Targaryen Princess

Visibility was high, the cold bearable, the roads truly in good condition, and you made it to Dreadfort with few issues. Leaving Dreadfort was where things had taken a turn for the worse. Now, two days later, you weren’t sure you’d even see the walls of Winterfell before freezing to death. 

The storm had truly come from out of nowhere. That morning, you’d risen from your camp with the reassuring knowledge that you were less than a day’s ride from the northern capital. By that evening, you would be in the comfort of your own bedroom, with a hot bath, a belly full of food, and the wall of warmth that was your lord husband to welcome you home. 

Now, the party was falling apart around you. It had become darker as the short winter day drew to a close. The wind had picked up, visibility had dropped with the same dreadfulness of a falling cup you knew would shatter upon impact. It was snowing sideways. 

“How far are we, ser?” You yelled to one of your guards, voice muffled against the yowling of the storm. You were squinting to keep your eyes as free from falling snow as possible, but it also meant seeing even less than what you could currently see. Your horses were quickly becoming panicked.

“I’d wager less than two hours, Lady Stark,” He answered, “But we must make haste.”

The group of you—consisting of you and about twenty bannermen—tried your damnedest to rally, to push forward. Home was so close, you could make it if you hurried. Everyone was rattled and on edge, men snapping at each other at the slightest provocation. The horses were jittering, put off by the cold. 

You, attempting to use your authority over them all to force them to just go faster. The cold made Winterfell feel even further than it currently was, turning the earth elastic. Pulling it far and taut. 

Cregan, we’re coming, you wanted to call, please, let us come home.

And then the tree fell. 

The wind, already blowing so hard, gave an even stronger gust. With a terrible crack, and a long, loud groan, a dead tree came down on you all. You gripped the reins of your horse with all your remaining strength, barely managing to pull it away as the trunk came crashing down. 

BOOM

The sound echoed across the forest, causing your heart to drop. Even more snow kicked up off of the ground as a result of the impact. You watched at least one man get crushed under the massive tree, his cries silenced by the roar of the wind and the angry crash. 

Startled horses scattered, unable to be calmed by their riders. Yours bucked, once, twice, and for the longest second you’ve ever experienced, you thought she would flip, and crush you beneath her. 

Instead, she squealed in terror, and turned to run. You watched as the party disappeared into the storm, wind biting at your cheeks and pulling the hood of your cloak back.

“No,” You demanded, yanking on the reins to no avail, “Go back, go back, go back—!”

❅ ❅ ❅

The papers on his desk had been abandoned about half an hour ago. Cregan Stark was pacing the length of the room. He hadn’t spoken since someone had answered his questions, and the advisors were growing anxious at the unreadable look on his face.

“Is the storm expected to stop?” Cregan asked from the desk.

“The clouds are dense, my lord,” The maester said, “I would expect this storm to last till the morrow, at least.”

His scowl deepened. “And no one has heard from my wife’s party. My wife’s party, who should have been spotted by now, per the raven they sent this morning.”

The maester looked down, unable to meet those intense gray eyes. “...No, my lord. There has been no word from the scouts.”

No one could hear it, but everyone in the room could see the heaving of his chest, the flaring of his nostrils, the occasional twitching of his fingers. His energy pushed outwards, pressing against everyone like a weight on their chests.

Cregan Stark did not get nervous. No, Cregan Stark inspired nervousness in others. And yet, now, at the concept of his wife disappearing into the snow, he seemed to be doing both. Even Bear, the Warden of the North’s large, frightening direwolf paused from licking at his black and brown coat to track his master’s movements.

He stopped, before turning to face the men in his study. The entire room held its breath. 

“We—”

“Lord Stark, my lord—!”

The door slammed open, and a guard entered the room, panting. He had clearly run from the courtyard, cheeks red, cloak dusted with snow. He was panting heavily, leaning against the doorframe for support. At the interruption, Cregan reared on the young man, angry gaze more wolf than man.

“Erik,” He grunted, “What is the meaning–”

“The party is not f-far,” Erik said quickly, breathless, “But something has gone wrong. One man is presumed dead, two men are missing, and L-Lady Stark—”

All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room as the man bent over, coughing with overexertion. Suddenly, with a stalking gait, Cregan was crossing the room, almost lunging for him. Some men stood at the sudden movement, but made no attempt to hold him back. Cregan’s arms shot out, gripping him by the shoulders and shaking. Gray eyes flashed with madness, and he paid no mind to the smaller man’s heaving in his face as he got in close.

“What about Lady Stark, boy? Where the fuck is my wife—”

“Her horse–her horse was startled. It ran further into the woods. They—” More coughing, “—they cannot find her.”

The guard fell to the floor as Cregan dropped him. His eyes were wide, his emotions now tangible: heavy, angered panting, matching with the rhythmic rising and falling of his hulking shoulders.

He looked back at his advisors. “Ready my horse and my wolf at once.”

“My lord, you will freeze–”

His tone left no room for discussion. “Prepare a search party at once. And bring me something from her chambers. Bear will need it to track her scent.”

❅ ❅ ❅

The truest darkness lives in the forests of the North. You were living it now, barely able to see anything except for the rough outlines of tree trunks, which went on for miles. Not that you could see them that far.

You couldn’t tell how long had passed. The snow had never let up. 

The panic didn’t set in immediately. First, you called for your bannermen. Shouted their names over and over until their names began to sound foreign. Don’t panic, you tried to tell yourself, conserve your energy.

It had gotten you nowhere, body beginning to shiver as you realized you were alone and couldn’t make out the path your horse had dragged you down. 

Winterfell is north. Just go north. Which way is north?

The shivering turned painful. Shoulder blades locked stiffly as you hunched into yourself. You could hardly feel your fingers gripping the reins of the horse, even under thick lined leather gloves. You tried to orient yourself, but it proved difficult. Dusk had passed. It was now night. You had no torch or means of making a flame to light your way, the falling snow blocking what little you could see. 

Surrounded by trees, with no discernible landmarks or visible light in the distance to guide you further, you wandered the woods with your horse, trying to follow your horse’s tracks back to your party. Even if they were gone, if you could find the fallen trunk, you would know which way to go. If any of them had followed your path, you would run into them, and you could return together. 

The minutes stretched into hours, a seemingly endless night suffocating you. The feeling in your nose disappeared first. Where once your cheeks burned from the cold, now the sensation bloomed into nothingness. Blowing hot air into your gloves—a constant shaky hah-hah-hah that might have helped this morning—now did next to nothing to relieve your trembling fingers.

You don’t know when your eyelashes froze, but you only noticed when you took note of the foggy white ring encroaching on your peripheral vision. When you blinked, you heard the softest crunch in the way you could hear yourself swallowing or breathing. You could only assume the same was happening with your eyebrows.

And when you realized your horse was taking you in circles, the poor creature also suffering from the cold, you realized you no longer knew what to do. 

The shouts turned to screams. You hadn’t screamed out of fear in years, perhaps not since you were a child. No reason to. This was primal, brewing at your sternum and building up, up, up with every desperate rise and fall of your breath. When the pressure could be held no longer, it escaped you.

Screaming for Cregan, which you knew made no sense. He was even further than your party, but it changed nothing. You screamed and screamed and screamed, until it turned to wailing.

Wailing for your mother, who had died years ago. Who would certainly be of less help than your bannermen or Cregan now, barring divine intervention.  

Mind slowly growing foggy and voice going hoarse, you finally admitted it to yourself. You were lost. Well and truly lost. 

❅ ❅ ❅

The search party assembled and departed with a quickness that would have made Cregan proud of his men under any other circumstances. Now, however, he could only feel anger, concern, determination.

I’m coming, love, he thought, I’ll not let you get away from me.

His men, armed with torches, extra pelts and blankets tucked in their packs, and flasks of hot mulled wine, set off in the direction your bannermen had said they’d last seen you. Your horse, spooked by a fallen tree, had run southwest in the commotion. Before they’d left, a servant had brought him one of your hairbrushes. He’d let Bear sniff some at the hair caught in the bristles, and knew that as long as they found the fallen tree, the shaggy black and brown direwolf would pick up on your scent. 

They rode south. The second they broke into the treeline, Bear sped up. The large creature, at top speed, was faster than the horses, but only in bursts of energy. He seemed to sense Cregan’s desperation. 

He ran so fast he disappeared from Cregan’s line of view. The men around him followed the direwolf, trusting the beast’s instinct. 

Moments later, a howl pierced the air. When they caught up to Bear, there it was: a long, dead tree trunk, pinning a horse and its rider to the now red forest floor.

“Check to see if he’s alive.” He commanded two men. He began to separate his men into small groups. “You lot are to search for the missing Manderly boy. All of you over here, call for Willas Snow. The rest of you, follow Bear! All of you pair up, spread out, call their names. We will find them. I refuse to leave without my wife.”

He felt as though he were watching someone else take command of his being. Someone who knew his men, commanded his men like he did. But Cregan was hardly inside of his own body. Though he cared for his men—present and missing alike—and knew he would grieve the man crushed by the tree, right now he could not bring himself to care about them. His only thoughts were of you, out in the cold, dark wood. 

Somewhere near him, but increasingly far away. There was a pressure growing in his chest, pushing back against the whipping wind, threatening to rise up past his throat and out of his mouth. 

You could be hurt. You could be dead. But he would not rest until he saw you with his own two eyes. 

Around him, the shouting began. Calling for Petyr Manderly. For Willas Snow. For Lady Stark. But Cregan did not call for either of the men, or for the Lady Stark. 

“Y/N! Y/N!”

In the middle of the wood, throat straining as his voice was carried away with the wind, Cregan called for you.

❅ ❅ ❅

When the whispers began, the cold had taken control of your body. The forest seemed to be spinning, the trees duplicating. Even in your delirium, you knew you should not have gotten off of the horse, but at the time you’d thought it was a good idea. You could no longer see her anymore, and you scatteredly wondered if she had gone towards the whispers or succumbed.

Now, you were stumbling through ankle-deep snow, hiking up your stupid gown to trudge through the forest. The cold had passed. 

It almost felt pleasant now. The sensation was similar to the night Queen Rhaenyra had sent a crate of Dornish red wine to Winterfell as a gift for your husband’s 24th name day. The great hall had been filled with more dancing than stumbling, and you spent the entire next day vowing to never drink again. That had been at the end of summer. Summer is kind. Autumn is forgiving. Spring with Cregan is so nice. Winter…

And yet, it was still snowing. Still black. But the whispers were getting louder. You couldn’t make sense of them at first, layered and urgent and pleading. 

Lady Willas Petys Stark Snow Manderly… Snow Lady Manderly Petyr Willas Stark…

That was not your name. Names. The names of your bannermen who were no longer around you. Petyr, Willas, Jon, Ethan, Brandon… Names names names names names think of names—think of lovely names.

In the distance, an orange beacon appeared. How pretty, you thought, pretty. Pret-ty. My husband is pretty. 

You felt drunk, body swaying back and forth as you began to move towards the light—lights? There were two now. Then three. Then a few more.

The whispers grew louder, more urgent. Who were they calling for? He had such a long name, but none of them seemed to know it exactly. Your neck began to sag downwards as you listened to them call for the man with the long name. Petyr Lady Petyr Snow Willas Stark Lady Manderly Snow Lady Lady Stark Lady Lady Lady—

Y/N.

Your neck snapped up, head turning frantically to search for who had whispered your name.

Y/N.

You froze. You knew that voice. The inflection of your name. 

It wasn’t a whisper.

“Y/N!”

“C—”

He was here he was here he was here he was here. And if he was here, then—

You watched, almost entranced, as a large black mass bolted out of the dark, barreling into you, tipping you over. You landed on your back in the snow. The snow, which was warm. Hot, even. 

Forcing yourself onto your elbows, your gaze landed on Bear. You tried your hardest to keep yourself focused on your husband’s direwolf, but the forest was running circles around you, and your body felt like it was on fire. 

When he tilted his snout up, letting loose a howl long and urgent, you barely heard it. This was a dream. This had to be a dream. Any moment now, you would wake, and be in your bed in Winterfell.

As you moved onto your knees, you pulled your gloves off. Your fingers were ablaze and you wanted to pet the beast. Stumbling onto your feet, you held up a hand, mouth gaping as you tried to ensure you weren’t melting from the heat. When you saw you weren’t, you reached for Bear. 

“Here! My lord, she’s over here!” 

Time slowed to a glacial pace. Your movements dragged as if you were underwater, all sounds muffled and scrambled. If you were underwater, they were above the surface.

You didn’t touch Bear. He moved to the side. A horse skidded to a stop in front of you, the movement lasting years. It took so long that it didn’t even frighten you. All you could do was look up at the angel mounted on the stallion, face lit by an army of torches suddenly surrounding you.

Him.

He unmounted the horse, barking unintelligible orders to the men around him. Something about a missing horse. 

Then his eyes landed on you, and you damn near fell over again. When he spoke, you understood what he said. How could you not? It was one of your favorite words, one of your favorite things he called you. 

Always with the gentlest tone, no matter the time or place. Against your hair early in the morning, in your ear at your side at supper, against your throat in the middle of the night. The first word to break through the noise, bring you back. To pull you out of the water and allow you to gasp for air.

“Wife.”

You would answer. Yes, of course you would answer. You would always answer when he called. Cregan. Husband. My love.

“C—“ 

The harsh sound punched out of you, a shaky, croaky kuhhh of a dead woman newly reawakened. His eyes, already alert at the state of you, grew even wider. Immediately, he engulfed you, having to bite back the shock at just how cold your body was. He smoothed a hand over your hair, chest deflating at the reassurance of having him in your arms.

“Y/N,” He rasped, “What happened?”

You couldn’t say. You were just happy he was here. Again, you tried to say his name. “Cuhhh—C-Cre—“

“Yes, yes, sweet girl, I’m here,” He insisted, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging, “We need to get you home now.”

He had never seen you like this. And by the grace of the Old Gods, he would never see you like this again. Slurring your speech, lips and fingers—where were your gloves?—a blueish gray, frost clinging to your brow, your hair, your lashes. 

You were manhandled onto the stallion. Quickly, you were growing agitated. A pelt was draped over your shoulders, much to your dismay. He mounted it behind you, before trying to hand you a flask.

“Drink,” He commanded, “‘S warm.”

Deliriously, you shook your head, weakly pushing it away. “S…”

His stern tone dropped lower, now a pleading undertone to it. “Please, love. You must drink this now.”

“Summer.”

He immediately knew what you meant. “No. No, it’s not summer. Byron! Sylas! Sean! On me! We’re returning to the castle. Now.”

His poor wife, delirium turning into distress. You shook your head, brow furrowing. As long as you were upset, you were awake. He swallowed the lump in his throat and uncapped the flask.

“Forgive me.”

A large hand gripped your jaw. The wine was forced down your throat in a manner that had you spluttering with tears running down your face. Cregan grimaced the entire time, mumbling soft apologies and stroking your jaw with his thumb. He tried his hardest to ignore the clench in his chest as your hand weakly trying to tug his own away from your mouth.

You needed warmth. You were already feeling so hot you had removed your gloves. He knew this was one of the final symptoms, had seen naked corpses emerge from melting snow that had gone through similar. That if Bear had found you minutes later, this conversation would not be happening. The hot wine would help. It had to, because he didn’t know what he would do if it didn’t.

In a way, it did help. Upon contact with actual heat, the false blaze in your body evaporated. The pain returned, more intense than ever. When you finished coughing, you felt again the aching in your jaw from your chattering teeth. Your shoulders and upper arms were cramping from how tightly you had drawn in on yourself.

“C-Cregan,” You finally managed, “Hurts.”

He breathed a small sigh of relief. “Good,” He bit out, “As long as it hurts, you’re alive. We’ll deal with the rest later.”

The breakaway party departed. You sagged against Cregan, who did his damnedest to hold you up. You weren’t speaking, but he could feel you shivering through the pelt. Shivering didn’t even feel the proper term. Your body was thrumming, vibrating in a manner he could only call disturbing.

As he watched his direwolf speed up, he wondered briefly if he should have allowed you to ride Bear instead of the horse. Bear would have likely been able to get you to Winterfell faster. 

Cregan had ridden Bear. You had ridden Bear. But never for very long. Direwolves were hardly pets, and Bear would let you both ride only for as long as he allowed it, which he wasn’t sure would be long enough to get you back home. And he wasn’t sure how well you’d be able to hold on. 

No, the horse was better, he realized as you broke through the treeline. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Your small group carried on, and he began to allow himself to feel calmer. You were here. You were alive. You would recover.

Until a few minutes later, when your head started to tilt back against him, lolling back and forth in sync with the horse’s gallop.

“Y/N,” He shouted over the wind, “Y/N!”

Your eyes, unfocused, searched for him. You could vaguely make him out, features dimly lit by the torches of two of the men riding at his side.

Your hand gripped his forearm weakly. “You...”

“Me, what about me,” He said, “You need to stay awake.”

Your face twisted, before sluggishly shaking your head. “Tired, Cregan.”

His heart sank. Any moment now, Winterfell would appear on the horizon. His voice dripped with a rough desperation that pierced through the howl of the wind. “You—Gods, woman, you need to fucking stay awake.”

“I can’t… Want…”

“What do you need? Tell me,” He pleaded, “Think about what you need. Tell me. I’ll get it. Think, Y/N, think! Do not fall asleep.”

He looked up from your face to check the path. In the distance, he could see lights. A sound fell from his mouth, an unintelligible groan of relief, of fear, of rare powerlessness. 

“My lord!” One of the men called, “I’ll ride ahead and notify the maester. We must do everything in our power to warm her back up.”

Cregan nodded furiously, nodding his head. “Go!”

The man sped up, and Cregan found himself tugging on the reins to beckon his horse to go faster as well. Full speed in this weather would not do the horses good, especially when they’d been riding in the cold for so long already. But he needed to push. Every second out here was a second too long.

“Almost there, pet,” He cooed, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Home soon.”

“Home,” You murmured in agreement. Your voice sounded so quiet.

He could see the gates. They were opened, a small mass of people huddled together. Anxiously waiting for their lord and lady to come home.

You looked up at Cregan again, and your vision blurred, black spots dancing around you. You needed to tell him. Your eyes fluttered open and fluttered shut. 

“Need to tell you—“

His stomach twisted, half expecting he’d need to reject a weak goodbye. When your eyes rolled up in your head, his heart splintered, gray eyes wide as he watched your every fading movement. “Tell me! Tell me anything, everything, Y/N, please.”

As you crossed through the gate, your head lolled to the side, and Cregan’s screaming faded into nothing.

❅ ❅ ❅

How soft everything was.

How cold.

“…Now a matter of when, not if.”

“So she’ll live?”

“Yes, my lord. I consider it nothing short of a miracle that she survived and kept all of her limbs.”

“Gods be good.”

The disembodied voices sounded muffled and far away. Your body remained still as you woke. Your eyes remained closed, your limbs still curled into a ball. You were wearing one of your wool nightgowns. The fabric was lighter than what you’d been wearing earlier, yet your body felt so heavy. Like you were anchored to the bed.

Your muscles ached. Like you had been wound up so tight it would take centuries to unwind you.

The maester’s voice, somewhere in the room, turned worried, then quiet. “There is another matter I came upon during my examination, my lord…”

You couldn’t make out what was said after. You did, however, hear Cregan’s steady exhale. A sharp sound of unexpectedness, a reveal he had not seen coming. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, my lord. I did not realize until after I was sure she was warm enough, but I am positive.”

Your eyes cracked open. The pair was faced away from you, but you could make out Cregan running a hand down his face. The maester had a hand on your husband’s shoulder, squeezing in reassurance.

When Cregan finally spoke, he had hardened his tone again. “Thank you again, Maester Cromwell. You may go.”

“I suspect Lady Stark will be awake before the end of the day. Come find me when she stirs.”

“Aye,” Cregan agreed, “I will do everything in my power to ensure my wife’s recovery.”

He closed the door behind the old man, and turned back to the room. When he saw your eyes, cracked open, tracking his movements, he froze.

You said nothing—there was hardly any energy in you to do otherwise.

“Y/N,” He sighed. He crossed the room, removing his gloves and kneeling at your bedside. A large hand swept atop the crest of your head, before running down to your cheek. You whispered his name at his warmth, trying to press into his rough fingertips.

Here, close to you, you could make out his features. The circles under his eyes were dark, and put quite plainly, he looked as close to death as you were. His long hair was messy, and you could make out a gentle shadow across his jaw and chin. He always preferred to be clean shaven—he had skipped his morning shave.

“I thought you were going to die,” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “What the fuck happened?”

You opened your mouth, trying to find your voice. After inhaling deeply and trying to clear your throat, it came to you. When you spoke, it hurt.

“Storm caught us off guard…” You winced. “Truly.”

He shook his head, before pressing his forehead to yours. He grabbed one of your hands and clasped it with both of his, grasped as if in prayer, utter devotion. “I have half a mind to lock you in this room and never let you outside again. We thought you were dead, Y/N. We brought you in and nothing we did was warming you up. It took hours.”

“I’m still cold,” You agreed weakly. 

Cregan frowned, noting the temperature of your fingers. “Maester Cromwell said that would happen. Your nerves are shot. You’ll feel cold for the next day or so. We’ll run you a hot bath, the servants will stoke the fire, and I’ll have some broth brought up.”

“Thank you,” You mumbled, “You saved me.”

For the first time in hours, maybe even days, he smiled. It was small, but it was for you, and it was all you needed. “I promised to keep you safe, did I not?”

“You did.” You managed to lift your head, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was gentle, reverent, and one of his hands cradled the back of your neck, the other moving down to your stomach.

“Why didn’t you write and tell me,” He urged when you broke apart. 

“Tell you…?”

His grip on your stomach tightened. Not enough to hurt—never to hurt. But his fingers splayed enough to reclaim, to show possession. “You’re pregnant.”

Your eyes snapped open, finally moving to place your hand over his. You sighed, the moment stolen away.

“I realized when I was at Karhold. My sister’s maester confirmed it as well. I wanted to tell you myself,” You explained, “See your face when I told you.”

He lowered his head, pressing a kiss to your stomach where his hand had just been, knowing that soon it would swell, that soon everyone would know he’d done his duty as your husband.

He pursed his lips. “I’m trying very hard not to be mad at you right now,” He confessed softly, “All of you should have known better. Should have turned around the second the wind picked up.”

“Turn around to where?” You asked gently, not angry at his sudden outburst. “We were closer to Winterfell than we were anywhere else. We had no choice, Cregan.”

He shook his head again, brow furrowed as he kissed you again. He moved his kisses from your lips, to your cheeks, nose, forehead, and ears. Finally, he buried his face in your neck. You shivered at his hot breath against your jugular.

When he spoke, his voice sounded harder than usual. He only got like this when he was holding back the full weight of his emotions. “Never scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” You promised, “It’s over now. I’m here, with you.”

Now it was your turn to stroke his hair. “There were others that went missing,” You remembered, “What of them? My horse?”

He pulled away to look at you. His face had returned to the sternness you always expected of him. “She’s resting. Petyr Manderly and Willas Snow are safe. Ser Petyr has lost two fingers from the cold. Ser Willas is still asleep, as far as I’ve heard.”

You nodded. “Thank the Gods,” You whispered, “One death was too many.”

“He’ll be given a proper funeral tomorrow,” Cregan said.

You looked down, moving to rise. “I want to go—“

Cregan grabbed your shoulders gently, trying to press you back into the mattress. “Absolutely not. You are on strict orders to remain abed.”

You raised an eyebrow. “From the maester?”

“From me,” He insisted, “Your lord husband.”

Finally, you smiled. “Ah,” You managed, “ A good thing I never listen to him anyway.”

He was almost relieved at your defiance. You were the most stubborn woman he’d ever met, the spitting image of every southerner’s mental preconception of a bull-headed northern woman.

“You want to pay your respects, wife, I understand. But you are both recovering from near freezing to death and now in delicate condition, carrying our babe. I cannot have you overexerting yourself like this.”

You sat up. He let you, though it looked almost painful to not push you back.

“I will go, but not for long,” You told him. Not requesting, nor commanding. Informing. “The man died escorting me, in our service. I will not miss his funeral. He gave his life—the least I can do is spare a few moments of mine to give his widow my condolences.”

“Fucking hells, woman.” Cregan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. You did not look away, hardening your gaze.

At last, he relented. “Very well. But you are to stay less than an hour. I will accompany you and carry you back to this room myself if I have to.”

You grabbed his face, cradling his jaw in your cold hands. “Thank you for understanding, Cregan.”

He hummed, kissing the pad of your thumb. “I’ll send for the maester.”

You smiled, glad to finally be home. “Send for some food, too, please. Your son is starving.”

“Or daughter,” Cregan suggested.

Your smile grew wide. “As stubborn as I?”

He gave you another kiss, hands cradling slowly warming fingers. “I would have it no other way.”

Visibility was high, the cold bearable, the roads truly in good condition, and you made it to Dreadfort with few issues. Leaving Dreadfort was where things had taken a turn for the worse. Now, two days later, you weren’t sure you’d even see the walls of Winterfell before freezing to death. 

The storm had truly come from out of nowhere. That morning, you’d risen from your camp with the reassuring knowledge that you were less than a day’s ride from the northern capital. By that evening, you would be in the comfort of your own bedroom, with a hot bath, a belly full of food, and the wall of warmth that was your lord husband to welcome you home. 

Now, the party was falling apart around you. It had become darker as the short winter day drew to a close. The wind had picked up, visibility had dropped with the same dreadfulness of a falling cup you knew would shatter upon impact. It was snowing sideways. 

“How far are we, ser?” You yelled to one of your guards, voice muffled against the yowling of the storm. You were squinting to keep your eyes as free from falling snow as possible, but it also meant seeing even less than what you could currently see. Your horses were quickly becoming panicked.

“I’d wager less than two hours, Lady Stark,” He answered, “But we must make haste.”

The group of you—consisting of you and about twenty bannermen—tried your damnedest to rally, to push forward. Home was so close, you could make it if you hurried. Everyone was rattled and on edge, men snapping at each other at the slightest provocation. The horses were jittering, put off by the cold. 

You, attempting to use your authority over them all to force them to just go faster. The cold made Winterfell feel even further than it currently was, turning the earth elastic. Pulling it far and taut. 

Cregan, we’re coming, you wanted to call, please, let us come home.

And then the tree fell. 

The wind, already blowing so hard, gave an even stronger gust. With a terrible crack, and a long, loud groan, a dead tree came down on you all. You gripped the reins of your horse with all your remaining strength, barely managing to pull it away as the trunk came crashing down. 

BOOM

The sound echoed across the forest, causing your heart to drop. Even more snow kicked up off of the ground as a result of the impact. You watched at least one man get crushed under the massive tree, his cries silenced by the roar of the wind and the angry crash. 

Startled horses scattered, unable to be calmed by their riders. Yours bucked, once, twice, and for the longest second you’ve ever experienced, you thought she would flip, and crush you beneath her. 

Instead, she squealed in terror, and turned to run. You watched as the party disappeared into the storm, wind biting at your cheeks and pulling the hood of your cloak back.

“No,” You demanded, yanking on the reins to no avail, “Go back, go back, go back—!”

❅ ❅ ❅

The papers on his desk had been abandoned about half an hour ago. Cregan Stark was pacing the length of the room. He hadn’t spoken since someone had answered his questions, and the advisors were growing anxious at the unreadable look on his face.

“Is the storm expected to stop?” Cregan asked from the desk.

“The clouds are dense, my lord,” The maester said, “I would expect this storm to last till the morrow, at least.”

His scowl deepened. “And no one has heard from my wife’s party. My wife’s party, who should have been spotted by now, per the raven they sent this morning.”

The maester looked down, unable to meet those intense gray eyes. “...No, my lord. There has been no word from the scouts.”

No one could hear it, but everyone in the room could see the heaving of his chest, the flaring of his nostrils, the occasional twitching of his fingers. His energy pushed outwards, pressing against everyone like a weight on their chests.

Cregan Stark did not get nervous. No, Cregan Stark inspired nervousness in others. And yet, now, at the concept of his wife disappearing into the snow, he seemed to be doing both. Even Bear, the Warden of the North’s large, frightening direwolf paused from licking at his black and brown coat to track his master’s movements.

He stopped, before turning to face the men in his study. The entire room held its breath. 

“We—”

“Lord Stark, my lord—!”

The door slammed open, and a guard entered the room, panting. He had clearly run from the courtyard, cheeks red, cloak dusted with snow. He was panting heavily, leaning against the doorframe for support. At the interruption, Cregan reared on the young man, angry gaze more wolf than man.

“Erik,” He grunted, “What is the meaning–”

“The party is not f-far,” Erik said quickly, breathless, “But something has gone wrong. One man is presumed dead, two men are missing, and L-Lady Stark—”

All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room as the man bent over, coughing with overexertion. Suddenly, with a stalking gait, Cregan was crossing the room, almost lunging for him. Some men stood at the sudden movement, but made no attempt to hold him back. Cregan’s arms shot out, gripping him by the shoulders and shaking. Gray eyes flashed with madness, and he paid no mind to the smaller man’s heaving in his face as he got in close.

“What about Lady Stark, boy? Where the fuck is my wife—”

“Her horse–her horse was startled. It ran further into the woods. They—” More coughing, “—they cannot find her.”

The guard fell to the floor as Cregan dropped him. His eyes were wide, his emotions now tangible: heavy, angered panting, matching with the rhythmic rising and falling of his hulking shoulders.

He looked back at his advisors. “Ready my horse and my wolf at once.”

“My lord, you will freeze–”

His tone left no room for discussion. “Prepare a search party at once. And bring me something from her chambers. Bear will need it to track her scent.”

❅ ❅ ❅

The truest darkness lives in the forests of the North. You were living it now, barely able to see anything except for the rough outlines of tree trunks, which went on for miles. Not that you could see them that far.

You couldn’t tell how long had passed. The snow had never let up. 

The panic didn’t set in immediately. First, you called for your bannermen. Shouted their names over and over until their names began to sound foreign. Don’t panic, you tried to tell yourself, conserve your energy.

It had gotten you nowhere, body beginning to shiver as you realized you were alone and couldn’t make out the path your horse had dragged you down. 

Winterfell is north. Just go north. Which way is north?

The shivering turned painful. Shoulder blades locked stiffly as you hunched into yourself. You could hardly feel your fingers gripping the reins of the horse, even under thick lined leather gloves. You tried to orient yourself, but it proved difficult. Dusk had passed. It was now night. You had no torch or means of making a flame to light your way, the falling snow blocking what little you could see. 

Surrounded by trees, with no discernible landmarks or visible light in the distance to guide you further, you wandered the woods with your horse, trying to follow your horse’s tracks back to your party. Even if they were gone, if you could find the fallen trunk, you would know which way to go. If any of them had followed your path, you would run into them, and you could return together. 

The minutes stretched into hours, a seemingly endless night suffocating you. The feeling in your nose disappeared first. Where once your cheeks burned from the cold, now the sensation bloomed into nothingness. Blowing hot air into your gloves—a constant shaky hah-hah-hah that might have helped this morning—now did next to nothing to relieve your trembling fingers.

You don’t know when your eyelashes froze, but you only noticed when you took note of the foggy white ring encroaching on your peripheral vision. When you blinked, you heard the softest crunch in the way you could hear yourself swallowing or breathing. You could only assume the same was happening with your eyebrows.

And when you realized your horse was taking you in circles, the poor creature also suffering from the cold, you realized you no longer knew what to do. 

The shouts turned to screams. You hadn’t screamed out of fear in years, perhaps not since you were a child. No reason to. This was primal, brewing at your sternum and building up, up, up with every desperate rise and fall of your breath. When the pressure could be held no longer, it escaped you.

Screaming for Cregan, which you knew made no sense. He was even further than your party, but it changed nothing. You screamed and screamed and screamed, until it turned to wailing.

Wailing for your mother, who had died years ago. Who would certainly be of less help than your bannermen or Cregan now, barring divine intervention.  

Mind slowly growing foggy and voice going hoarse, you finally admitted it to yourself. You were lost. Well and truly lost. 

❅ ❅ ❅

The search party assembled and departed with a quickness that would have made Cregan proud of his men under any other circumstances. Now, however, he could only feel anger, concern, determination.

I’m coming, love, he thought, I’ll not let you get away from me.

His men, armed with torches, extra pelts and blankets tucked in their packs, and flasks of hot mulled wine, set off in the direction your bannermen had said they’d last seen you. Your horse, spooked by a fallen tree, had run southwest in the commotion. Before they’d left, a servant had brought him one of your hairbrushes. He’d let Bear sniff some at the hair caught in the bristles, and knew that as long as they found the fallen tree, the shaggy black and brown direwolf would pick up on your scent. 

They rode south. The second they broke into the treeline, Bear sped up. The large creature, at top speed, was faster than the horses, but only in bursts of energy. He seemed to sense Cregan’s desperation. 

He ran so fast he disappeared from Cregan’s line of view. The men around him followed the direwolf, trusting the beast’s instinct. 

Moments later, a howl pierced the air. When they caught up to Bear, there it was: a long, dead tree trunk, pinning a horse and its rider to the now red forest floor.

“Check to see if he’s alive.” He commanded two men. He began to separate his men into small groups. “You lot are to search for the missing Manderly boy. All of you over here, call for Willas Snow. The rest of you, follow Bear! All of you pair up, spread out, call their names. We will find them. I refuse to leave without my wife.”

He felt as though he were watching someone else take command of his being. Someone who knew his men, commanded his men like he did. But Cregan was hardly inside of his own body. Though he cared for his men—present and missing alike—and knew he would grieve the man crushed by the tree, right now he could not bring himself to care about them. His only thoughts were of you, out in the cold, dark wood. 

Somewhere near him, but increasingly far away. There was a pressure growing in his chest, pushing back against the whipping wind, threatening to rise up past his throat and out of his mouth. 

You could be hurt. You could be dead. But he would not rest until he saw you with his own two eyes. 

Around him, the shouting began. Calling for Petyr Manderly. For Willas Snow. For Lady Stark. But Cregan did not call for either of the men, or for the Lady Stark. 

“Y/N! Y/N!”

In the middle of the wood, throat straining as his voice was carried away with the wind, Cregan called for you.

❅ ❅ ❅

When the whispers began, the cold had taken control of your body. The forest seemed to be spinning, the trees duplicating. Even in your delirium, you knew you should not have gotten off of the horse, but at the time you’d thought it was a good idea. You could no longer see her anymore, and you scatteredly wondered if she had gone towards the whispers or succumbed.

Now, you were stumbling through ankle-deep snow, hiking up your stupid gown to trudge through the forest. The cold had passed. 

It almost felt pleasant now. The sensation was similar to the night Queen Rhaenyra had sent a crate of Dornish red wine to Winterfell as a gift for your husband’s 24th name day. The great hall had been filled with more dancing than stumbling, and you spent the entire next day vowing to never drink again. That had been at the end of summer. Summer is kind. Autumn is forgiving. Spring with Cregan is so nice. Winter…

And yet, it was still snowing. Still black. But the whispers were getting louder. You couldn’t make sense of them at first, layered and urgent and pleading. 

Lady Willas Petys Stark Snow Manderly… Snow Lady Manderly Petyr Willas Stark…

That was not your name. Names. The names of your bannermen who were no longer around you. Petyr, Willas, Jon, Ethan, Brandon… Names names names names names think of names—think of lovely names.

In the distance, an orange beacon appeared. How pretty, you thought, pretty. Pret-ty. My husband is pretty. 

You felt drunk, body swaying back and forth as you began to move towards the light—lights? There were two now. Then three. Then a few more.

The whispers grew louder, more urgent. Who were they calling for? He had such a long name, but none of them seemed to know it exactly. Your neck began to sag downwards as you listened to them call for the man with the long name. Petyr Lady Petyr Snow Willas Stark Lady Manderly Snow Lady Lady Stark Lady Lady Lady—

Y/N.

Your neck snapped up, head turning frantically to search for who had whispered your name.

Y/N.

You froze. You knew that voice. The inflection of your name. 

It wasn’t a whisper.

“Y/N!”

“C—”

He was here he was here he was here he was here. And if he was here, then—

You watched, almost entranced, as a large black mass bolted out of the dark, barreling into you, tipping you over. You landed on your back in the snow. The snow, which was warm. Hot, even. 

Forcing yourself onto your elbows, your gaze landed on Bear. You tried your hardest to keep yourself focused on your husband’s direwolf, but the forest was running circles around you, and your body felt like it was on fire. 

When he tilted his snout up, letting loose a howl long and urgent, you barely heard it. This was a dream. This had to be a dream. Any moment now, you would wake, and be in your bed in Winterfell.

As you moved onto your knees, you pulled your gloves off. Your fingers were ablaze and you wanted to pet the beast. Stumbling onto your feet, you held up a hand, mouth gaping as you tried to ensure you weren’t melting from the heat. When you saw you weren’t, you reached for Bear. 

“Here! My lord, she’s over here!” 

Time slowed to a glacial pace. Your movements dragged as if you were underwater, all sounds muffled and scrambled. If you were underwater, they were above the surface.

You didn’t touch Bear. He moved to the side. A horse skidded to a stop in front of you, the movement lasting years. It took so long that it didn’t even frighten you. All you could do was look up at the angel mounted on the stallion, face lit by an army of torches suddenly surrounding you.

Him.

He unmounted the horse, barking unintelligible orders to the men around him. Something about a missing horse. 

Then his eyes landed on you, and you damn near fell over again. When he spoke, you understood what he said. How could you not? It was one of your favorite words, one of your favorite things he called you. 

Always with the gentlest tone, no matter the time or place. Against your hair early in the morning, in your ear at your side at supper, against your throat in the middle of the night. The first word to break through the noise, bring you back. To pull you out of the water and allow you to gasp for air.

“Wife.”

You would answer. Yes, of course you would answer. You would always answer when he called. Cregan. Husband. My love.

“C—“ 

The harsh sound punched out of you, a shaky, croaky kuhhh of a dead woman newly reawakened. His eyes, already alert at the state of you, grew even wider. Immediately, he engulfed you, having to bite back the shock at just how cold your body was. He smoothed a hand over your hair, chest deflating at the reassurance of having him in your arms.

“Y/N,” He rasped, “What happened?”

You couldn’t say. You were just happy he was here. Again, you tried to say his name. “Cuhhh—C-Cre—“

“Yes, yes, sweet girl, I’m here,” He insisted, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging, “We need to get you home now.”

He had never seen you like this. And by the grace of the Old Gods, he would never see you like this again. Slurring your speech, lips and fingers—where were your gloves?—a blueish gray, frost clinging to your brow, your hair, your lashes. 

You were manhandled onto the stallion. Quickly, you were growing agitated. A pelt was draped over your shoulders, much to your dismay. He mounted it behind you, before trying to hand you a flask.

“Drink,” He commanded, “‘S warm.”

Deliriously, you shook your head, weakly pushing it away. “S…”

His stern tone dropped lower, now a pleading undertone to it. “Please, love. You must drink this now.”

“Summer.”

He immediately knew what you meant. “No. No, it’s not summer. Byron! Sylas! Sean! On me! We’re returning to the castle. Now.”

His poor wife, delirium turning into distress. You shook your head, brow furrowing. As long as you were upset, you were awake. He swallowed the lump in his throat and uncapped the flask.

“Forgive me.”

A large hand gripped your jaw. The wine was forced down your throat in a manner that had you spluttering with tears running down your face. Cregan grimaced the entire time, mumbling soft apologies and stroking your jaw with his thumb. He tried his hardest to ignore the clench in his chest as your hand weakly trying to tug his own away from your mouth.

You needed warmth. You were already feeling so hot you had removed your gloves. He knew this was one of the final symptoms, had seen naked corpses emerge from melting snow that had gone through similar. That if Bear had found you minutes later, this conversation would not be happening. The hot wine would help. It had to, because he didn’t know what he would do if it didn’t.

In a way, it did help. Upon contact with actual heat, the false blaze in your body evaporated. The pain returned, more intense than ever. When you finished coughing, you felt again the aching in your jaw from your chattering teeth. Your shoulders and upper arms were cramping from how tightly you had drawn in on yourself.

“C-Cregan,” You finally managed, “Hurts.”

He breathed a small sigh of relief. “Good,” He bit out, “As long as it hurts, you’re alive. We’ll deal with the rest later.”

The breakaway party departed. You sagged against Cregan, who did his damnedest to hold you up. You weren’t speaking, but he could feel you shivering through the pelt. Shivering didn’t even feel the proper term. Your body was thrumming, vibrating in a manner he could only call disturbing.

As he watched his direwolf speed up, he wondered briefly if he should have allowed you to ride Bear instead of the horse. Bear would have likely been able to get you to Winterfell faster. 

Cregan had ridden Bear. You had ridden Bear. But never for very long. Direwolves were hardly pets, and Bear would let you both ride only for as long as he allowed it, which he wasn’t sure would be long enough to get you back home. And he wasn’t sure how well you’d be able to hold on. 

No, the horse was better, he realized as you broke through the treeline. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Your small group carried on, and he began to allow himself to feel calmer. You were here. You were alive. You would recover.

Until a few minutes later, when your head started to tilt back against him, lolling back and forth in sync with the horse’s gallop.

“Y/N,” He shouted over the wind, “Y/N!”

Your eyes, unfocused, searched for him. You could vaguely make him out, features dimly lit by the torches of two of the men riding at his side.

Your hand gripped his forearm weakly. “You...”

“Me, what about me,” He said, “You need to stay awake.”

Your face twisted, before sluggishly shaking your head. “Tired, Cregan.”

His heart sank. Any moment now, Winterfell would appear on the horizon. His voice dripped with a rough desperation that pierced through the howl of the wind. “You—Gods, woman, you need to fucking stay awake.”

“I can’t… Want…”

“What do you need? Tell me,” He pleaded, “Think about what you need. Tell me. I’ll get it. Think, Y/N, think! Do not fall asleep.”

He looked up from your face to check the path. In the distance, he could see lights. A sound fell from his mouth, an unintelligible groan of relief, of fear, of rare powerlessness. 

“My lord!” One of the men called, “I’ll ride ahead and notify the maester. We must do everything in our power to warm her back up.”

Cregan nodded furiously, nodding his head. “Go!”

The man sped up, and Cregan found himself tugging on the reins to beckon his horse to go faster as well. Full speed in this weather would not do the horses good, especially when they’d been riding in the cold for so long already. But he needed to push. Every second out here was a second too long.

“Almost there, pet,” He cooed, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Home soon.”

“Home,” You murmured in agreement. Your voice sounded so quiet.

He could see the gates. They were opened, a small mass of people huddled together. Anxiously waiting for their lord and lady to come home.

You looked up at Cregan again, and your vision blurred, black spots dancing around you. You needed to tell him. Your eyes fluttered open and fluttered shut. 

“Need to tell you—“

His stomach twisted, half expecting he’d need to reject a weak goodbye. When your eyes rolled up in your head, his heart splintered, gray eyes wide as he watched your every fading movement. “Tell me! Tell me anything, everything, Y/N, please.”

As you crossed through the gate, your head lolled to the side, and Cregan’s screaming faded into nothing.

❅ ❅ ❅

How soft everything was.

How cold.

“…Now a matter of when, not if.”

“So she’ll live?”

“Yes, my lord. I consider it nothing short of a miracle that she survived and kept all of her limbs.”

“Gods be good.”

The disembodied voices sounded muffled and far away. Your body remained still as you woke. Your eyes remained closed, your limbs still curled into a ball. You were wearing one of your wool nightgowns. The fabric was lighter than what you’d been wearing earlier, yet your body felt so heavy. Like you were anchored to the bed.

Your muscles ached. Like you had been wound up so tight it would take centuries to unwind you.

The maester’s voice, somewhere in the room, turned worried, then quiet. “There is another matter I came upon during my examination, my lord…”

You couldn’t make out what was said after. You did, however, hear Cregan’s steady exhale. A sharp sound of unexpectedness, a reveal he had not seen coming. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, my lord. I did not realize until after I was sure she was warm enough, but I am positive.”

Your eyes cracked open. The pair was faced away from you, but you could make out Cregan running a hand down his face. The maester had a hand on your husband’s shoulder, squeezing in reassurance.

When Cregan finally spoke, he had hardened his tone again. “Thank you again, Maester Cromwell. You may go.”

“I suspect Lady Stark will be awake before the end of the day. Come find me when she stirs.”

“Aye,” Cregan agreed, “I will do everything in my power to ensure my wife’s recovery.”

He closed the door behind the old man, and turned back to the room. When he saw your eyes, cracked open, tracking his movements, he froze.

You said nothing—there was hardly any energy in you to do otherwise.

“Y/N,” He sighed. He crossed the room, removing his gloves and kneeling at your bedside. A large hand swept atop the crest of your head, before running down to your cheek. You whispered his name at his warmth, trying to press into his rough fingertips.

Here, close to you, you could make out his features. The circles under his eyes were dark, and put quite plainly, he looked as close to death as you were. His long hair was messy, and you could make out a gentle shadow across his jaw and chin. He always preferred to be clean shaven—he had skipped his morning shave.

“I thought you were going to die,” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “What the fuck happened?”

You opened your mouth, trying to find your voice. After inhaling deeply and trying to clear your throat, it came to you. When you spoke, it hurt.

“Storm caught us off guard…” You winced. “Truly.”

He shook his head, before pressing his forehead to yours. He grabbed one of your hands and clasped it with both of his, grasped as if in prayer, utter devotion. “I have half a mind to lock you in this room and never let you outside again. We thought you were dead, Y/N. We brought you in and nothing we did was warming you up. It took hours.”

“I’m still cold,” You agreed weakly. 

Cregan frowned, noting the temperature of your fingers. “Maester Cromwell said that would happen. Your nerves are shot. You’ll feel cold for the next day or so. We’ll run you a hot bath, the servants will stoke the fire, and I’ll have some broth brought up.”

“Thank you,” You mumbled, “You saved me.”

For the first time in hours, maybe even days, he smiled. It was small, but it was for you, and it was all you needed. “I promised to keep you safe, did I not?”

“You did.” You managed to lift your head, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was gentle, reverent, and one of his hands cradled the back of your neck, the other moving down to your stomach.

“Why didn’t you write and tell me,” He urged when you broke apart. 

“Tell you…?”

His grip on your stomach tightened. Not enough to hurt—never to hurt. But his fingers splayed enough to reclaim, to show possession. “You’re pregnant.”

Your eyes snapped open, finally moving to place your hand over his. You sighed, the moment stolen away.

“I realized when I was at Karhold. My sister’s maester confirmed it as well. I wanted to tell you myself,” You explained, “See your face when I told you.”

He lowered his head, pressing a kiss to your stomach where his hand had just been, knowing that soon it would swell, that soon everyone would know he’d done his duty as your husband.

He pursed his lips. “I’m trying very hard not to be mad at you right now,” He confessed softly, “All of you should have known better. Should have turned around the second the wind picked up.”

“Turn around to where?” You asked gently, not angry at his sudden outburst. “We were closer to Winterfell than we were anywhere else. We had no choice, Cregan.”

He shook his head again, brow furrowed as he kissed you again. He moved his kisses from your lips, to your cheeks, nose, forehead, and ears. Finally, he buried his face in your neck. You shivered at his hot breath against your jugular.

When he spoke, his voice sounded harder than usual. He only got like this when he was holding back the full weight of his emotions. “Never scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” You promised, “It’s over now. I’m here, with you.”

Now it was your turn to stroke his hair. “There were others that went missing,” You remembered, “What of them? My horse?”

He pulled away to look at you. His face had returned to the sternness you always expected of him. “She’s resting. Petyr Manderly and Willas Snow are safe. Ser Petyr has lost two fingers from the cold. Ser Willas is still asleep, as far as I’ve heard.”

You nodded. “Thank the Gods,” You whispered, “One death was too many.”

“He’ll be given a proper funeral tomorrow,” Cregan said.

You looked down, moving to rise. “I want to go—“

Cregan grabbed your shoulders gently, trying to press you back into the mattress. “Absolutely not. You are on strict orders to remain abed.”

You raised an eyebrow. “From the maester?”

“From me,” He insisted, “Your lord husband.”

Finally, you smiled. “Ah,” You managed, “ A good thing I never listen to him anyway.”

He was almost relieved at your defiance. You were the most stubborn woman he’d ever met, the spitting image of every southerner’s mental preconception of a bull-headed northern woman.

“You want to pay your respects, wife, I understand. But you are both recovering from near freezing to death and now in delicate condition, carrying our babe. I cannot have you overexerting yourself like this.”

You sat up. He let you, though it looked almost painful to not push you back.

“I will go, but not for long,” You told him. Not requesting, nor commanding. Informing. “The man died escorting me, in our service. I will not miss his funeral. He gave his life—the least I can do is spare a few moments of mine to give his widow my condolences.”

“Fucking hells, woman.” Cregan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. You did not look away, hardening your gaze.

At last, he relented. “Very well. But you are to stay less than an hour. I will accompany you and carry you back to this room myself if I have to.”

You grabbed his face, cradling his jaw in your cold hands. “Thank you for understanding, Cregan.”

He hummed, kissing the pad of your thumb. “I’ll send for the maester.”

You smiled, glad to finally be home. “Send for some food, too, please. Your son is starving.”

“Or daughter,” Cregan suggested.

Your smile grew wide. “As stubborn as I?”

He gave you another kiss, hands cradling slowly warming fingers. “I would have it no other way.”

-

Five years later

The dragonpit was filled with laughter that morning. Y/N was playing around with her dragon Armax. She supposedly went there to train and learn some new things from the dragonkeepers but it was just a ruse to get away from the castle.

Armax was a beautiful dragon with pale green scales. He was very playful and carefree, and he was often seen with Syrax, Rhaenyra's dragon. Y/N visited him multiple times a week, knowing he gets lonely without her there.

After he ate, Y/N rested on his front legs. They were both tired from the morning shenanigans. She jolted awake when she heard a familiar shriek. Caraxes. Daemon came home. She instantly felt joy as she spotted a red dragon landing outside. Y/N rushed to greet her uncle, excited to see him. 

“Daemon!” Y/N greeted cheerfully as he got down from his dragon. The rogue prince turned around at her call, a pleased smile crossing his features. 

“Y/N,” he opened his arms to get a hug. Y/N held him tightly as if he was going to disappear. “I have missed you, princess.”

“And I missed you too.” Y/N pulled away slightly to smile at him. “Are you staying a while?”

“I want to stay here permanently but your father will probably exile me again.” They both laughed. Viserys had exiled Daemon multiple times, only to accept his return later.

Caraxes went inside the pit and was met with a playful huff, which made him snort with annoyance. It was known amongst the family that Armax and Caraxes got along great but one lacked the patience to keep up with the other.

Daemon and Y/N walked to the castle together. He could not stop glancing her way. He loved her with all his heart. He could be described, by some, as a man with no feelings or regard for anyone in his life but that was far from the truth. Daemon valued his family and cared very deeply for each of them. However, Y/N has always been his favorite. He always brought her the finest silk, the most beautiful jewelry, amazing books, and anything she could desire. If she wanted it, she would get it.

-

The Heir’s Tournament was a success. While men were jousting and getting favors from the highborns, Queen Aemma successfully delivered a male child, prince Baelon. Y/N and Rhaenyra were both glad, their father got what he always wanted and now he would leave them be for a while. It was great.

One person that was not happy was Daemon Targaryen. His ego was crushed because he lost to a knight. He went to the Street of Silk to try and forget about the awful event. He had so many plans to execute after what he thought would be an easy victory but now he did not wish to do anything besides being with Mysaria and sink into his cups.

Back in the Red Keep, the celebrations were done for the night. The king and the queen were in their quarters, celebrating privately the birth of their son. Rhaenyra and Alicent were gushing about all the knights they saw. And the Velaryons had already retired to their chambers to rest, except one: Laenor Velaryon.

Y/N and Laenor have always been very close. They got along great and were protective of each other. Armax and Seasmoke got along as well since they often fly together. Y/N would visit Driftmark constantly to visit him.

They still had a lot of energy from the day and some playful jousting sounded like a fantastic idea when Laenor brought it up. It was quiet, probably the knights were changing shifts. They devised a plan early on: get the necessary armor parts and no saddles for the horses. There indeed was no time to do everything properly, it would take too long and by the time they finished, someone would probably know what they were up to.

Y/N and Laenor were quietly giggling at how small he looked with the breastplate on. Y/N got on her horse without hers, telling herself she would put it on after the practice run. Laenor got on his and the “match” started. 

It was difficult to keep their laughter down but it was very fun. They got comfortable after a few tries and kept going without breaks. As they were approaching each other, Y/N heard a gate opening. She turned her head to take a quick look and did not see what was in front of her. Laenor’s lance hit her shoulder hard, knocking her off the horse. She hit her head on the divider, dropping to the dirt with a sickening thud. 

“Y/N?” Laenor called out for her but there was no response. He got down and approached her nervously. “Cousin?” He did not even dare to shake her awake, remembering something about not moving someone that is injured. “Y/N, wake up. Please wake up.”

She did not wake up. Laenor tried for what felt like hours to no avail. He started crying for help, for anyone to come help them, alerting many Kingsguards that were close to the fields.

-

Daemon had returned after a failed night with Mysaria. He was looking for Y/N to give her a gift. He planned to give it to her after his victory but since it did not go in his favor, it had to wait. It was a beautiful valyrian steel tiara, adorned with diamonds and red stones, perfect for a princess.

The rogue prince was confused as to where she could be. She was not in her chambers, nor the library or the kitchens. He doubted she was out flying with Armax, knowing her father would not approve of her going out so late in the night.

With annoyance, he gave up on trying to find her. He resigned himself and accepted that he would just give it to her later. As he was heading to his quarters, he spotted maids frantically running along the corridors, one heading for Y/N’s bedchamber.

His blood ran cold like ice. He rushed there to find the maester preparing his tools. Before he could even ask what happened, two Kingsguards carried Y/N in. Daemon gasped in anguish, assuming the worst. Was she dead?

Behind them, was Laenor, who was crying. Daemon kneeled in front of him. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded, making the boy cry more. He wrapped his arms around Daemon’s neck. He wanted answers but knew Laenor was too scared to answer him. 

By now, the entire family was awake, waiting in the main sitting area for answers. The only ones allowed in the Y/N’s chambers were the king and the queen. Poor Laenor was clutching to his mother, quietly crying. He still had not said what happened but from what Daemon heard from the Kingsguard, it was all an accident.

It felt like hours after when the maester told Daemon and Rhaenyra they could come in. Y/N was laying on her bed with her shoulder and head wrapped. “Princess Y/N received a hard blow to her head and her shoulder is broken. For now, she has to be monitored, since I do not know the extent of her injuries.”

-

Y/N was awake a few hours later. The maester was fussing over her since she was lethargic and disoriented. Queen Aemma had left to rest, since she just had a child, but promised to return the next morning. Rhaenyra was sent to her chambers, although she did fight about wanting to stay with her sister. And Viserys went to talk to Laenor and his parents. 

Daemon was the only one left. He sat in a corner, staring at the girl. The anxiety and fear he felt were slowly turning into pure anger. He saw her move, wincing as she pulled and tried to get situated on the bed.

Y/N, despite how she was feeling, was waiting for him to say something. “Daemon?” She called for him, almost in a whisper.

He stood up, stalking over to the bed. “How could you do that to yourself?” He was mad and he was done hiding it. “You could have died tonight.”

“We were just playing,” she lowered her head to stare at her hands. 

“Playing? You call that playing? Getting on a horse with no armor to joust is not playing!” Daemon pinched the top of his nose. “You are so reckless. I never wanted to admit it but it is true. You have no care for your own life or others. Laenor could be the one in your spot at this moment.”

Y/N did not know what to answer. She knew she would get scolded but she assumed it was going to be by her parents or Rhaenys but him? He had never scolded her before. He always supported her crazy antics.

“I will tell your father to keep a close eye on you. You cannot be trusted.”

“This is not any of your business,” she challenged him. Daemon turned to look at her, his eyes darkened with fury. “You only do this to get on my father's good side.”

“It is my business, Y/N.”

“I do not see how or why it is.

“Because I love you.” What? “I have loved you for so long and it terrifies me that I could lose you any second.”

“You love me?”

“I do. I always have,” he confessed. “It pains me greatly that this is the way I had to tell you.”

Y/N stared at him with furrowed brows. “You are lying.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes, Daemon, you have,” she replied. He stood there, staring at the ground. 

“I am not lying about this,” he promised. Y/N still did not believe him. “I love you, and I will prove it to you.”

//

Taglist:

She remembers it clearly. Six years ago, the entire family was at the dragonpit, visiting the dragons. Since Alicent was also present, due to Rhaenyra’s insistence, Y/N wandered off by herself. She could hear hushed laughs behind her. Y/N saw them looking at her while whispering, which set her off completely. It all ended in blows. The adults were bewildered, they truly did not know what to do or say. Corlys rushed his daughter away, demanding to know what caused it. After Y/N explained, he did not understand much, but knew that those fights were common with girls her age. The issue was not forgotten by them. Viserys and Rhaenys discussed what to do, and the best solution was to keep them separated. And it has been that way ever since.

At High Tide, Y/N was beside herself. Her father had just told her the news: she was betrothed to be married. Once Corlys left her bedchamber, Y/N sat down to sob. There had not been conversations of marriage at all in the castle, at least for her. Her parents decided to not push the subject, knowing it would cause a fight and Y/N possibly leaving Driftmark for good.

This is her fault. We are in this mess because of her.

-

The following days, both families met to discuss the “royal wedding”, as Viserys liked to call it. Y/N was nowhere to be seen. Rhaenyra was looking for her. 

She found her eventually, sitting on a rock at the beach. “There you are. I have been looking all over for you.” Rhaenyra was panting, it was a long walk. “Have you decided what decor you want… for our wedding?”

Y/N looked at her with a mixed expression of disgust and annoyance. “Do it yourself. We are in this situation because of you.”

Rhaenyra was taken aback. “What?”

“We are being forced into this marriage because you decided to have fun and do questionable things. Do not get me wrong, having fun is important, but actions always have consequences. And here they are.” Y/N ranted, standing up and getting in her face. “Oh, and do not think I have forgotten about what you did at the dragonpit. Do not talk to me unless it is necessary, dear wife.”

Rhaenyra was speechless. Yes, they did not like each other, that was clear. But it had been years since that incident. She thought that Y/N would have put that behind her. It was now clear that the marriage would be hell.

-

Rhaenyra and Y/N moved together to Dragonstone, along with Syrax and Jarax who surprisingly got along quite well. It was a sight to see, dragonkeepers were surprised to find them laying together at first, a shocking sight, especially since their riders could not stand each other.

Rhaenyra and Y/N had separate bedchambers. It was clear that they could not be in the same space for a long period of time. For meals, they ate at the same table, but far from each other. They did not see each other much during the day, but when they did, it was a fight.

-

There were bakers in Dragonstone per Rhaenyra’s request. This meant they had delicious cakes and sweets available every day.

Y/N walked to the dining room, finding many cakes. As she looked through the table to see what to try first, she spotted lemon cakes… without any lemons on top.

“Rhaenyra,” Y/N huffed out, grabbing the tray of lemon cakes and marching towards Rhaenyra's bedchamber.

Her wife sat on the floor, many books opened and others discarded, making a mess. Her face turned into a scowl when she saw Y/N walk in, without knocking. “What do you want?”

“You are insufferable, I hope you know that,” Y/N stated, throwing the tray without care on top of her lap. “Eat the entire cake, not just the lemons. If you wanted a lemon slice, go ask for one. If you pull this stupidity again, the bakers will be dragon food.”

Rhaenyra was speechless at this outburst but deep down, not really surprised. After Y/N left huffing, she laughed. Making her mad was easy.

-

Rhaenyra loved having fresh flowers around the castle. The space feels full of life. 

In one particular area, there was a table with many trinkets. Rhaenyra placed a vase of beautiful roses, brought from Highgarden. It looked lovely. Please with her new addition, she left to find a book in the library. 

However, when she returned, the vase was not there anymore. “Y/N,” Rhaenyra grumbled. The vase was now on a table in the middle of the sitting area. It did look beautiful but that was not where it should be. Rhaenyra moved it back to its original place.

The silent fight went on for hours, whenever they came out and saw the vase, they moved it where they wanted it to be. Rhaenyra had enough.

She barged into Y/N’s bedchamber, holding the roses. Rhaenyra lifted the vase so Y/N could see it. “Hope you had a nice look, because I am throwing them out. I will not be getting any more flowers thanks to you not keeping your hands to yourself.”

When she left, Y/N smiled, feeling relaxed. She did like making Rhaenyra mad, as payback for the lemon cakes.

-

At last, everything changed.

Y/N was on her way to get Jarax, so they could fly along the coast of Dragonstone together. She loved the way the breeze felt against her skin. The stuffy castle was driving her mad. She prefers to be outside, enjoying nature. Rhaenyra was at one of the balconies, looking at her from a distance. It has been a long four months, full of constant petty fights. In that time, they had also received letters from the family, asking how things were and telling them what was happening back home.

Jarax layed on the edge of a small cliff, looking rather discontent. Maybe he needed this as well. “Hello, handsome boy. I missed you.” He let out a soft grunt, before nudging his head towards her. Y/N caressed his cheek. “Ready for a little fun?” When she got on his back, he extended his wings to take off but she felt him flinch, hard. Y/N held onto his back as tight as she could but to no avail. He gave a hard turn, taking Y/N by surprise and making her slip off.

Rhaenyra shot up from her seat when she saw Y/N plummeting into the water. She ran through the castle, screaming to the servants and the knights of what had happened. Her heart was beating uncontrollably, tears already falling out of her eyes.

Time seemed to stop in Dragonstone. As Rhaenyra was almost reaching the beach, she saw knights going into the water. Y/N was not far from the shore. Fortunately, the distance of the fall was not too far either. 

A knight named Gregory carried Y/N onto the sand. She gripping his shoulder, clearly still in shock. She coughed loudly, probably feeling uncomfortable from having swallowed too much water.

“Y/N!” Rhaenyra cried, almost throwing herself on top of her. She wanted to ask so many things at once but the words would not come out. She was a nervous wreck, touching Y/N everywhere, trying to find an injury.

“Princess, it is alright,” her maid Annora said, while placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Rhaenyra practically pulled wife onto her lap, rubbing her back softly, while Y/N tried to catch her breath. “We will get the Maester.”

They do not know how long they sat at the beach. The couple felt like it was hours but in reality, only minutes went by. Gregory carried Y/N back to her bedchamber, where the Maester Gerardys was waiting. 

As he got to work, Rhaenyra stood in the corner, motionless. The anxiety was too much for her at the moment. Yet she would not dare to open her mouth. Y/N came first, always.

“Excuse me, Princess,” a knight called out, snapping her out of her trance. “The dragonkeeper would like to speak with you.”

Rhaenyra nodded, leaving the room immediately. The man was standing farther from the door, for privacy. “Speak.”

“We examined Jarax. It appears his wing had been injured. He had not complained about it, therefore we do not know if it was a recent injury. It is possible he tried to ignore the pain, for the sake of going for a ride with Lady Y/N.”

Rhaenyra pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to get herself together. “Where is he now?”

“Laying with Syrax, she did not want to leave his side,” the keeper confessed. Rhaenyra nodded and told him he was dismissed.

-

Rhaenyra went back to the bedchamber after the Maester left. Y/N was in her nightshift, wrapped in furs. “Hello.”

Y/N smiled softly. “You came.” She said, feeling a little surprised.

“Of course I was,” Rhaenyra said, sitting next to her on the bed. “I was not leaving you here by yourself. You are my wife, after all.”

Their hearts fluttered at that. Hearing her say those words was strange but it felt right. After many years of fights and constant bickering, that hate progressed into love and admiration. Quite possibly, all those fights they had since arriving at Dragonstone felt like they were not fighting at all, just mere teasing each other.

“You really scared me today,” Rhaenyra whispered, picking at invisible fuss on the fur. “I thought I lost you.”

“I am alright, it was just a scare. Nothing to worry about,” Y/N assured her. “I am lucky my father showed me what to do if I fell in water, otherwise it would be very different.” After a pause, she asked, “did they say what happened to Jarax?”

“His wing was injured,” Rhaenyra informed her, causing her to gasp. “It was minor but apparently painful. I think he got it while playing with Syrax.”

Y/N giggled. “Seems like something that would happen to him.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Y/N had stood up, despite Rhaenyra's inaudible protests. She watched as Y/N walked around her chamber holding a small chest in her hand. 

“Here, this is for you,” Y/N beamed, happily pushing the chest onto Rhaenyra's hands.

Somewhat unsure, she opened it. It was two beautiful gold rings with red stones. “Where did you get this? They're lovely.”

“Remember that day I left after our stupid fight? I went to Dorne… Found these as I walked around the city.”

Rhaenyra did not say anything, yet she slid one ring on her own finger and grabbed Y/N’s hand, doing the same for her. 

Y/N grabbed her hands, softly pulling her up from the bed. “Tell me what is troubling you.”

With shame, Rhaenyra lowered her head. “Since we arrived to Dragonstone, I have been thinking about our fight when we were younger… I was a fool. Alicent was talking about your dress, saying some idiotic thing I do not even remember anymore. I was so immature at that time, but if it was now, I’d have her head on a spike for speaking about you that way.”

“Rhaenyra, I-” Y/N tried to speak but fell quiet when she felt her wife caressing her cheek.

“I love you, Y/N,” she confessed, finally feeling as if weight was lifted from her shoulders. “I always have. I guess that spending all these years fighting made me love you even more.”

“I am glad you finally admit it. I thought you never would,” Y/N replied cheekily, making Rhaenyra roll her eyes. “I love you as well. I am sorry for taking this long to actually say it.”

They looked into each other’s eyes and it was clear, they were both nervous. Feeling brave, Rhaenyra traced her jaw with her fingers and felt Y/N leaning towards her touch. Their lips finally pressed together, they felt soft. Rhaenyra's heart pounding in her chest, she had wanted to be with her wife for so long. 

It was their second kiss, the first one they shared was at their wedding. It was passive at first, they did not want to make each other uncomfortable. As they pulled apart, Y/N asked “are you alright?” It was not answered with words, but with another kiss. Not as shy as the previous one, hands already moving all over her body. Rhaenyra finally feeling sure of what to do. 

There was anticipation in Y/N’s eyes as Rhaenyra carefully laid her down on the bed, laying on top of her. She needed her, they needed each other. Their bodies touched, sending shocks through them. 

Y/N kissed her passionately, their tongues dancing together. She had imagined this so many times, but nothing came close to what she was experiencing in that moment. Y/N slowly started to pull down Rhaenyra’s shift, the need of feeling her skin was overwhelming. 

Rhaenyra ran a hand up her leg, enjoying the feeling of her body twitching. She hicked them up, making Y/N wrap them around her waist. As she trailed her hand higher up on Y/N’s thigh, she let out a soft moan. Rhaenyra reveled in it. She loved to know exactly how she was making her feel.

The lust and need for each other grew with each second, they could not stand it any longer. Rhaenyra tore off both nightshifts, feeling impatient. She was hungry for her wife. Y/N’s heart raced as she took in the sight of her. Her eyes were dark as she tried to memorize Rhaenyra's body. 

They kissed again. Y/N held onto Rhaenyra's hands as she felt her kisses going from her cheek, to her jaw, and to her neck. Y/N moaned and shuddered as Rhaenyra softly rocked her hips into her.

Six years later

Y/N sat in the gardens with her younger brothers Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys. She was reading to them but they fell asleep. Life at Dragonstone had been peaceful, being away from King’s Landing was the best for everyone, especially after what happened after Laena’s funeral. 

Part of her wishes to be in Harrenhal with her brothers, looking after their father’s castle. Harwin's death was devastating for her. Rhaenyra and Laenor got married sooner than expected, after the news that she was with child. Everything was perfect until Y/N was born without silver hair. They tried to dismiss it, claiming it was because of Princess Rhaenys’ mother. The speculations about who their real father was were growing more as Rhaenyra gave birth to three boys, all with dark hair. Y/N found out at a very young age that Harwin was her father. He always treated her differently, and part of her knew it was not because she was a girl. Rhaenyra had no other choice but to admit it, knowing her daughter was stubborn and would not drop the matter.

Ser Harwin knew he could not act like a father in public, yet that did not stop him from treating Y/N well. He would give in to her many child-like demands, which consisted mostly of getting savory cakes and being carried around. He would also give her a single flower whenever they were alone during their walks along the Red Keep. Harwin would say “Here you go, Princess,” as he placed it on her hair. Y/N kept all of them in a small jewelry chest, along with many other gifts he gave her through the years. She treasured them all. 

Daemon was quietly approaching her after noticing the three young boys laying around her. “Darling,” he whispered. Y/N carefully got up, trying to not disturb them. Daemon grabbed her hand and pulled her away.

“What is it, father? Did something happen?” She asked, noticing he had a worried expression.

“We have to return to King’s Landing.” 

“Why?” Y/N sighed with annoyance. 

“Y/N,” Daemon warned, causing her to roll her eyes. “Vaemond has decided he wants the Driftmark throne. By doing this, he will also bring up Lucerys’ legitimacy.”

“What about grandfather? Can he do something about it?” Daemon shook his head.

“The greens are the ones making the decisions,” he pointed out. “We need to be there and prevent Vaemond from taking what he wants.”

Y/N nodded, now scared at the possible outcome. Daemon noticed immediately, caressing her face as he gave her a reassuring smile. “It will go our way, I promise.”

-

Every fear Y/N had was solidified the second they arrived at the Red Keep and nobody was there to greet them. Her parents went to see the King, while she went to the training yard with Jace and Luke, who was getting nervous from all the stares they were receiving.

“What’s your problem?” Jace asked him while looking at all the weapons that they had for training.

“Everyone's staring at us,” Luke replied, fidgeting. 

“So?” Y/N scoffed.

“No one would question me being heir to Driftmark... if... if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong.” Y/N stared at him in disappointment. She understood what he felt and how Vaemond’s claims made all of them look yet that did not make her feel less sad.

“It doesn't matter what they think.” Jace reminded him before Y/N could say anything. 

Their conversation was interrupted by the cheering crowd behind them. As they approached in curiosity, they saw Ser Criston fighting with a man with long silver hair. In all honesty, it was impressive.

“Well done, my Prince,” Criston congratulated him. “You'll be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don't give a shit about tourneys.” The man turned around to face them, it was Aemond. Y/N felt Luke grabbing her hand, it was something he did when he was very nervous. “Nephews, niece... have you come to train?”

Aemond was staring at her, she was more beautiful than he remembered. Y/N was avoiding his gaze, making him smirk. If only things had gone their way, they would have been married at this moment. They could have been happy.

-

The air in the throne room felt tense. 

“I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.” The King had appeared, surprising everyone. Y/N smiled at her grandfather’s strength, she knew he was in so much pain but he loved his daughter and his grandchildren. “And, in addition, I declare that Prince Aemond and Princess Y/N are still betrothed and will be wed before the next full moon.”

Y/N felt her heart drop to her stomach. Daemon and Rhaenyra looked at her with worry. They knew what Aemond had become, they knew what he was capable of. On the other side of the throne room, the Prince’s chest filled with pride at the King’s command. He gazed over at his future wife, who was also looking his way. Her expression was unreadable, he did not know if she felt happy or sad. They were both so concentrated on each other that a yell from Vaemond Velaryon snapped them out of their thoughts.

“Her children are bastards!” Y/N held onto Jace’s arm, knowing that he was capable of throwing himself on top of Vaemond to beat him. “And she... is... a whοre.”

The crowd behind them gasped. This was the highest of treasons and he said it all in front of the king. “I... will have your tongue for that.” Viserys threatened him, but Daemon had other plans.

He sliced off his head with Darksister. Y/N flinched, hiding her head on Jace’s shoulder. “He can keep his tongue.”

Aemond looked for Y/N, only to see Jace shielding her from the graphic scene in front of them. He had his arms protectively around her, despite knowing Daemon would never hurt them. He felt his blood boil. If anyone should be comforting her during a moment like this, it should be him, not her bastard brother.

-

Viserys had requested to have a family dinner. 

Y/N entered the dining room behind her parents. Alicent and her children were already there, waiting for them. 

“Y/N, dear, you can sit here.” The Queen called for her. There was a seat next to Aemond’s. Y/N flashed a look of absolute fear to her father before walking towards them. Aemond was once again staring at her every move. She sat next to him quietly. Helaena grabbed her hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze. Lucerys was right at the other end of the table with Rhaena. They both smiled at her as if to say everything would be alright. 

“You look beautiful,” Aemond whispered in her ear. Y/N finally turned her head towards him, flashing a quick smile. He hummed at her shy behavior.

Y/N was not focusing on what was being said during the toasts. The fear she had felt the previous day was returning. She still did not understand why Viserys wanted her to marry Aemond, he knew why it was called off. However, she did not hold it against him, she knew he was very sick. She would do this for him, as a final wish.

A hard bang on the table made her flinch. Jace had stood up in anger, trying to control himself. Aemond also stood up, daring him to do something. He gave a toast in honor of his uncles. Luke was biting his cheek to hold back his laugh, all the memories of them being children filling his mind.

Helaena stood up next. “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you... except sometimes when he's drunk.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at what she said. She felt pity for her, Helaena was kind and she did not deserve to be married to Aegon. He was not a good man. Aemond was carefully studying Y/N. Her expressions, her movements, the subtle shake of her hand when she reached for her cup. It had been so long since he saw her last and he wanted to make up for the lost time.

Jace stood up again, asking Helaena to dance with him. Y/N smirked at Aegon’s expression, but it quickly dropped when he glanced her way to lock eyes with Aemond. Luke was next to her out of nowhere, grabbing her hand. As they danced, Aemond felt the anger rising in him again. Seeing Y/N dancing with the same boy that took his eye was driving him mad. 

A servant sat a cooked pig right next to Aemond. Luke was giggling quietly at this. 

Aemond hit the table before standing up. "Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace... Luke... and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise... hm... strong. Come, let us drain our cups to these three... Strong boys.” The room fell quiet after this.

“I dare you to say that again,” Jace threatened him. 

“Why? 'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”

A hard slap echoed through the room. Y/N stood directly in front of Aemond, her body was shaking with fury. He stared at her in disbelief but before he could even move, Jace was in front of her. She held his gaze over her brother’s shoulder.

“Wait, wait!” Daemon warned, softly pushing his children away. 

“Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.” Rhaenyra ordered.

They all walked out, Y/N getting ahead of her siblings, not wanting to speak about what had happened. Aemond had followed them out, quickly spotting her in the distance. He took a shortcut, appearing right in front of her in another corridor.

Y/N scoffed, attempting to walk around him but he grabbed her forearm tightly. “Let go.”

“No,” he retorted. “How dare you hit me, in front of everyone.”

“You know why I did it, Aemond,” Y/N hissed, still struggling to get away from his grip. 

“I was speaking about them,” he told her.

“You insulted them, and me,” Y/N corrected him. “Whatever insult you throw their way still includes me.”

Aemond stammered, he truly did not wish to include her. “That was not my purpose.”

“No? And what was it? Just antagonize my brothers for fun, as revenge for what happened years ago? I still remember what you said to Luke, how he would die screaming in flames just as our father.”

He just stood there, bewildered, without saying a word. He still remembered that night perfectly, the look on her face when he said that. Y/N kept trying to remove his hand but he had other plans. Aemond grabbed her other forearm, leaving her completely at his mercy. 

“Let me go,” she ordered him again. He scoffed, shaking his head. 

“You are to be my wife, you will listen to me.”

“Aemond, I will only do it for the King. If he wasn't the one asking, I would be on a ship to get away from you,” Y/N confessed. 

He finally let her go. Her confession stung, the Y/N he remembered would not have said that to him. Aemond did want to marry her, but the feelings he felt when he was a child had not changed. They stared at each other, no words being said. 

“Where are we going?” She asked through quiet giggles. Jace smirked.

“Out.” Y/N gave him a confused look. It was late, where could they possibly go at this hour?

By this moment, they were almost at the dragonpit, the rush of excitement running through their veins. Vermax was outside, waiting for them. The dragonkeeper, Endric, was leaning against the wall smiling at them. Y/N had wondered what Jace had said to him to even make him agree to do this.

“Jace?” Y/N whispered as he began climbing on Vermax.

“Come on, Y/N,” he called for her, extending his hand so she would follow him. She was unsure, they had never done this before, especially at night. It took her a few seconds to decide she wanted to take the risk.

-

They arrived at a small but beautiful meadow far from the castle. Jace helped her climb off Vermax, who went to hide behind the treeline to rest. Y/N was delighted at the sight. The soft glow of the moon gave it a nice feel. 

She was so entranced that she did not notice Jace had set up a blanket for them. “Come on, Y/N,” he playfully called for her as he sat down.

“Is there a special occasion I do not know about?” She wondered, sitting next to him. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Do I need a special occasion to take you somewhere nice?” Jace said, grabbing her hand and kissing it.

“No,” Y/N said, “you can take me somewhere nice whenever you want.” Jace hummed, too lost in his thoughts as he stared at her. 

Jace always had a crush on Y/N. She was sweet and fun to be around. Rhaenyra encouraged him to seek a friendship with her, knowing they got along well. At one point, they did everything together and knew everything about each other. The king was delighted. He loved that they got along.

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder. “Mother found me a suitor.”

“What?” Jace asked, with a clear surprise on his face. “I thought she said you could choose.”

“She lied,” Y/N noted. “She said I would bring shame to her if I picked the wrong suitor.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “It does not make any sense to me.”

They sat there in silence, not wanting to talk about it anymore. Jace was mindlessly playing with her hand and the rings she wore while Y/N rested. It felt peaceful, being alone in the meadow. 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, carefully brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Y/N’s face flushed.

“Jace,” Y/N breathed. 

She cupped his cheek and then she pressed her lips against his as Jace felt his breath hitch. He grabbed her lower back, quickly getting her under him, and then he kissed her harder. She ran her fingers through his dark hair as the kiss deepened. She pulled back momentarily just to catch her breath. Jace’s gaze intensified as Y/N bit her bottom lip, softly caressing his cheek.

"Make love to me, Jacaerys.”

Jace growled in his throat as he crashed her lips onto hers, working to remove the dress she was wearing. There was no turning back this time.

-

They arrived back in the Red Keep right before dawn, sharing a quick kiss as a goodbye before parting to go to their respective apartments. Nobody seemed to notice they were gone, and if someone did notice, they had not said anything.

It was an eventful day in the castle, Jace and Y/N could not sneak off at all. Vaemond Velaryon wanted the Driftmark throne but King Viserys reaffirmed it was Lucerys’ birthright. Vaemond also committed treason by insulting Rhaenyra and her children, causing Daemon to slice his head off in front of everyone.

During the feast, Aemond had Y/N sitting next to him. He had a weird feeling about her, eyeing her the entire night. The suspicions he did not know he had were confirmed when Jace asked Y/N to dance. Aemond was clenching his jaw as he saw his sister dance with him. Y/N was having fun with Jace, everybody could see that. Aegon sent him a look, subtly shaking his head.

Aemond stood up after hitting the table. Jace stood in front of Y/N, just in case. “Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace... Luke... and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise... hm... strong. Come... let us drain our cups to these three... Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” Jace threatened him. Y/N’s eyes widened as she grabbed his forearm, only to be shaken off. 

“Why? 'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?” Jace punched him, causing Aemond to push him back onto the ground. Y/N was staring at her brother in disbelief as the knights held Jace, Luke, and Baela back.

When Rhaenyra told her children to go to their quarters, Y/N left as well, but not before giving her brother a disapproving look. Aemond followed her and held the door of her chambers before she could slam it shut. “Y/N,” he warned.

“Go away, Aemond,” Y/N rolled her eyes. 

“I only complimented them. It is not my fault they felt offended,” he pointed out. His sister stared at him with annoyance.

“Get out, Aemond, now. I will not ask you again,” Y/N threatened him. He scoffed, leaving. 

Y/N sat on her bed, thinking about Jace. She wanted to defend him during the dinner, to stand up to her brother but she knew that would cause more problems, not stop them. After debating on what to do, she sneaked out of her chambers and ran to Jace’s apartments on the other side of the Red Keep.

Y/N softly knocked on the door, looking at both sides to make sure nobody was following her. Jace opened the door seconds later, both relieved and shocked that it was her. He pulled her inside, closing the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” Y/N confessed, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug. “I am so sorry about everything, I wanted to help you but I didn't know how.”

Jace immediately wrapped his arms around her waist. “I know, don’t worry about it,” he assured her. 

They stood there, holding each other, not wanting to let go. “I love you, Jace,” Y/N told him.

Jace smiled against her neck, “I love you, too.”

They slept together that night, knowing that it will probably be the last time they would share a bed for a long time. 

-

Three months later 

Rhaenyra and her family departed King’s Landing the day after the fight. Y/N and Jace were still meeting in the meadow. The intimacy between them reached new limits as they discovered more about each other’s bodies. 

Y/N was just about to fall asleep when she felt something heavy landing on her. She opened her eyes to find her mother standing there, with a look of disappointment and disgust. It was her sheets. “You have not bled.”

That was enough to pull Y/N away from the sleepy feeling. Her blood ran cold as she sat up, the realization of her actions finally dawning on her. “I… I had not noticed,” Y/N admitted shamefully.

Alicent stalked towards her, roughly grabbing her chin. “Who did you fuck?”

“Mother, I-” Y/N whined when she felt the grip getting tighter. “I will not tell you.”

Her mother’s eyes widened as she did not hesitate to hit her daughter multiple times. Y/N started yelling at her, trying to push her away to no avail. Ser Criston and Ser Erryk ran into the quarters, pulling the queen away from the princess. 

Criston took her away as she kept yelling obscenities at Y/N, while Erryk looked over at the injuries. It was not too bad, she would have some bruises but the bloody nose and split lip made it look worse than it was. “I will get the maester, princess.” 

He quickly walked out just as Aemond entered. The expression of confusion he had turned into anger as he saw his sister. “Y/N! What happened? Who did this?” 

“It was mother,” Y/N told him. She stood up from her bed, marching to her dresser to see her reflection in the looking glass. 

“Why?” Aemond demanded to know. “Why would she hit you this way?”

Y/N fidgeted, turning around to face him. “She has insinuated that I am with child.”

Aemond stood there, trying to find a hint that she was joking yet he found none. Y/N stared at him defiantly, as if she was waiting for him to raise his hand as well. “Who-”

“I will not tell you. It is my business to deal with.” He was about to argue when Maester Gerardys walked in, quickly rushing over to tend to her. Y/N pointed at the door, silently telling Aemond to leave.

-

“Your Grace, Princess Y/N would like to speak with you,” Ser Harrold said, opening the door to Viserys’ chambers.

“Yes, let her in,” he replied with a smile, which disappeared when he saw the state his daughter was in. Y/N had a bruise on her cheek, along with some scratches. “My love, who did this to you? I will have their head.”

Y/N sat down on the chair, looking up at her father. “It was mother… she discovered something I did.”

Viserys was confused as he grabbed his daughter’s hand. “What did you do? Surely it did not warrant such reaction from her.”

“Father, I- Y/N cleared her throat. “I have sinned.”

He stared at her with evident confusion. Slowly, as he gave it more thought, he realized what she had done. “Y/N,” he sighed.

“I know, father. I have brought shame to mother, you, and our house.”

“Who was it?” Viserys questioned.

“Jace,” Y/N whispered.

Viserys sat down next to her, the shock dawning on him. “I will write to Rhaenyra about this. You will marry Jacaerys and live with him in Dragonstone.”

“What?” Y/N had thought she would be married off to another lord or locked in a tower forever. “You are not angry?”

Her father sighed again, “no, sweet girl. I am not as mad as I should be. I am glad you trusted me enough to come tell me.”

-

Rhaenyra and Daemon sat in the great hall, reading the letter they received from the king again and again.

Dear Rhaenyra,

I must confess I never thought I would send this type of letter to you. Something has happened between Jacaerys and Y/N, which has resulted in a child. For this reason, I have decided they will wed before the next full moon.

We will sail to Dragonstone immediately to discuss this with you and Daemon. 

Viserys 

Daemon could not help but chuckle. Rhaenyra gave him an amused look. “Care to share what is so funny?”

“It seems Jace and Y/N had been following in our footsteps without us realizing it.”

Rhaenyra chuckled as well, he was right. “I will go speak to him.”

She kissed him and walked to the training yard, where Jace and Luke were training, or messing around. 

“Can you come here, Jace?” Rhaenyra called out. Jace excused himself and went up to her. She grabbed his hand, moving him to a more private area.

“What is it?” Jace questioned, worried.

Rhaenyra handed him the note. Jace read it, the color draining from his skin as he stared at her in shock. A child. Marriage. “How long have you two been together?”

“Since I was old enough to go riding on Vermax,” Jace confessed. Rhaenyra gave him an amused look. 

“That's why you have been sneaking out so much,” she noted.

Jace’s eyes widened. “You knew?”

“Vermax is not the quietest dragon,” Rhaenyra reminded him. “And you disappeared for hours.”

“Are you angry with me?” He asked.

“No,” Rhaenyra admitted. “I did contemplate marrying you to her when I noticed how much you cared for each other but I knew Alicent was not going to agree.” Jace nodded in understanding. “Go tell your siblings, I am sure Luke is about to run here and ask what is going on.”

Rhaenyra caressed his cheek softly before leaving. Jace was feeling many emotions at once. He could only hope Y/N was doing well with the news. Despite how nervous he was, Jace was beaming. He was going to be a father.

-

By the following week, the Targaryens made their way to Dragonstone. Y/N was beaming with happiness, she was finally going to be with the man she truly loved. On the other side of the ship, Aemond was fuming. He hated it, the fact that Y/N had compromised herself in such a way by a bastard. 

Once they were on dry land, Y/N walked ahead of them, getting more excited as she reached the top. The rest of her family walked at a normal pace, Viserys and Helaena being the happiest of them. Alicent and Aemond were drowning in their misery.

“Y/N!” Jace called out for her as they reached the main doors. She embraced him tightly, missing the warm feeling of being in his arms.

Rhaenyra and Daemon were happily watching the couple in front of them. They could not help but laugh at how history was repeating itself. Rhaenyra thought her son would be more traditional in the matter but she supported him.

-

While Viserys and Rhaenyra discussed wedding plans, Jace and Y/N sat together in the gardens. He had his back resting against a tree while Y/N sat between his legs, resting her back against his chest. Jace’s hands softly caressed her small bump.

“How have you been feeling?” He asked her.

“The sickness in the morning has been terrible,” Y/N confessed, “but the maester has been helping me with tea.”

Jace hummed. “Have you been in any pain?”

“No, fortunately not.” Y/N moved her head a little to look up at him.

He smiled at her, “I am glad you are here with me. When I read that note, all I wanted was to go find you.”

Aemond stared from a distance as the happy couple spoke and cuddled each other. He was feeling angrier than before, seeing his sister with him. He knew there was something between them, he always got the feeling but no matter how hard he tried, he never caught them together. All Aemond wanted was to eliminate Jace, however, he knew he would not leave Dragonstone alive if he killed him.

-

Months later

Jace cuddled his newborn son, Aelor, while Y/N rested. Her pregnancy was not the easiest, the Maester had ordered bedrest until the babe was born. She protested it, stating that spending months confined to a bed would drive her insane but Jace had convinced her to do as he said. The labors started in the afternoon. Jace ran frantically through the castle when he found out.

Their wedding was beautiful. It was hosted in the great hall of the Red Keep. The celebrations lasted for an entire week, filled with feasts and tourneys. Jace and Y/N were happy, they could not have asked for more. Alicent and Aemond were forced to join the festivities as they were still against their marriage. All the queen wanted to do was send Y/N to Oldtown but Viserys denied her request multiple times.

-

Years later, the family departed Dragonstone to go visit the king once again. Viserys always asked them to go see him, claiming he missed his daughter and his grandson. Although, the reality was that he missed them all.

Aelor was now four years young and he was a very energetic child. Jace did the best he could to keep up with him, yet it was too much to handle sometimes. The boy had sneaked out multiple times, even managing to get close to the dragons. Of course, Jace was on the verge of collapsing each time he did. 

The entire family had gathered in the main hall to talk. The pitter-patter and the loud, child giggles echoed through. Aelor was glad to be there. He was a very curious boy, often stopping to stare at the decor around him. 

Jace was speaking to Viserys when he felt a tug on his pants. Without hesitation, he lifted Aelor, placing him on his hip. The boy cuddled up to his father, tiredly rubbing his eyes. Y/N stood next to Jace to join the conversation.

“I do hope this future king has been behaving properly,” Viserys teased, smiling at his grandson.

opal angel | @aphroditesmoon

the crown prince Jacaerys finds himself falling for his mother's new queensguard.

Jacaerys Velaryon • Masterlist | @sylasthegrim

My dear betrothed | @slaytheusurper

After years of not seeing each other, you are to be wed to your cousin Jace, but can you hold off your desires for each other before the wedding?

I am yours and you are mine, whatever may come | @/slaytheusurper

After your mother Rhaenyra ascended the iron throne you were finally able to wed your betrothed. But with a royal wedding comes a bedding ceremony.

Grief | @jacaerysgf

Plagued by you, Part two, Part three  | @/jacaerysgf

Otto doesn't go to Dragonstone you do. And you are faced with a past you never thought you would see again right before the war.

Forbidden | @illyrianbrat

BOUND BY DUTY | @house-strong

THE TORMENT of a life time | @/house-strong

LOVE, PARENTS, and truths  | @/house-strong

i love you  | @murdocksdaughter

jacaerys finally confesses his feelings at the oddest hour

missing you, kissing me | @/murdocksdaughter

leading up their wedding y/n and jacaerys has had any alone time together

teaching his wife how to fight | @sourcherryandsprinkles

Saving Jacaerys during the battle of the gullet | @/sourcherryandsprinkles

IMAGINE | @/sourcherryandsprinkles

the scene where Ulf disrespects Jace | @/sourcherryandsprinkles

Blessing disguised as a Curse | @asumi2020202

You were Alicent's daughter. Younger than the three, Aegon, Aemond and Helaena but older than Daeron. After returning from Dragonstone, Rhaenyra proposes a marriage pact between her eldest and you. A man your mother had warned you about.

Midnight Battle | @/asumi2020202

The Kingdom was at peace when a small battle began inside the Red Keep. But.. it was not a normal battle.

Crossroads | @hxtd

prince charming does not merely exist within fairytales, though he might be a little more unorthodox than expected.

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜n | @/hxtd

grieving prince jacaerys needs a distraction from the pain.

𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛 | @/hxtd

here we stand | @controld3vil

news had broken out that the throne has been usurped. jacerys rides his way to winterfell, the end to the north where he meets cregan stark. and in evidently, you, lady mormont of bear island. mormont!reader

Cracked | @toms-cherry-trees

No one ever said duty would hurt like this

Something wrong with me | @maidragoste

Jacaerys comforts his wife after she tells him her worries.

Nothing Can Happen | @chloe-skywalker

Jace fall’s in love with Cregon Stark’s twin sister.

the other one | @delulujuls

heart want what it wants, and y/n's heart belong to young prince from dragonstone, not to the future cruel king of westeros.

the right one | @/delulujuls

the hardened and hateful heart of the future king of westeros is no match for the tender and loving heart of the young prince of dragonstone. so it's not difficult to guess whose heart belongs to the young targaryen princess

Saving Face | @hughesmybaby

with what was supposed to be a happy moment in the new chapter of your family with jacaerys, only wounds linger when your mother is unhappy with your child’s appearance.

Overprotective | @imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul

Jace’s overprotective nature begins to grate on the reader’s nerves as the birth of their first child looms closer.

Safe and Sound | @/imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul

Jace comforts the reader after they wake up from a terrible nightmare.

LINGERING IN OUR MEMORIES, PART 2. | @goldsainz

Death does not scare me | @eunoiathewriter

They all thought she was only feeling a bit under the weather, but that soon proved to be wrong. It made Jacaerys realise one thing, the forever he wanted with her would not last long so he had to, one tell her how he felt and secondly do something so he knew they would be forever.

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴛ | @anatay004

Ever since you were kids, Jacaerys detested you. And, quite honestly, you didn’t know the reason behind his hatred towards you (or cared enough to), until one night you’re betrothed to no other than him. 

under the weirwood | @targaryen-jpg

Hunger | @vhagarsback

jacaerys just wants to see all of you, despite your shyness.

Warm | @/vhagarsback

jacaerys finds you, and he will never let anything happen to you.

Not ideal | @starless-starkov

reader is known as daemon’s bastard daughter but jacaerys doesn’t care

Kerosene, part 02, part 03 | @aphroditesmoon

after you find out your family has been orchestrating a plan to use you as a scapegoat to assure your brother's reign. You pledge your allegiance to the black queen and switch alliances as pleaded by your secret lover himself, prince jacaerys velaryon.

Replaceable, part 02, part 03, part 04 | @/aphroditesmoon

After your twin sister decides to run away weeks from her wedding to the prince and heir to the throne, Jacaerys Velaryon,  you are left with no choice but to step in her place.

Sweet Nothing | @its-vannah

Question…? | @/its-vannah

Vigilante Sh*t | @/its-vannah

RUEFUL | @januaryembrs

Jace says goodbye to his pregnant wife as he leaves for the North

WHAT ONCE WAS | @urblondiebaby

for the lovers who found a mirrored heart | @enviedear

amid the dance of dragons, queen rhaenyra’s prospects blossom after the discovery of a potential and powerful alliance. she sends her firstborn to enact a plan of union, condemning him to a marriage of duty—or so he believes.

The coronation | @thesongoficeandfir3

The Great War, PART 2,  PART 3 | @vividxpages

Jace and you are lovers, but stand on opposite sides of the war, not allowed to see each other anymore. But love always finds a way.

“lay it all on me” | @/vividxpages

With the Queen and your betrothed Jacaerys’ delayed arrival, you are left in charge of the day’s council meeting. When one of the lords starts to speak of a possible bedding ceremony for your upcoming wedding, your thoughts begin to spiral badly…

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | @flowersforjude

You could not leave him. Not when your very breath was the only thing that kept him tethered to this world

Beacon of Hope | @princessbellecerise

After the war, Jacaerys finally finds his purpose for living again

Court Shenanigans | @/princessbellecerise

Missing their father, your children decide it’s a good idea to interrupt him in the middle of court

Husband Jacaerys | @/princessbellecerise

Headcanons about married life with Jace

Rotten Soil, Rotten Fruit | @/princessbellecerise

You are Alicent Hightower’s pride and joy. Sweet and innocent, you’re the apple of the Queen’s eye more than her own children are. But how will she react when you slip into the hands of her enemies?

Starry Nights | @/princessbellecerise

Jace takes his little family on a night ride when they can’t sleep

Leap of Fate | @idkyetxoxo

A young woman’s daring climb over a wall to escape an arranged union leads to an unexpected encounter with her betrothed himself. What begins as a night of escape becomes the start of an enchanting story of love and destiny.

Family Legacies | @/idkyetxoxo

Amidst the chaos of war, two childbirths unfold. A mother’s potential agony and a new mother’s fear collide, as life and loss intertwine in a moment that will define their family’s legacy forever.

War Between Kin | @bumblesimagines

When Rhaenyra Targaryen takes her throne back, she ensures to take care of the remaining Greens in the Keep. Jacaerys attempts to figure out the whereabouts of the Usurper King Aegon by questioning his younger sister.

Vermax | @spxllcxstxr

Jacaerys takes a servant girl to see Vermax

My King | @creganslover

You find your dear husband sulking in his study.

SPOILS OF WAR | @luvrottt

The war between kin was not long fought; culminating in the bloody battle of kings landing a mere moon after the battle of rooks rest in which Aemond ‘kinslayer’ slew his brother Aegon the usurper. And yet; thousands lay dead, the realm is uneasy— there still lies a dragon in the reach whose motivations are yet to be known. A Queen is in chains, a princess is amidst salt and sea, and another feels a prisoner in her own home enclosed with walls that have both eyes and ears.

Honeyed | @eldrith

“After we heard news of your success in the rebellion, Her Grace was eager to have you sit council with us. She seems to remember you quite fondly.” He says honestly, “She believed we would get along quite well.”

and his will be the song of ice and fire | @ophelieverse

during his first stay at Winterfell,Jace and Y/n got much closer than they should.Now,after knowing the prophecy about the song of ice and fire from his mother,Jace is determined to make it true with the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.

A silver haired girl | @realmsdelght

a visit to a brothel leads to sharing feelings that had been buried deeply within the twins