care of you?”

“Quite so.” Rhaella placed her hands behind herself to avoid clutching onto her overcoat for more warmth. “Is this Rickon?”

“Yes, this is my boy.” Cregan spoke, Rhaella could hear the pride in his voice pertaining to his son. 

Rhaella never had or desired to interact with young children. Her fathers son’s with Rhaenyra did not interest her; It was Rhaena who looked after them. She had held both of Helaena’s twins when they were infants at one point. That was the extent.

The child peered at Rhaella once in curiosity. She simply stared back. He had Cregan’s gray eyes and what she assumed was his mothers face. Upon her unresponsiveness, the boy shrunk into his nursing maid.

“He is small.” Rhaella offered, glancing at Cregan. He chuckled, sending the two of them off.

“I had hoped to show you Winterfell today.” Cregan said. “You do not mind it?”

“I do not.” Rhaella said. “The North has many structures that interest me.”

“Come then.” Cregan began to walk the path as Rhaella followed next to him. With his imposing frame, she found herself moving a bit quicker to keep up. The Lord dwarfed her, Rhaella found herself annoyed at this. She was far from a wispy girl—--She had earned her muscle in her short time dragon riding.

“My Lord?” Rhaella spoke up, her eyes remained ahead where white covered everything.

“Hm?” Cregan answered. Suddenly, Rhaella felt sheepish. But this was necessary.

“I wish to apologize for my incompetence yesterday.” Rhaella said. “It was not befitting of me to conduct the queen's business in such a manner.”

“You hardly offended me, my lady.” Cregan’s mouth slighted into a faint smile. 

Rhaella frowned. So he found her impenitence amusing? Perhaps childish?

“Yet, you rejected the idea of sending more men.” Rhaella said. “So you were not unaffected.”

As they passed through the towns, the northerners gave her unwelcome stares. Rhaella highly doubted Jace got this treatment. 

“I suppose I wasn’t.” Cregan said. They entered the Godswood, large white  trees with faces loomed all around. He took a seat on a bench. Rhaella remained where she was.

“If it is concern for lack of preparation, you need not worry.” Rhaella’s curls blew around slightly from the wind. Her brows furrowed ever so slightly. “We have control of the blockade, her grace can provide whatever you need.”

“The Gods will provide.” Cregan said. “The North has no need for charity.”

“Gods?” Rhaella scoffed. She looked around the woods as if it was all fodder. 

“You are unbelieving?” Cregan tilted his head in interest. 

“Untrusting.” Rhaella corrected. “Men are playthings to the Gods.”

Cregan considered this. “You speak as if you personally know the doings of the Gods.”

Rhaella paused. How does one explain that there is a God living inside of her? The Lord Stark would surely think her unwell.

“If the Gods were truly fair, her grace would have her throne without contest.” Rhaella said.

Cregan stared at her for a moment. Rhaella looked still yet antsy, the cold flushing her cheeks bitterly. He could only speculate on what this girl may have gone through to think in such a harsh manner.

“Would you sit with me, my lady?” Cregan motioned to the spot next to him. “Lest you turn into a statue.”

After a moment of reluctance, Rhaella sat on the bench, the cold stone was immediately felt through the leathers of her trousers. She stared at the path ahead with her hands in her lap.

“It is a curious thing.” Rhaella said wistfully, her voice sounding a bit far off now. “Men curse the Gods when something goes awry, and when they feel blessed they praise in the same breath.”

“It is only natural to acknowledge the Gods.” Cregan said and Rhaella frowned slightly.

“They interfere only for our torment. Nothing higher than us is deserving of worship.” Rhaella said.

“I am interested in how you came to such a conclusion.” Cregan answered finally. 

“There are things in this world more vicious than war, my lord.” Rhaella shrugged. “That is all.”

“Perhaps.” Cregan said. “But there are also things more powerful.”

Rhaella went silent after that. Her hair blew gently in the whispering winds. The Lord Stark found himself more curious by the second. Rhaella was unlike any woman—-Any person he’d ever met.

“The Prince Jacaerys described you well.” Cregan said. 

“I did not think he would have spoken about me.” Rhaella turned to him slightly. 

“Alongside your sisters, quite fondly.” Cregan spoke. “He said you are strange.”

“Everyone says that.” Rhaella said flatly. “I have been referred to as worse.”

“He also said you have a shrewd mind and an intensity like no other.” Cregan’s eyes flitted to Rhaella’s. “It is true.”

A slow heat found Rhaella’s cheeks. This accomplished lord thought something of her feats. Her worries regarding incompetence simmered out quickly.

“I must admit my shock then.” Rhaella relaxed a bit. “You have not shrunk despite hearing of my doings.”

“You’ve owned your actions and justified the logic plainly.” Cregan stood up then. “That is more honorable than most men in the realm.”

Her as honourable? Rhaella highly doubted that—-She had not acted for the sake of honour.

“Let us continue.” Cregan said. Rhaella brushed herself off and stood up. The pair walked down further, passing by the training yards that gave Rhaella pause.

Men and boys with swords, shields and daggers sparred with each other and wooden pillars. Among them was Maron, who winked cheekily when he spotted Rhaella— She gave him no reaction.

“Ah.” Cregan stopped beside her. “You take interest in swords?” 

Rhaella’s eyes fell onto a boy holding a copper dagger. “I have always been fond of sharp things, my lord.”

Cregan chuckled. “Are you any good with a blade then?”

Rhaella shot up a confused glance, but his expression was far from mocking—It was keen more than anything.

“My father gifted me a fine dagger when I was a little girl.” Rhaella spoke. Her mind flashed to that night with Aemond, the peak of her own foolishness.

“I’m afraid I lost it along the way recently.” Rhaella said. “I was never clearly encouraged to try a sword. I was relayed to books instead.”

“Your father is Prince Daemon, I would’ve thought your proficiency would be a given.” Cregan’s brow furrowed.

“If I was a son perhaps.” Rhaella gave a tiny smile. “But, I manage.”

“I’d say so.” Cregan smiled as well. “That beast speaks for himself. I’m sure he wasn’t an easy claim.”

“No, my lord.” Rhaella looked at him. “He was not.”

“Let us see then.” Cregan nodded, Rhaella followed him onto the grounds. He placed the copper dagger into Rhaella’s hands.

“What am I to do with this thing?” Rhaella tilted the short blade skeptically. “You could scarcely cut bread with it.”

“So you have a good eye for daggers.” Cregan chuckled. A few of the other men laughed as well.

“Perhaps a trick?” Maron suggested mischievously.

“Am I a show pony?” Rhaella muttered, yet she twirled the blade a couple times delicately with her fingers. It had been some time since she handled a blade, she’d missed the feeling.

Rhaelled spun it again, a bit more boldly this time, with a flip and catch. It was a lighter blade than her previous one. The dagger easily moved in her hand even as she looked away for something to throw it at—--She hurled the blade into a straw target, hard enough so that the tip stuck in firmly.

There were certainly more impressive moves to show, but when she turned to Cregan and Maron they were stunned. Rhaella felt bashful.

“Please.” Rhaella scoffed. “It was not so amazing.”

“Your precision is entrancing my lady.” Maron said. “Most highborn women cannot do such a thing.”

“I was given slightly freer range than other highborn women, Ser.” She handed the blade to him.

“Your father must be proud.” Cregan said. Rhaella averted her eyes.

“He often has an odd way of showing it.” Rhaella said. “I suppose there are always more important matters to attend to.”

“Well,” Cregan stepped closer, Rhaella found herself looking up. “I happen to think your skills are very important, my lady.”

 Rhaella held his gaze for a moment before looking away—-Compliments were few and far between for her.

“Thank you, my lord.” Rhaella said.

“Shall we make our way back?” Cregan smiled gently. Rhaella nodded.

   —---------------------

CREGAN SAT IN HIS ROOM.

His chair creaked as he moved as he poured over letters and petitions. He was leaving for the Wall on the morrow—-Somehow, his thoughts averted to the lady Rhaella Targaryen.

Strange woman. She spoke with the air as if possessed by something older. A lesser man would be transfixed by her harsh beauty; Death in the eyes that were somehow captivating.

He wished to know more just to satisfy his own thoughts. Lord Cregan Stark had much to consider.

The Queen’s request for more men was one of them—-He had a feeling Rhaella’s standing with her grace relied on his final decision. The lady was young and wished not to fail. 

Sighing Cregan leaned back, perhaps he’d retire for the night. However, Sara squeaking on the other side of his door made him think differently.

“Might as well enter, Sara.” Cregan said. Soon after, the girl entered in a haste.

“My Lord!” Sara gasped.

Cregan simply stared at her in exhaustion. He had no time for Sara’s whims.

“It’s the lady Rhaella! She’s outside laying in the snow.” Sara rambled. “No coat or furs—-And she speaks to herself. She wouldn't listen when I called.”

“I see.” Cregan stood swiftly. “We can’t have her freeze to death. I do not wish to face Prince Daemon in that way.”

Lord Stark's heavy steps paced through the halls as he made his way to the back of the castle. A few steps outside Cregan was met with a light snow falling from the sky. There was also the lady Rhaella—-She was clad in naught but a nightdress, laid out with her back on a soft snow pile that had accumulated on the ground. Her hair was wet and splayed out like a pillow around her.

She was indeed whispering to herself. Of what, Cregan was unsure. But, the last thing he wished to do was spook her.

“My Lady?” Cregan dared to venture further. Rhaella’s chest heaved slightly, at least he could see that she was alive. 

His footsteps stopped at her side. Cregan quickly averted his eyes when they were met with the outline of her breasts through her nightdress.

At the sound of his voice, Rhaella blinked out of her daze, sitting up. 

“Oh.” Rhaella blinked. “I’ve gotten carried away.”

“You gave Sara a heart attack, my lady.” Cregan said. 

Rhaella stood and Cregan kept his gaze on her face—-Rhaella’s nightgown clung damply to her body.

“I have never seen snow fall, you see.” Rhaella said. It was odd how she wasn’t shivering at the moment. “It is not so bad. The snow on the ground is fluffy.”

Wordlessly, Cregan took off his furs and placed them onto Rhaella’s shoulders. They felt heavy on her body, and she warmed instantly. 

“Please keep care of yourself.” Cregan sighed in relief. “Your house still needs you.”

“I didn’t mean to cause a scare.” Rhaella seemed to come back to herself. “I have found that I quite enjoy the cold.”

“A dragon that enjoys the cold.” Cregan mused. “Let me show you back to your room.”

Rhaella nodded and followed behind him. Her shuffles were damped by Cregan's furs.

“Speaking of,” Cregan began. “My men have not seen your dragon ‘round since you arrived.”

“He is near.” Rhaella replied as they stopped at her room door. “Aegarax will not let me out of his sight, even if I cannot see him, he is felt by me.”

“Perhaps I will catch a glimpse of him when you leave on the morrow then.” Cregan said. Rhaella shucked off the fur and handed it back to him—-Her nightdress was only slightly dry now.

“How do you mean?” Rhaella’s brow quirked up. “I had no plan of leaving tomorrow.”

“We will be journeying to the Wall my lady, it is a harsh venture.” Cregan said. “It could be hard on you.”

“You’ve yet to agree to send men my lord.” Rhaella crossed her arms. “To that end, I remain until you change your mind. As I said previously, I can manage.”

“Very well, my lady.” Cregan smiled, bowing his head slightly. “I bid you goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Rhaella shut the door soon thereafter. Cregan stood outside for a moment, looking down at his furs.

MAEKAR DID NOT WANT YOU.

He was an old man now. He’d seen love as well as loss and that was enough for him. Change never sat well with a man like Maekar—--Differences even less so.

You were different in every way possible. Your voice and manner of being stood out boldly in the midst of the lords and ladies of Kings Landing. The Targaryen dynasty was crumbling but the Summer Isles remained. You were a priestess of the Summer Island and matters of traded goods your island produced went though you—-Thus the unification between Maekar and yourself.

King Daeron The Good thought it a wise and prosperous decision—--Maekar found it annoying.

In fact, you were annoying. Even now, there you sat, legs spread out carelessly in front of you, the sheer fabrics of your gown glistened in the sun's rays displaying the outline of your body. No different from any other higher born whore.

“Is there something on your mind this afternoon?” Your accented voice wafted towards him. It was honeyed and deep, making Maekar half wonder if that was part of your witchery.

“Yes.” Maekar grunted out from his chair. “Must you wear such revealing gowns? Or is it your culture to be so loose?”

You smirked, tilting your head just so that Maekar found himself uncomfortable with.

“On my island, this is common.” You said slyly. “Do not pretend you take issue with it now.”

“But you are no longer on that island. You are my wife and should act accordingly.” Maekar narrowed his eyes.

“Spare me!” You groaned dramatically sliding further back into the couch. “My husband speaks to me like I am a common flea bottom harlot, yet found it in himself to fuck me senseless on our wedding night!”

“That shall be enough from you.” Maekar demanded but your obnoxious giggles drowned out the lashings. 

“I take no personal issue with your complaints towards me, husband.” You say standing. “Your eyes follow me though this castle as if I am one of those lemon cakes you adore so much. Repression is unnecessary for you in your old age.”

“Perhaps I should see to you being sent back to that bloody place.” Maekar muttered but you caught it anyhow.

Reaching out, your fingers tussled his silver strands of his hair until he swatted your hands away in irritation. 

“You will not.” You say. “Then you shall grow bored and frail without my musings.”

Even then, Maekar could not deny that. His silence caused you to raise a brow.

“Are you done throwing a fit then? Might I go? You ask with faux nicety.

“Be gone.” Maekar dismissed you. Soon as your body moved to leave, the quicker he was to snatch you by the wrist.

Leaning down he whispered into your ear. “Do know that tonight, I shall take care to correct this odd behavior of yours.”

Not caring to respond, you press a sickly sweet kiss onto his check and leave his chamber.

                                                    —------

CORRECT HE DID NOT. In the end Maekar was lain among the tangled sheets, heaving and dizzy. You were by his side watching in amusement not bothering to cover up your nakedness.

“You poor thing.” You cooed. “Shall I call for a maester?”

“You dare mock me?” Maekar breathed out harshly.

“I am simply showing my concern for my husband.” Your fingers ran across his chest. “I fear you’ve pushed yourself too far.”

Maekar simply scoffed at that, though it might've been the truth. 

“How could I compete with a witch's stamina?” Maekar’s snark was evident, yet he found his fingers running up and down your arm.

“I am no witch.” You pout. 

“You act like one.” Maekar grumbled. You smacked his chest.

“Foolish old man.” You mutter. “I cannot see why you act as if you dislike me.”

“It is because you are troublesome.” Maekar responded. 

“And you love me.”

YOUNG AND IMPUTENT was how you were described by the lords of the realm. House Velaryon had fallen on hard times—-Their weak grip on the seas had begun to slip with time. You vaguely knew of your houses' past, how they sided with House Targaryen during the dance of dragons.

In your humble opinion, the lords of old had damned your future. Perhaps that was why you’d been made into a wife. Your marriage to Baelor Breakspear served as a buffer for the two houses—You were his second wife and a gift from your house.

Baelor knew you were more girl than woman—-Spoiled and heavy jeweled with silver curls that remained in complex braids that would put the finest rope work to shame. He supposed in his age, the Gods had sent you to spring him up, though, all you did was stress him, sweet as you could be at times.

“Husband!” Your whiney voice entered the room before your presence did. Baelor sighed deeply, looking up from his table to see the swish of your blue velvet dress. Your sweet face was jutted into a pout.

“Wife.” Baelor gave you a gentle smile, your havoc was a welcome distraction. “Something the matter?”

“That thing you call a nephew, Aerion!” You sat on the couch next to him. “He stole my horse to joust! Pearl is not suited for such things!”

“Ah.” Baelor held back a chuckle. “Indeed she is not.”

Perhaps it was due to you being some moons younger than him, but Aerion seemed to make you the target of his in Baelor’s opinion, childish nonsense. 

Still though, he reached out to soothe you, grabbing your hand and running his thumb over the top.You always took to his touch well, relaxing immediately. Baelor prided himself on taming your everlasting stubbornness.

Sliding into his lap,your nimble fingers playing at the rings on his fingers. The silver curls of your hair brushed his face like a silk pillow.

“I am owed something then.” You muttered. “Perhaps a new gown from Lys or a necklace in the shape of a seahorse.”

“If you wish it shall be done, love.” Baelor assured you, leaning into your neck to breathe in the scent of you. He felt you shudder in response, wrapping both arms around his neck.

“Are you terribly busy at the moment?” You questioned innocently.

Baelor just hums.

“I found myself being interrupted by a stormy tide, so at the moment, no.” He said.

“How unfortunate.” You shrug simply. “The sea can be quite unpredictable.”

“Yes.” Baelor agreed, eyeing you intensely now. “It can.”

“The hour has grown late.” You stand up, stretching lightly. “I shall return to my chamber. I expect to see Pearl in her stable, unharmed upon the morrow.”

Baelor said your name then, low and impossibly calm in a way only he could be. Your goal of riling him up had succeeded. 

“Yes?” You grin slyly, placing your hands behind your back. “Is there something the matter?”

Baelor walked to you, only a whisper of space between the two of you.

He tilted your chin up gently to meet his gaze.

“I am frustrated that my wife wishes to escape my presence so abruptly.” Baelor said.

Baelor watched your eyes glaze over in excitement, yet your coy smile remained.

“Perhaps I might stay.” You say. “If my lord husband commands it of me.”

SOMETIMES Hallorann wondered if you were human. 

He’d seen the worst of humanity just by working in the military, and occasionally he thought he’d seen the best. You happened to fit into neither of those categories.

It wasn’t hard to wonder why General Shaw must've hired you for the secretary position. You had a sharp memory and always kept everything organized—That wasn't the reason.

You were eerily pleasant, a natural honeyed tone that made every soldier sputter a bit. Hallorann thought himself strong in most situations.

Even now, there you were, sitting at the front desk filing away at papers with a small melodic hum coming from your lips. He barely managed to turn his head away while you bent over, shoving some papers into a drawer. 

“Mister Hallorann.” You spun around to face him, your brown eyes narrowed teasingly.

Now, if he didn't know any better, he might've thought you were mocking him.

“Miss Secretary.” Hallorann greeted, stepping forward a bit, his hands easy behind his back.

“I like it when you call me that.” You said, sitting down on top of the desk. “Makes me feel extra important.”

“Oh?” Hallorann smirked. “Has Shaw been neglecting you?”

You pouted, slowly nodding your head. He watched you cross your legs, allowing your skirt to shift ever so slightly.

“I thought I was gonna see real neat stuff in this place.” You crossed your arms. “I get bored so easily.”

Of course you did. Hallorann thought. Temptress.

“Well, we can't have that, can we?” Hallorann smiled. “Young thing like you needs your brain stimulated.”

“I ain't that young.” You defended. “And as far as stimulation goes—I think you're the only man here interesting enough to do such a thing.”

“Is that so?” Hallorann said. You smiled.

“You’re different, Mister Hallorann. I think that’s why they keep you 'round, I hear all the other officers complain about your higher clearance.”

“Smart girl.” Hallorann smirked. “I wonder what you’re doin’ behind that desk, you could be out in college.”

“Mhm.” You hopped down from the desk, your heels clicked as you walked to him. Far too closely. “I happen to like it over here.”

“Anything specific?” Hallorann asked.

“You. I like you a lot.” He raised a brow at your words.

“I’m way too old for you.” Hallorann replied.

“It don’t gotta be nothin’ serious.” You smiled. “Just play with me a little. Some flirting never hurt anybody.”

“I suppose not.” Hallorann mused. “You make a convincing argument, honey.”

Satisfied you’d worn him down enough, you reach up and grab the collar of his shirt, bringing him close enough for you to press a deep kiss to his mouth, humming into it sweetly. 

Hallorann was only briefly caught off guard before responding in kind, gripping onto your waist as if it would save him. Your arms delicately wrapped around his shoulders as he pressed up against the desk. He felt your eager energy practically possessing him. 

Pulling away, your eyes sparkle—The kind of giddiness that came with your age.

“ —Wasn’t too bad, right?” You purred. “I can handle you just fine.”

Hallorann looked down at you, nearly struck with amazement; Not too amazed to miss a moment to feel the curves of your body though.