#heating up

chapter nine

cregan stark x oc – princess elaenora targaryen is bethrothed to the lord of winterfell, cregan stark, to secure the north as an ally for her sister, princess rhaenyra targaryen, ascension to the iron throne. she's careless where he is bound by duty and their union is marked by quiet resentment until a growing threat to the realm forces the dragon and the wolf to stand side by side.

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WIP.

Chapter Nine – “This is unbelievable,” Elaenora said at last under her breath. “You two sit here speaking as though this were some minor matter of politics, as though the realm were not standing on the edge of open war, and all the while you expect me to sit quietly and pretend none of it concerns me.”

She stepped away from the table then, clearly intending to leave the hall altogether. Cregan moved to stand before she had taken more than two strides.

“Sit down,” he said. His voice was not raised, but the authority in it carried across the chamber all the same. Elaenora halted, and she slowly turned back toward him, not quite certain if she had heard him correctly.

“I beg your pardon?”

Cregan did not look away from her. “You heard me,” he replied evenly. “Sit down. Your lord commands it.”

The silence that followed seemed to swallow the hall whole. The hearth crackled somewhere behind them, and beyond the high windows the wind could be heard sighing faintly against the walls of Winterfell, but no one else spoke.

Jacaerys remained where he was, staring down at the table. The room suddenly felt far too quiet. He exhaled slowly and dragged a hand back through his hair, pushing the dark strands from his face.

For a moment Elaenora simply stared at Cregan. Then she let out a short, humorless breath. “Only now that I threaten you with my leave, you remember that you are my lord husband.”

“Aunt Ellie,” Jacaerys said carefully, his voice softer than either of theirs. “Please. No one here wishes to quarrel with you.”

She turned on him immediately. “No?” she asked, the edge in her voice sharpening. “Then perhaps you might explain why I have been made to feel all day as though this were nothing more than a pleasant visit between kin, only to discover, quite by accident, that the two of you have been discussing a war that will swallow the realm.”

Her gaze moved between them. “And what was the plan, precisely?” she continued, her voice rising. “Were you simply going to wait until the moment suited you to inform me that the North would soon be sending its sons south to die? Or were you hoping I would remain blissfully ignorant until banners were already raised?”

“Princess, I beg you,” Jacaerys said, the patience in his voice thinning, “we do not speak lightly of war. But whether you wish to hear it or not, it is already upon us.”

“Upon us?” she repeated. “Oh, no. This war is yours to fight. Daemon has been eyeing the throne since Rhaenyra was declared heir,” she corrected. “My father allowed him to occupy Dragonstone, uncontested, for years. You should have taken him out when you had the chance.”

The restraint Jacaerys had been carefully maintaining throughout the evening slipped. His hand tightened where it rested against the back of the chair before him. “Do you truly believe the realm would have accepted a queen who slaughtered her own uncle simply because he was… troublesome?”

He exhaled sharply, as though forcing himself to remain calm. “My mother showed restraint where others would have chosen blood,” he continued, his voice lowering but not softening. “That is wisdom, not weakness.”

“No matter, it is selfish to ask the North to bleed for this,” Elaenora shot back.

Cregan let out a slow breath through his nose, though the patience he, too, had been clinging to was beginning to fray. “It is not your sister who is selfish,” he said, the word sounding almost foreign in his mouth as he turned his gaze fully upon her.

For a moment she simply studied him, as though trying to decide whether she truly believed what he had just said. “I am selfish? Is that what you mean to tell me?”

Finally, Cregan had cracked, his demeanor replaced with the force of a man desperate to make his words understood. “You do not understand, and that frustrates me beyond measure,” he said, voice ringing with controlled fury. “This is not some whim I would indulge. The North does not bend the knee for coin or for favor. We bend the knee because the honor of our house and the oath of my father and those before him. You think I would march my men south for idle glory? I know every Graybeard under my command. I know the courage in their hearts. I would not ask it of them if it were not necessary. And if you believe the North’s loyalty is being taken advantage of,” he added, his gaze fixing on her sharply, “you might consider that the oath binding us to the Iron Throne was sworn because of the blood you carry.”

Elaenora’s mouth parted, as though to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Her hands gripped the edge of the chair she leaned against for stability, her knuckles white, and for the first time that evening she felt the full weight of the North’s devotion and the gravity of her place in it. Her voice, when it came, was trembling, with what she did not know. “And you would choose that over me?”

Cregan’s expression softened for a brief instant, but the answer did not change, and the steel in his tone returned immediately. “Yes.”

For a moment the only sound in the hall was the low crackle of the fire.

Elaenora’s voice, when she responded, had grown much colder. “How fortunate for you, then,” she said, “that your duty offers such convenient shelter from consequence.”

Cregan’s brows drew together. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying,” she replied evenly, “that it is very easy to speak of honor and oaths when the men who will die are not standing in this room.”

Jacaerys immediately spoke up before Cregan could argue. “I am a dragonrider. My mother will not like it, but I will ride on the front lines, and I know the Lord of Winterfell will too,” he said, looking to Cregan, who nodded. “To say otherwise is a grave insult us both. You very well could be called into battle yourself.”

Elaenora’s response was immediate, too. “No,” she spat, moving towards the door. “It is clear you will do what you want, but I will have no part of it.”

Cregan moved swiftly towards the door to intercept her. “Stay,” he commanded, voice low but firm.

The sudden arrival of Maester Norwin through the doors Elaenora stood in front of broke through Cregan’s pleas. Bowing low, the man extended a small scroll. “A raven, Prince Jacaerys, carrying an urgent message.”

Jacaerys took the parchment, his eyes scanning the seal before looking back at Elaenora and Cregan as Maester Norwin bowed once more and left the room. He broke the wax with careful fingers and unfolded the paper. His voice carried across the hall, calm but trembling with shock as he read aloud, “Prince Lucerys has been killed,” he started. “His body and Arrax’s have been discovered on the shores of Blackwater Bay. The Queen demands my immediate return to King’s Landing.”

Elaenora’s face was unreadable at first, though when she spoke, her words cut through the room like a winter frost. “This is why I will have no part of this,” she said, her voice bitter.

Elaenora slammed the doors open, leaving the room behind. Behind her, she could hear Cregan’s careful words to the prince, a polite excuse laced with tension. Jacaerys pressed his hands to his head, the weight of shock, grief, and disbelief written across his young, sweet face. Elaenora crossed the courtyard in long, determined strides, the wind once again tugging at her dark, unruly hair just as it did that morning. Cregan followed close, silent but unyielding, the rain cascading around them in a silver haze.

“Elaenora, wait!” Cregan called out.

Elaenora shook her head at that, mounting Gemstone who had sensed her unease and had appeared seemingly out of nowhere with a fluid motion that belied the storm raging inside her.

“Your leave will not change what must be done. The North will answer the crown, as we swore, as the oath demands,” Cregan yelled against the rain.

Elaenora’s lips pressed into a thin line, rain dripping from her hair and eyelashes. “Then it should be easier for you,” she said just loud enough for him to hear, “if I am not a factor.” Her voice wavered, betraying the tiny fracture of emotion she tried to hide beneath its hardness.

With that, the dragon’s wings unfurled, and Gemstone rose with a shuddering beat of wings. Cregan remained on the stone below, the fire of frustration and helplessness reflected in the tight set of his jaw. He ran a hand through his long, damp hair, watching the dark shape of Gemstone ascend into the clouds.

Home Run (Close to Home - Chapter 9)

Think neighbor!Bucky will let me go over for a dip?

Danuary, day 7