#winterfell

Cregan Stark x F!Arryn!Reader

Synopsis: After organizing a tea party for his lonely newly wed wife, Cregan must rush to comfort her in the wake of ghost stories gone wrong.

Warnings: pet names (little lady, sweet girl, darling), reader cries, ghost stories (though I hope they’re not truly scary!) awkward convos with newhusband!Cregan, maybe ooc Cregan, fluffy, cheek kissing, cuddling, husband/wife/my lord/my lady used in conversation. no smut, no use of y/n, not proofread.

dividers by @uzmacchiato

The first thing you had noticed about Winterfell was its unique silence. In the Vale, your true home, silence had never truly existed, not like it did in the North. The Eyrie bustled, even the quietest mornings were full of the distant sounds of the waterfalls freely falling in the mountains, the cries of flacons as they soared above pale stone towers, whispers of winds swirling through gardens filled with late summer blooms. Sunlight had always spilled upon polished floors, painting every room with a warm glow. Yet in the North, these simple pleasures were lost to you. Winterfell’s silence breathed, settling into ancient stones with eerie groans. Instead of the whispering winds you were accustomed to, the breeze seemed to screech, alive with some sort of archaic energy. Wolves in the woods howled late into the night, their voices carrying over the great expanse of the keep, rattling you to your core. You wondered if you would ever grow used to the sound. 

Standing before your bedchamber window, you wrapped your icy hands around a steaming cup of mulled cider and watched as fat flakes of snow drifted lazily through the gray afternoon. You had lived at Winterfell barely three weeks. Just three weeks, and you had begun to understand why the Northerners measured time by winters. The Great Keep itself was magnificent, older than any keep you had ever seen. Beyond it, the rest of the castle was vast enough to lose oneself in, its winding halls humming with history. Everywhere you looked there were reminders that generations of Starks had walked these halls before you. Sometimes, it only made you feel smaller. 

A soft knock sounded at the chamber door, breaking you from your thoughts. “My lady?” One of the maids, her name escaping you, entered carrying thick wool gowns draped carefully across her arms, “I’ve finished your new dresses, my lady.” You smiled politely, ‘thank you.” The girl returned your smile, but nothing more. No idle chatter, no gossip, no questions about your settling in. She set the dresses away and excused herself with a curtsy scarcely a minute later, leaving the room to fall silent once more. Maybe it was a tad overzealous to expect a maid to converse with you, as the new Lady of Winterfell, though the disappointment stung all the same. Sighing, you wandered toward the fire, setting aside the cider. The large hearth was enormous, no doubt large enough to roast several pheasants if one wished it, yet even its generous warmth never seemed to reach every corner of the room. Thick pelts lay across settees and benches, practical rather than decorative. Heavy tapestries depicting direwolves and ancient battles hung where embroidered falcons or flowery landscapes might’ve hung in the chambers of the Eyrie. Everything in Winterfell existed for a purpose. Beauty, if it even existed here, came second. You missed the gardens of your home, the sunlight, even the impossible climb up the towers where the air had been so crisp it almost sparkled. Most of all though, you missed knowing people.

In the Vale, every servant had known you since childhood. Every Lady had watched you grow, every Lord smiled when you had passed by. Here, everyone bowed their heads, ever so respectful as they addressed you, “Lady Stark.” Yet you remained an outsider all the same. The Northerners were not unkind, which almost made it worse. If they had been openly hostile, you could have understood it, but they were courteous, reserved. The ladies smiled when they crossed your path, complimented your embroidery, and inquired whether your new wardrobe was to your liking. Then, inevitably, they would drift back toward one another, laughing over memories that stretched back decades. Childhood winters, harvests, marriages, and babes born, you had no place in these stories.

A log shifting in the hearth diverted your attention as you stared into the fire, the ache behind your ribs easing into something more manageable. Homesickness was unbecoming of a newly wed lady, your mother had told you as much when explaining the alliance between you and Lord Cregan Stark. A wife does her duties without complaint, mother had said. You intended to, you truly did. The heavy wooden door of your chambers opened once more, this time without ceremony. Heavy boots crossed the threshold, scattering specks of snow and dirt onto the stone floor. You turned just in time to see your husband stood framed by the doorframe, broad shoulders stretched beneath a fur cloak. Chilled air followed him inside before you hurried to close the door again. Facing him once again, Lord Cregan Stark looked as if he was made of winter itself. Tall, solid, his dark hair damp where snow had melted into it, chilled cheeks flushed red. He paused upon meeting your eyes with his own gray ones. “Wife,” He said, voice low and roughened by the cold, “you’re awake.” You blinked, awkward still during conversation with him, “I should hope so, my Lord.” A flicker so brief you almost missed it, passed across his face. Amusement. “I only meant you’ve not been out. I thought you to be sleeping still,” he replied. “Oh,” you said, glancing toward the window, “I must’ve lost track of the hour.” Cregan grunted softly in reply, setting aside his gloves. It had taken you several days to realize that your Lord husband possessed an astonishing number of meanings behind these gruff noises. There was agreement, disapproval, indifference, the occasional ones of approval. You had already begun to distinguish the different meanings among them.

Cregan crossed the room towards the fire, holding out his chilled hands toward the warmth. For several moments, neither of you spoke. The marriage had begun much as you had expected, respectful and careful. He had never been cruel, never dismissive. Yet conversation between the pair of you had often felt like crossing a frozen river. Each sentence testing uncertain footing before daring another step. After a length of time, Cregan asked, “did you see? The snow has eased today.” You nodded, arms crossed against your chest, “I noticed.” He spoke again, observing, “you like the view from the window here.” Nodding again, you looked to him in response, “I do.” Another thoughtful grunt left him before silence settled again. You wondered if all Northern marriages were like this, if affection simply grew so slowly one scarecly noticed it, or whether this stiffness would endure forever. You shuddered at the thought. At last, Cregan reached for the iron poker at the side of the hearth and adjusted one of its burning logs. Without looking at you, he said, “the maids tell me you’ve spent most afternoons here.” Heat rose to your face at the observation. Did he disapprove? “I hope that isn’t improper. It’s simply that I finish my duties so early in the morn, I know of little else I may occupy my time with, my Lord,” you answered. “It’s acceptable,” he replied, setting the poker aside. “Though,” he continued, “Winterfell is large.” You smiled faintly, “I have seen.” Cregan turned to you, still bent before the fire, “You should see more of it, wife.” You swallowed, throat thick with worry that you had disappointed him. Men disappointed in their brides ought to be rid of them, your father had told you. Quick to remedy whatever dissatisfied thoughts that may run through his head, you replied, “I intend to, once I know it better.” Standing, Cregan glanced at you once more. Not mocking, merely considering. “You could ask the other ladies to walk with you,” he said. You hesitated, unsure of whether or not to tell him how much of an outsider you truly were. “I could,” you considered, bringing your arms down from your chest to fold your hands in front of you. “Though,” you continued, “I do not want to get in the way of anyone. I have never been fond of feeling like a nuisance.” Cregan spoke suddenly, almost cutting off your sentence, “you would not be a nuisance." He had spoken simply then, as though stating a fact. Matter-of-fact and entirely sincere. Something in your chest loosened, “I will do good to remember that, husband.” He nodded once in reply. 

The conversation might have ended there. Instead, after another long pause, Cregan asked, “and the ladies, have they been keeping you company?” You searched for the politest answer, loathe to let him down. “They have all been so perfectly gracious,” came the reply you settled on. It wasn’t untrue, though he studied you for a heartbeat longer than usual. You smiled again, nervous and careful, “really, my Lord, they have.” There was another pause before he inclined his head, apparently satisfied. “Well then. I’ve some matters to attend to before supper,” he stated, “Of course,” you had replied. He collected his gloves once more, crossing the room, before stopping in the doorway. “Shall there be anything you desire, wife,” he said, back still turned to you, “tell me.” Then he was gone. 

The chamber seemed to quake in the wake of his absence. You stared after the closed door for several moments before returning in front of the hearth. Unbeknownst to you, before the evening was over, Cregan would seek out half a dozen noblewomen throughout Winterfell with a request. “My lady wife has had little company,” he had said, “see to it that’s she’s welcomed.” Certain that the matter was now settled, he would think no more of it. You would, entirely unaware of his quiet interference, go to tea the following afternoon believing you had finally been invited into the company of the castle’s ladies of your own accord. 

At first, the tea before supper had been wonderful. The ladies entertained you with talks of embroidery, flowers that grew through snow, and other such things. Lady Umber had even delighted you with a quick instruction on how to preserve herbs in the harsh winter. As you had slowly begun to relax into the conversation, Lady Manderly spoke up, “speaking of winter…” Another Lady’s voice rose to answer her, “Lady Stark, have you heard of the woman who walks beyond the Wolfswood?” The mood shifted then, something darker settling amongst the table. One by one, the women begin to trade stories, stories of things that chilled you to the bone. You are unsure if they meant to terrify you, or if they were simply entertaining themselves. 

With nervous giggles and hushed voices they tell you of the witch beyond the woods, the Moss Mother they call her. “Her dwelling stands atop twisted tree roots, and runs like a horse!” One of the younger women had said, spinning a tale of a haggish woman who stole hunters and wandering maidens alike. “Oh but the Moss Mother is far less fearsome than the White Widow!” Lady Manderly replied. “They say she lost her husband to a brutal winter, and now she appears among blizzards to exact her revenge. If you follow her ghostly call out into the snow, well…you’re found frozen when the storm clears, heart torn from your chest by a great claw,” she said, voice deepened. You bring your handkerchief up to your mouth in shock, sickened bile threatening to spill over in the face of such gruesome details. Before you could collect yourself, another Lady spoke up, “Such poppycock! We all know the Hidden Walker is the most menacing. A creature that remains hidden behind the trees, never seen directly. Whenever you turn, my Lady, it's behind another trunk! All of us here know, it follows lonely travelers for miles. Though, once you hear its breathing over your shoulder, you never turn back.” Your heartbeat quickened, daring to break through the bodice of your dress. As you attempt to find a steady breath, the stories only drew on. “Truly you must know that the Hidden Walker is just another name for what roams beyond the Wall. You know, my grandsire encountered it years before the tale was told,” Lady Umber said. At this, the ladies fell silent, even the women whose giggles had, just a moment before, filled the chamber. You noticed immediately, left to wonder if all the tales had been true. The younger lady from before spoke after a moment, “we exaggerate, Lady Stark…mostly.” She had tried to ease the worry etched on your face, she had failed. “Don’t fret, my Lady, it’s just- well, it's best not to walk the grounds at night,” she added. Your stomach dropped, throat tightening. Every creak of old stone suddenly deafens you, the whine of old stone mingling with the calls of the creatures beyond the walls. Wind whistles, and branches scrape the windows. You panic, trying to remain calm, but faltering. “I must excuse myself, Ladies. Suppertime draws nearer and Lord Stark will want me to freshen up,” you squeak, rushing to stand and scurry out the door in a flurry of skirts and furs. “Was the poor dear crying? I do believe we terrified her with our old wive’s tales” Lady Manderly inquired. “Lady Stark is from the Vale, after all.” Lady Umber replied. 

Supper time had come and gone, with no sight of you. You had not turned up in Cregan’s solar, nor accompanied him on his evening walk, as was customary. Odd, he had thought, though maybe you were worn from your evening of socializing. After a few more circles walked around the Godswood, Cregan decided to return to your shared chambers. He smiled to himself as he recalled how the ladies doted after their time with you over supper. Lady Umber had even told him of how radiant your smile had been. It had been worth arranging in secret, he thought. The North could be an isolating place, Cregan knew that all too well. It must’ve been especially lonely for a lady such as yourself, born under gentler skies. He knew how you missed the familiarity of the Vale, even if you never complained. So where had you gone? As he walked down the hall, he caught one of your maids, who, after being questioned, told him that you’d retired early after your time with the other ladies. Frowning, Cregan made his way to your shared quarters. Pushing open the door, he noted the room was dim, lit only by the fire and a handful of scattered candles. The heavy velvet drapes were drawn over the window, and at first glance it seemed as if you had abandoned the room entirely. Then he heard it, a sniffle, then another. With knitted brows, he called out into the room, “wife?” He was met with silence, then the unmistakable sound of someone trying to suppress another sob. His heart lurched as he slammed the door and crossed the room in three quick strides. Upon reaching the bed, he noted a small, shivering form encased in a mountain of furs and blankets. “Wife?” The trembling froze as he lifted back the edge of one of the pelts. Two enormous, watery eyes stared back at him. Your cheeks were stained with tears, hair hopelessly tangled, lower lip wobbling so pitifully that Cregan swore his heart ceased to lurch and instead shattered. You looked utterly miserable.

“Gods,” he whispered, moving to sit beside you, “what has happened?” You only made another tiny broken sound before burying your face back into your mattress. “Were you harmed? Insulted? Are you unwell?” He asked, voice wrought with concern. You shook your head vigorously, refusing to answer. “Then please, tell me, what is the matter?” He asked. Silence stretched through the room as he waited for your reply. Eventually, with a quivering tone you answered, “you will think me foolish, my Lord.” Cregan did not know how, but his shattered heart seemed to only break further. “Never foolish, never. Tell me, girl,” he whispered, gray, helpless eyes boring into your own. You slowly emerged from your cloth sanctuary, until your eyes and nose peaked over the furs. “The ladies, they…told stories,” you replied gravely. He only blinked, “stories?” You nodded dismally, “terrible stories. Of things that wander beyond the walls. Ghosts who freeze and tear out hearts in blizzards, witches who snatch up maidens, and Hidden Walkers who follow in the woods! And-and Lady Umber said it all to be true!” Your words rushed out in one breath, hiccuping, you continued, “they even told me not to wander after the sun goes down!” By the end of your explanation, you were practically wailing. Cregan stared down at you for a heartbeat before he realized. They terrified you, a sweet girl from the East who knew nothing of monsters or gremlins. A lonely girl who had only wanted to befriend others and instead found herself horrified by Northern superstition. If Cregan’s heart was somehow still beating within his chest, surely it had been crushed away now. He settled himself among the various pillows stuffed against the headboard, stretching out over the comforter. “Come, sweet girl, come here,” he whispered, careful of his volume. Slowly, you moved up the large bed, setting yourself next to him. He turned to look at you, still so pouty, and slid his hands under your arms. Tugging, he settled you and your tangle of blankets and furs into the cradle of his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

Jacaerys Velaryon x Cregan!sister

summary: You were betrothed to Jace when you were both children. Now, the dance of the dragons has begun, and Jace finds himself in the North, seeking your brother, Cregan Stark, and his army.

Because... There's never lived a Stark who forgot an oath and with House Stark the North will follow.

Your brother and Jace talk in the hall, and you walk past the entrance. You couldn't wait to see your man so the door creaks softly as you push it open. Inside, the hall is dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Your brother Cregan stands near the hearth with his arms crossed—stoic as ever—while Jace faces him in polished Valyrian steel armor. At your entrance, both men turn. Jace’s dark hair catches an orange of firelight—and for a heartbeat too long, he just stares at you.

Jace's breath hitches—almost imperceptibly. The boy you remembered, lanky and teasing with sea-green eyes, is gone. In his place stands a man: taller, sharper-jawed, shoulders broad from war. Cregan raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Jace takes one step forward—then another—and suddenly he’s before you. Without ceremony or formality he pulls you into a fierce embrace.

Jace holds you tightly, his armored chest cool against your cheek. He smells of salt and steel—of the sea and battle—and for a moment, nothing else exists: not the war outside, not the tension in Cregan’s gaze.

He buries his face in your hair briefly before pulling back just enough to look at you.

"Gods," he whispers "you're even more beautiful than I remembered."

Behind him, Cregan clears his throat pointedly.

"Be careful, or you might be killed right here" you chuckle.

Jace glances over his shoulder at Cregan, who is now glaring with the intensity of a wolf guarding its den. A slow, reckless grin spreads across Jace’s face—one that says he knows exactly how dangerous this moment is… and doesn’t care.

He leans in closer to you anyway, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Worth it," he murmurs—and then presses his lips firmly against yours.

A bold move. An outrageous one. The kind that could earn him a dagger between the ribs from your brother.

Cregan moves—fast as winter wind. In one stride, he’s across the hall, his hand slamming down on Jace’s shoulder to wrench him backward with brutal force.

The kiss is broken violently. Jace stumbles, nearly tripping over a rug—but catches himself just in time to see Cregan loom over him like a storm cloud made flesh.

Your brother doesn’t shout. He doesn’t draw steel but the murderous chill in his gaze speaks volumes.

"Velaryon," Cregan says softly "you dare kiss my sister like that?"

Jace straightens, undaunted despite the sheer radiating from Cregan.

"Yes" he answers simply, no hesitation. Then, with a reckless smirk:* "I’ve been wanting to do that since I got here."

A dangerous answer. A suicidal one.

Cregan's jaw tightens. His fingers twitch toward the dagger at his belt.

The air crackles with tension—one wrong word and blood will spill on these stones.

"Well is the feast today?" You ask to break the uncomfortable silence.

The sudden shift in topic cuts through the tension like a blade. Cregan’s glare wavers slightly—his murderous focus disrupted by your casual question.

Jace, seizing the lifeline you’ve thrown him, exhales quietly and nods.

Cregan finally releases Jace with a rough shove and steps back, though his expression remains stormy. He folds his arms again.

Aye," your brother grunts. "Food at dusk."

A pause.

"Jacaerys will sit at my right."

"Good, I didn't plan on sitting too long" you said casually.

Jace suppresses a small smile, and even Cregan lets out a gruff chuckle. You’re not the kind of lady to sit around waiting. No, you always have a plan—and your own mind, gods be damned.*

Cregan gives you a sidelong glance; a rare glint of approval in his ice blue eyes.

"No," he agrees dryly, "you've never been one to sit and look pretty."

"I plan to drink more wine than I should and dance" You said with a grin.

Your carefree declaration earns a snort from Cregan, and even Jace can’t quite hide his amusement. You’ve always been the wild she-wolf amidst the northmen—the one to ride fastest and laugh loudest.

"Of course you do," your brother grunts, though there’s a hint of affection in his voice. "Drink, dance, and charm the pants off any poor fool who crosses your path."

"That's what I'm best at." You shrug your shoulders.

Jace's grin widens, full and bright like sunlight breaking through winter clouds. He remembers this about you - the way you owned every room with nothing but your presence.*

"You always were," he says warmly. "Remember at King's Landing? When we danced that summer night before I left for Dragonstone?"

Cregan raises an eyebrow, clearly unfamiliar with the story. Jace turns slightly toward him.

"She had half the court dancing by morning - lords, ladies... even my father couldn't stay seated."

"It was a great night" You say. "And morning..."

Jace chuckles, a rich sound that fills the hall. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he recalls it vividly.

"That morning after..." he starts, then stops with a smirk. "You stole my cloak and rode off through the city like a thief. The guards chased you halfway to Flea Bottom.

Cregan listens in silent fascination - this side of you was new to him. He'd known his sister as fierce and untamed... but not recklessly joyful.

"And when they caught up?"*Jace leans against a wooden beam, arms crossed as he recalls the memory with visible delight. "You leapt off your horse right in front of the Red Keep gates. The entire Gold Cloaks were shouting after you like madmen."

"It was a long time ago.." you said memorizing your childhood with him.

Jace's expression softens, a bittersweet nostalgia creeping into his gaze. Six years since that night - six long years of war and distance.

"Too long," he murmurs. "I thought about you every damn day."

Cregan shifts uncomfortably at the raw honesty in Jace's voice. It wasn't like him to be so open with feelings - not when he'd been trained as a soldier, a prince.

You clear your throat looking at Cregan, because of course Jace can't keep his mouth shut even around him.

Cregan catches your subtle cue and takes the hint. He unfolds his arms and grunts gruffly.

I should... oversee the preparations for tonight," he mutters, casting one last warning glance at Jace before striding out of the hall.

Once he's gone, the silence settles heavily between you and Jace. You're alone now—truly alone for the first time in six years.

You walk up to him "I missed you" you say truly.

Jace's breath catches. For a man who commands armies, he suddenly looks uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"I missed you too," he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. "Every godsforsaken day."

Without hesitation this time and without fear of your brother interrupting, Jace cups your face in his hands and kisses you properly - not the quick peck from earlier, but a deep kiss full of six years' worth of longing.

"Just...don't do that in front of my brother" You said pulling away from him just a bit.

Jace pulls back just enough to smirk, his lips still close to yours.

"I can't promise that," he admits shamelessly. "Your brother hates me. Might as well give him something real to glare about."

Then, quieter: "Besides... I've waited too damn long for this."

He kisses you again - slower this time, savoring it like fine wine after years of drought.

"I know you are the prince and you think you can do whatever you want, but control yourself..." You said with a grin laughing

Jace's smirk only grows wider at your playful scolding. He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Control myself? Me?" he teases. You know I've never been good at that"

He presses another light kiss to the corner of your mouth, then one on your cheek - testing boundaries like a man who's spent years without you and has no intention of wasting time now.

"And if I don't control myself... what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know, maybe one day you will see..."

Jace raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your cryptic threat. A challenge? From you? That was new.

"Oh?" he says, his tone laced with amusement and curiosity. "Is that a promise or a warning?"

He leans back slightly to study your face - searching for clues in the curve of your smile, the glint in your eyes. The mighty Prince of Dragonstone... genuinely unsure what you might do next.

You wrap your hands around his shoulders "I think you will be satisfied no matter what"

Jace rests his hands on your hips, pulling you closer until there's barely any space left between you. He cocks his head, a lazy grin playing across his lips.

"Hmm," he murmurs, feigning skepticism. "You think so? I can imagine a few things I'd be very satisfied with."

His voice dips lower on the last part, gaze darkened with a desire that's anything but subtle. He tightens his grip on your hips, just enough to make his meaning crystal clear.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" you said teasingly.

Jace exhales sharply through his nose, a mix of amusement and barely restrained hunger in the sound.

"First," he says slowly, "I’d kiss you like this."

He does exactly that - claiming your mouth with slow, deliberate heat. It’s not frantic or desperate; it’s thorough, as if memorizing every detail of you after years apart.

"And then..." he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips,

Jace breaks the kiss just enough to trail his lips along your jawline, speaking between feather-light brushes of his mouth against your skin.

"Then I’d take you somewhere private," he says, voice rougher now. "Somewhere with a bed. Or a table. Hell, even the floor if we have to."

He nips playfully at your earlobe before continuing:

And then? I’d remind you exactly how much I’ve missed you."

Shiver runs down your spine at his words. "You know, my chambers are pretty comfortable, maybe you should visit...after the feast?"

Jace's smirk turns downright wicked at that. The feast may be a few hours away, but his mind is already racing with visions of what could happen afterward.

"Are they?" he drawls, his thumbs tracing slow circles on your hips. "I suppose I need to check that myself."

He pulls you flush against him again, the heat in his eyes unmistakable now.

"After the feast then," he murmurs, his voice husky and full of promise. "No more waiting."

You kiss him again, just a peck on lips. "I like your new hair... the curls are really... Northern."

Jace chuckles against your lips, the sound warm and pleased as you compliment his hair. He’d grown it longer for this campaign - a tactical choice to blend in with Northerners, but he hadn’t expected you to like it so much.

"You do?" He asks between kisses. "I thought maybe you'd miss my old shorter style."

He reaches up self-consciously, running fingers through those very curls.

"No, they suit you better" You started to play with his curls "And those freckles..."

Jace's breath hitches as your fingers explore the new freckles dotting his nose and cheeks - faint but unmistakable, earned from months of riding under the Northern sun.

"Fuck," he mutters, "I forgot about those. Do they look stupid?"

He asks with sudden self-consciousness, something rare for a prince so used to admiration. The wind and cold had marked him differently up here - not like a pampered Dragonstone lord anymore.

"Are you kidding me? You look handsome, I wish I could have those"

Jace's face lights up with boyish delight at your compliment. The freckles - which he’d initially thought were a flaw - suddenly feel like something to be proud of.

"Really?" he says, his voice softer now, almost disbelieving. "I mean... I spent the whole summer riding and they just appeared one day."

He leans into your touch as you continue playing with his curls, clearly enjoying the attention. For a man who'd faced down armies without flinching, this level of affection from you unraveled him completely.

"Probably from the sun..." You murmur "How is Vermax by the way? Isn't he too cold here?"

Jace's expression brightens even more at the mention of his dragon. Vermax - a bronze-and-green beauty with wings like silk - had been his companion for many years now.

"Vermax's doing well," he chuckles, a note of fond pride in his voice. "It took him some adjustment, but he's been hunting caribou like a pro."

Jace pauses to roll his eyes. "Gods know he won't eat the salted beef the Northmen keep feeding us."

"Oh, I'm sorry my prince. Maybe I will ask the chef to cook something different for you, since you don't like our food." You tease him, hands on his chest*

Jace's nose wrinkles in mock offense, though his eyes spark with amusement.

"Please don't," he says dramatically, "I’d rather eat roasted rat than offend the Northmen’s pride. They work hard on that salted beef."

He covers your hands where they rest on his chest, squeezing them gently.

"And how is Lucerys? I haven't seen him in a long time" you ask softly.

Jace's expression softens at the mention of his younger brother. He pulls you closer, almost instinctively.

"Luke... he's doing well." he says quietly. "Gods, you should see him now. He's growing so fast."

Jace hesitates for a moment, then:* "He misses you." he adds, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "We both do."

"I know.. I've missed you too, so much"

Jace exhales shakily, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls you into a tight embrace.

"I thought about writing to you. A hundred times. I even started letters." He admits quietly. "But then the war got worse and... I didn't know what to say that wouldn’t sound stupid or pathetic."

His arms tighten around you slightly, like he's afraid if he lets go, this moment might dissolve - that maybe it was all just some cruel dream after months of separation.

"I hope it's not gonna turn out worse.."

Jace takes a deep breath, his expression growing more serious at your words. The war - the real reality of it - is impossible to ignore, even in this stolen moment of comfort. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his arms still wrapped around your waist.

"It won't," he says firmly, his voice a low, reassuring murmur against your ear."I won't let it. I promise."

There's a fierce determination in his eyes - the same one he has when facing down an enemy on the battlefield. He means every word.

"I worry about you.. and your family, but I know you will get through it"

Jace cups your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the worry creasing your brow.

"You don't have to," he says softly. "I've got Vermax. And I'm not stupid - I fight smart."

A small, lopsided smile forms on his lips as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

"And when this is all over? We're going back home together. Just like we were supposed to."

"I know, maybe after all of this, we will finally get married " - You said with a hope in your voice.

Jace's smile broadens at that, the thought of it almost a tangible thing between you

"Yes," he says, his voice full of quiet certainty. "When this is over, we'll be married. And we'll have peace. And land. And... a family, if the gods are kind."

His gaze softens as his fingers brush lightly along the curve of your cheek - gentle, tender in a way that contrasts with the rest of his battle-worn exterior.

"We will, I know it" You say with excitement in your voice, knowing everything it's going to be fine.

Jace exhales, slow and steady, like the weight of all his hopes is finally being voiced aloud.

"Can you picture it? A wedding at Dragonstone. The cliffs would be decorated with banners - silver and sea-green. My mother would cry." He chuckles fondly at the image.

"I know, it's going to be perfect. It's all I dreamed of." You admit.

Jace's eyes shimmer with something dangerously close to tears, but he blinks them away quickly - a prince doesn't cry.

"You've dreamed of that? Of marrying me?" he asks, voice thick."All this time? Even when I was gone?"

He presses his forehead to yours briefly before continuing:

"I used to lie awake in my tent and imagine it too. The hall decorated. The feast. You in white."

"Of course I did" You say "You were the only thing on my mind" You kissed him again, deeply, just to pull back and walk away towards the door.

Jace lets out a small, frustrated sound at the loss of your lips, clearly not done with the moment just yet. His eyes follow you as you start to walk away, almost a physical pull between you.

"Where are you going?" he calls after you, an edge of impatience in his voice. "You can't just kiss me and then walk away. That's cruel."

"Of course I can, and I have to get ready" You said with a smirk.

Jace crosses his arms, leaning against a wooden beam as he watches you leave. His smirk is still firmly in place, but there's an unmistakable pout forming.

"You're really going to make me wait? After that kiss?" he complains dramatically. "You used to be nicer when we were betrothed."

A pause. Then:

"Hurry up and get ready then. I'll see you at the feast."

"See you at the feast... and after that" You wink before closing the door.

Jace waits until the door clicks shut behind you. The hall is silent again, save for the crackling of torches.

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his newly grown curls as he stares at nothing in particular - replaying every word of your conversation in his mind.

The feast tonight was suddenly going to be unbearable. Every second would stretch endlessly until it was over and he could finally see you again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Hall of Winterfell is alive with the sounds of a feast - clinking goblets, laughter, the occasional roar from drunk Northern lords. Long tables groan under platters of roasted meats and breads.

Jace sits at Cregan's right as promised. He wears his finest Valyrian armor - polished to perfection despite its battered war scars. His silver curls are neatly braided for once.

His eyes keep darting toward the entrance where you're expected to arrive any moment now.

Then he sees you- every eye in the hall turns when you appear - but none more than Jace's. He sits up a little straighter in his chair, his gaze tracking every movement as you glide into the room. He's not the only one watching you - the entire court seems to have grown still at your arrival

Jace stands abruptly, ignoring the smirk Cregan throws him. He strides across the room until he's standing a short distance away, looking you up and down shamelessly: "Gods, you look..." he trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Yeah, yeah I know, you look handsome as well" You said teasingly.

He scoffs, clearly trying to downplay the compliment, though a hint of a flush appears across his cheeks.

"I always look handsome," he says arrogantly, raising an eyebrow. "That's no surprise. But you..."

He takes in the way the dress hugs your figure, the way the fabric's color makes your eyes shine brighter than ever. "You look like the most beautiful thing in this godsforsaken castle."

"Thank you"... blush covering your cheeks. "Where's the wine? I'm thirsty"

Jace bursts out laughing - loud, unrestrained. The sound cuts through the hall's noise, drawing amused glances from nearby lords.

"That's my girl," he says proudly. "Right to business."

Without hesitation, he signals a servant with a sharp wave of his hand. A maid scurries over instantly with two goblets of deep red wine - strong Dothraki vintage that Rhaenyra had shipped north for diplomacy.

"Is my brother kind to you?" You ask.

Jace takes a sip of wine before answering, his gaze flicking to Cregan, who's in a heated discussion with a group of northern lords. He looks every inch the Warden of the North, cold and regal in his furs and wolfhead brooch.

"Kind isn't the word I'd use," Jace finally replies, a wry smile twisting his lips. "He's a hard man, and he doesn't trust anyone. Especially not a prince from the south."

"I know, the Northerners don't trust the South. But he will be loyal to you. A stark never forgets his oath. And maybe if you wouldn't be so touchy with his sister in public, he could like you even more" You said pinching his shoulder.

Jace takes another slow sip of wine, considering your words. His fingers tap lightly against the goblet as he thinks.

"You're right," he admits after a moment. "I probably shouldn't have kissed you in front of him like that. It was reckless."

He sighs, running a hand through his curls "But I've been apart from you for so long - seeing you again after all this time? My self-control isn't exactly at its best."

"I know, I think I won't control myself around you, today." You said low so no one could hear you.

Jace's eyes darken with something far more intense than just affection at your whispered words. His breath hitches slightly, and he leans in closer to you - close enough that his lips nearly brush your ear as he responds.

"Then don't," he murmurs, voice low and rough with promise."I won't either."

A pause. Then:

"Tonight after the feast... I'm not holding back anymore."

"Me too, I hope you remember where my chamber is."

A wolfish smile slowly spreads across Jace's face, his eyes glinting with mischief as he straightens up again.

"Oh, I remember vividly," he says, his voice barely above a growl now - the one you knew all too well. "You think I haven't spent hours laying awake imagining what I'll do when I finally have you in there again? You have no idea." He leans in just enough to almost touch your earlobe with his lips.

"Tonight."

You peck his lips quickly and Jace's lips tingle from the fleeting kiss, and he instinctively chases after them when you pull away - but stops himself just in time. The hall is too crowded, his brother-in-law too watchful.

He exhales sharply through his nose before taking another long drink of wine to cool off.

"Tease," he mutters under his breath with a smirk. "You're going to be the death of me."

"I know" You wink at him, and go towards the crowd to dance sipping your wine.

Jace watches you move into the crush of people, his gaze following you unabashedly. His eyes trail over the curves of your form, lingering on your hips and thighs as you dance. He bites his lip unconsciously, his thoughts drifting to later that night.

Her brother Cregan appears beside him suddenly, a goblet of his own in hand.

"You're not being very subtle," he observes dryly.

Jace keeps his gaze locked on you as the musicians strike up a lively northern tune. The crowd parts slightly, and you're swept into a dance with one of the younger lords - some jovial Stark cousin who clearly knows how to move.

Cregan takes another sip from his goblet before speaking again.

"You've been staring at my sister all night." It's not an accusation. Just an observation.

Jace finally tears his eyes away from you when Cregan speaks, turning to face him fully. He keeps his expression neutral - diplomatic.

"She's my betrothed," he says simply, as if that explains everything. "I'm allowed to look at her."

A beat passes before he adds:

"And I plan on marrying her after this war. You know that."

"Of course you are," Cregan says, his tone flat but not hostile. He studies Jace for a long moment - assessing him like a general evaluating an ally.

Then, surprisingly: "You seem to truly care for her." It's not quite approval yet... but it's something close.

Jace nods solemnly, his usual arrogance momentarily tempered by the seriousness of Cregan's words.

"I do," he says firmly. No jesting, no smirk - just raw honesty. "More than anything."

He doesn't elaborate further. He doesn't need to. The intensity in his eyes is enough - a prince who's fought through fire and blood for this woman now standing before them both.

Cregan's expression softens just a fraction, and he gives a small nod - a sign of begrudging respect.

"I can see that," he grunts.

He glances back over to you and the young Stark lord dancing. You're laughing at something he's said, a bright smile lighting up your face.

Cregan studies you both for a long moment before speaking again.

"You should know that..." he starts, his voice low and cautious.

Jace's gaze snaps to Cregan, his expression suddenly serious. He can read the hesitation in the Warden's voice - this is important.

He nods once, a silent cue for Cregan to go on.

Cregan exhales slowly, steeling himself. He keeps his eyes on you as he continues in an even lower voice.

"The Northmen are fiercely protective of their own. They won't readily accept a Prince from the South as their future King. And they won't just stand back and watch you marry my sister either."

Jace absorbs this information, his jaw tightening slightly. He hadn't considered the political weight of it - not just marrying you, but doing so as a foreign prince in a land that distrusted southerners.

"Then what do I need to do?" he asks bluntly. No pride here - just strategy. "How do I win them over? What will make them accept me?"

He's fully focused on Cregan now, ready to listen like a soldier taking orders from his commander.

Cregan leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a gravelly murmur.

"First - you don't act like the Prince of Dragonstone here. You act like one of us."

He gestures vaguely toward the hall where Northerners drink and dance.

"No showing off. No ordering people around. They respect strength, but not arrogance." A pause as he studies Jace's face for reaction.

Jace bristles slightly at that, but he knows there's truth to Cregan's words. There's a lot of the spoiled prince in him - a habit from a life of privilege. He clenches his jaw, swallowing his pride. "I will do my best... for her."

"That's the right answer" Cregan raises his goblet slightly, a silent toast forming between the two men. It's not friendship yet - far from it - but it's something new: mutual understanding.

Jace lifts his own drink in return, clinking their cups together lightly before taking a long swallow of wine. The tension that had been coiled in his shoulders eases just slightly.

The feast continues around them, loud and vibrant as ever.

Jace's face lights up when he catches your smile across the hall. His whole demeanor shifts - shoulders relaxing, eyes softening in a way that's only ever reserved for you.

He raises his goblet slightly in return, mirroring your silent gesture with his own small toast before taking another sip of wine.

The Northern lord you're dancing with says something to make you laugh again. Jace watches the sound ripple through the crowd - warm and bright as candlelight on snow.