ladyofwinterfall

A two week trip your father brought you along for. He'd spoke about the importance of good impressions and keeping up good relations with the northerners. You had been day dreaming but conscious enough to nod along with his words like a good daughter.

Today— eight days into your stay in Winterfell—  the two of you are sitting inside, playing a game of cyvasse. Cregan had taught you on the second day. By the sixth, you were a natural. 

If only your opponent wasn't seasoned from the war he'd just won at age 23. 

"'S a good move," his head tilts. "If I hadn't already planned for it." He moves a piece, easily blocking everything you had set up for.

You scoff slightly, slumping in your seat in thought. 

While you glare at the board in hopes it will give you answers, Cregan's eyes are on you. He looks over your shoulders, your neckline, your lips, that crease between your brows. He thinks you're beautiful. 

"Gold and silver are uncommon up here, but what do you think of beads carved of weir wood branches?"

The line between your brows only deepen as you move your attention to the Northman. "What?"

He shrugged. "Was only a thought. Would that suffice?"

"I… yes. I saw a woman with stitching on her cloak and white beads. Would that be those?" At his eager nod, you continue. "It was beautiful. I thought of it the rest of the journey. Any woman would be lucky to have such a thing."

You accepted defeat this time and the two of you moved to separate for the rest of the day. 

He took your hand in his own large one. He bent down and pressed the back of your hand to his forehead. You told yourself it was more polite than a kiss would be. 

You would be wrong. 

But you gave him a nod. "Good day, Lord Stark. I shall see you at supper."

His eyes twinkled. "I eagerly await it, my lady."

When you left, you missed the way his eyes followed you until you were blocked from his sight. 

Gods, he was utterly smitten.

…

After supper, your father had insisted you go to your chambers early. It was a bit unlike him, but the two men were going to Cregan's solar to discuss business. Perhaps he just wanted to know you were safe in bed. 

You sit in the guest room Cregan had prepared for you. It's very nice— much better than yours at home. The hearth burns brightly. And for such a cold place, you were warm. It was pleasant. 

You'd brought all of your thread and cloth for stitching, much to the chagrin of your father. He didn't approve of your habit of daydreaming and this was your next best option. 

Cregan had noticed by the second day. On the fifth day, you had new colors of threads you could only find in the North. 

He was so kind to notice such little things.

You'd been working on a Stark direwolf sigil. You'd started it the day you got here— half stitched on a handkerchief. The sigil was everywhere so it was easy to imagine.

You're working with this deep gray. A Stark gray thread you hadn't seen until it was left in your chambers by Lord Stark. The direwolf was coming along nicely. 

Your handmaiden entered in a rush with a broad smile. "My lady, I have just heard the most wonderful news."

You set your stitching aside and stand as she chatters and rushes around the room to ready you for bed. Your mind is still on finishing that direwolf stitching. 

"I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I will not say that I regret it," she quipped as she spread out a nightgown. "Oh, I rushed here immediately when I heard of it. It will be so wonderful, truly—"

You tried to listen. You wanted to. Your handmaiden was a kind girl, albeit one that loved to gossip. But your mind was too far gone.

She helped you dress to your night clothes, continuing her chatter. "I would not have considered you as a woman that could like the cold, but there are ways to keep warm here," she flushes. "Especially with someone like that." She pauses and grabs your arm. "What color shall your dress be?"

You blink, finally hearing the words. "My dress? For what?"

She scoffs like you're messing with her. "For the wedding, of course."

A wedding? Father has not mentioned a wedding. Your younger brother was growing in age— perhaps there was a worthy match for him and there would soon be a wedding. But that felt so odd for your handmaiden to mention now. So surely not that.

Your mother had passed years ago, but your father was not adamant on marrying again. So not that either.

"What do you believe Lord Stark shall wear?" She asks. "Do you think he owns different fur cloaks for special occasions?"

Ah. Lord Stark's wedding. That would make more sense. 

You did not know he was courting anyone. But then again, you often did not pay attention to little details. And he wasn't one to talk in great detail. Maybe it was rude that you never asked. 

"And his bride shall be beautiful!" The handmaiden almost squeals, tugging you this way and that in excitement. "You do not seem joyful at this. What is the matter?"

"No, I… I do love weddings," you defend. And that was true. You loved to daydream during the ceremonies. 

"That's the spirit!" She claps. "We'll discuss all of it in the morning. But try to get some sleep tonight— if you can. I know how excited you must be."

She finishes up, wrapping you in your robe before retreating to the door. "To marry the Lord Stark? What a dream."

It shuts behind her, leaving you standing in the middle of your room in confusion. 

…

You sleep as well as ever, for you still did not understand her words. She wakes you in the morning just as excited. "He wants to break fast with you," she smiles. 

You rub your eyes and brush your hair from your face. "Father?"

"No! The Lord Stark! Hurry, though. I've heard from the Winterfell servants that he's been up for hours. He's most likely starving."

You reluctantly get out of your warm bed. You usually took lunch or supper with Cregan. Breaking fast was unusual. 

You leave your room with one of your nicer dresses on (you didn't question why that one was chosen), and your hair nicely done. Your eyes were still puffy from sleep, but that would fade as you walked. 

A servant escorted you through the vast halls of the castle until he stopped before a large door. "Lord Stark's solar, my lady. Shall I announce your presence?"

You were friends enough with Cregan that you surely did not need that. So you dismissed him and opened the door yourself.

Broad shoulders blocked the light coming from the only window. He looked out in clear thought. His head barely turned as he heard the door open. "Has she accepted?" He asks softly. 

"Lord Stark?"

He turns now, eyes wide. His light lips part in surprise. "My lady, I did not know it was you. Forgive me."

You shrug. "'Tis alright. I understand how full your mind must be with things as of now."

He nods along. "Yes, yes, of course. But, please." He gestures down to the small table set up just beyond his desk. Two chairs and light foods to start their day. 

Cregan was nervous today. In the last nine days, you had not seem him like this. The wedding business must really be affecting him. His hands shook lightly. His eyes glanced at you then away. He would open his mouth to speak, then retreat. 

You were good friends with him, surely. Perhaps he would speak to you of his problems if you asked. 

You pop a grape into your mouth. "You do not seem excited."

His brows pull up. "I assure you, my lady, I… I am."

You don't believe him. "Then why do your hands shake?"

He looks defensive. But when he glances down and sees that you were right, he doesn't fight it. "I am… I speak poorly," he settles on. "For important matters."

"You are a northman. They are mostly men of action, are they not?"

"They are." His tension eases slightly when he sees you understand. "We are not the best at poetic words, but we make up for it. I hope."

You nod, continuing to lazily eat your breakfast. 

He's a bit better now, though his own food sits untouched. But he can at least look at you now without growing nervous.

"Is she pretty?" You ask.

"Whom?"

"Your bride," you smile teasingly. "She must be beautiful if you are this nervous."

He blinks. You're teasing him? Over this? Something greatly eases over him. You look so natural, so easy going. Why would he be so nervous then? He meets your eye strongly now. "She is the most beautiful woman in the Realm," he assures.

You hum, continuing to eat. Cregan's a handsome man. His bride is supposedly pretty. That would make for a good daydream to imagine later. You store it in the back of your mind. 

The rest of breakfast goes quietly. Cregan does not have much to say after that, and you don't want to make him any more nervous.

But this bride must be lucky to get a man so worried to please her. 

He invites you for a walk outside which you accept. You weren't all knowing in affairs of the heart, but perhaps he wanted to ask your opinion on things. You were a woman after all. And though you adored Cregan, he knew nothing of the gentler sex. 

The winter was over in the North, but every season was a various kind of cold. At least in this one, you did not need to hide from snow. 

"Is this spring?" You ask him as your feet crunch on dead grass.

"Almost. This should be the last week of winter before there is life in the plants again. Do you have a favorite flower, my lady?"

You shake your head. 

"A favorite color then?"

You shake your head again. 

He sighs softly, getting nowhere. "Is there…" He pauses. "Is there anything you want at the wedding? I know girls dream of this since they were young."

Asking your advice? That you could supply. "Well, if your bride isn't of the North, you could pick specifically northern things to help her see how well living here could be. Northern plants or such?"

He stashes that for later. "And there is truly nothing you've always wanted at your wedding?"

"At mine?" You ask. "Well, I have imagined it many times."

"Yes?" He hangs on.

"It's outside. My family is there. My husband is handsome and his cloak weighs heavy on me. He's tall… and kind." You look over at him. "Maybe as tall as you. That could be nice." 

He flushes. "Right. But… the wedding details."

"Mm." You close your eyes. "Blue. I've always imagined something blue."

"Blue," he breathes. "I can do that. And… your gown. What does it look like? Is it a northern fabric, or…?"

"In my dreams, it is usually just a dress I already own," you smile. "But if I close my eyes now… perhaps a silver gray. With lots of colorful embroidery details that I do myself."

"That sounds beautiful. I'll have the fabric found soon so you may start."

You frown, opening your eyes. "Am I making your bride a dress?"

His head tilts as he tries to understand your teasing behavior. "You are. It is in your dreams, is it not?"

It seems a bit rude that he didn't even ask if you would do that for him. But no matter.

"I understand your beliefs in the new gods, but a northern wedding is to be before the old. We could have a second ceremony for your faith. If it pleases you."

"Why would what I think matter?"

He squints as if you just disgusted him. "What kind of man would I be if I did not indulge my own bride in her thoughts?"

You pause. "Your bride?"

"Yes. Yes, my bride." He sets his large hands upon your shoulders respectfully, yet firm. "I care for you greatly. Anything you want, I would give to you. We could have seven outlandish ceremonies for each of your gods if it made you smile. Why do you think I do not care?"

My bride, it rings in your head. Cregan Stark's bride. You are marrying Cregan Stark?

"Are… are we courting?" You stutter.

His hands fall as if you burned him. "My lady. Please stop jesting. Forgive me, but I do not understand your quips."

"I am not. I… You are courting me?"

His lips pull in a tight line. "I have been. For a while now. Why did you believe your family came to Winterfell? And that I spent time with you?"

You wring your hands together. "Father said we had to keep good relations with the North." 

"What did he say exactly? The words he used?"

"He said to pack nice dresses to make a good first impression. That the North needed to like me. There was this odd thing…"

Cregan's eyes stayed firmly on you, watching the way the cloudy sky still made your features light up beautifully. 

"Well, after I met you, the day you taught me cyvasse, he was very happy. After dinner, he couldn't stop smiling."

"I told him I liked you," he explained. "That I… I wanted to court you."

"You've been courting me since then?"

He smiles lightly. "I would have courted you years ago if I'd known you."

"I still don't understand. Yesterday, my handmaiden came in and said she overheard you speaking of your wedding to another woman."

"Last night?" At your nod, he rushes to explain. "I told your father my intentions to marry you. That today, I would…" he stops himself short. "We were discussing matters of your dowry and how I could ensure your happiness here."

"My dowry?" You frown. "Lord Stark, forgive me, but my family is quite poor. We do not have money for a dowry, not really."

"I know," he eases. "Do not worry about the details. It has been taken care of. I suppose I did all of it but the most important part."

"And what would that part be?"

Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, lowers himself before you. He kneels down on one knee, tall and proud, stiff as a true northerner. He takes your hand in both of his. 

"I am poor with my words. But I know what I think and what I feel. And I… I believe you would make a well off Lady Stark. The North would prosper with your soft hand to compliment my harsh one." He stops himself, forcing him to think— for once— of what he wants, and not the North. "I have fallen in love with you, my lady. Very much. Winterfell warmed when you stepped into it, and I refuse to let it grow cold again. Say you will stay. That you want me. I am trying to speak clearly now, for I've done it so poorly thus far. Our wedding will not have to be for some time, so I may properly court you with your knowledge. But say you will let me. Please."

His hands are callused, rough against yours. But warm. Safe. The same man that noticed your love for embroidery. The same man that taught you cyvasse. The same man that loves you. The same man who is currently looking at you like you are the sunshine the North lacks. 

"I always wanted a handsome husband," you admit sheepishly. 

His face falls a bit. "Is that… would…"

"You are very handsome, Lord Stark."

For a moment, he looks as if he doesn't believe you. But then he smiles. "You accept then?"

"I do."

He kisses your hand once, twice, then stands in excitement. Northern excitement looks different. He doesn't spin you around, or yell his love from the rooftops. Instead, his shoulders broaden proudly and he offers you his arm. 

That gray fabric you imagined lays on your bed by the end of the day. Next to it, weir wood beads and multicolored threads to decorate it. 

Your family suddenly became wealthier. You believed that it was because there was one less daughter to care for. But the servants' whispers told you that Cregan had denied a dowry and instead paid your father to ensure your family stayed comfortable. He didn't want you to worry for them. 

A month passes, and spring was in full bloom— at least, what spring was in the north. 

You had just beat Cregan had cyvasse finally. His eyes twinkled with amusement, a smile trying to be held back as well. 

That's what you knew.

"When is our wedding?"

"When you are ready," he answers without missing a beat. 

"I am." You stretched and stand. "I am ready to marry you." You kiss his cheek and walk off.

He sits in that chair for the next two hours, silent and blushing a profuse pink. 

..........................................................................

He pulls you in closer, spooning you in the bed with the furs atop the both of you. His hand is hot to the touch and large and firm against your stomach to keep you there. You have a tendency to squirm. 

"'S just an evening chill. It will pass," he murmurs low in your ear. 

"Every night?" You huff, emphasizing your point with a shift of your hips. 

He groans lowly when your ass presses against his length. His arm wraps around you tighter until you're utterly stuck in his hold. "If you'd hold still, I could share my warmth with you. As I do every night you whine."

Truth be told, he sweats under the heavy furs every night. You had insisted on them, and he wanted to sleep with you. Small price to pay, he tells himself. 

Especially when you'd finally fall asleep and unconsciously curl into his side. 

"I do not whine," you proceed to whine.

You go to say more, but you hear and feel his low chuckling. 

You huff, pulling his hand off of you. You make a dramatic show of scooting to the other side of the bed. It's cold. You ignore it at first. You can't show weakness. 

But his laughing doesn't stop. "My stubborn girl. C'mere."

But you don't move. You throw one glare his way then turn your back and pull the cold covers tight around you.

It's silence as his laughter settles. "C'mon," he finally settles on. "Don't want my southern flower wilting in the cold tonight. Come back now."

"I'm sleeping here."

He sighs, though it's full of love. "You're angry with me?"

"Yes."

"Mm. Cold?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Quite the predicament." He runs a hand over his growing stubble. "If I apologize, is that enough to make you come back over here?"

You pause. Turn to look over your shoulder at him. "Maybe."

"Forgive me then," he coos. 

Even in the dark, you can see the glimmer of amusement in his hazy colored eyes. But you have no fight left in you and you're cold.

So you let him scoop you back up and drag you across the bed until you're right back where you started. 

And now that you think about it, it is a lot warmer against him like this. 

What were you complaining about again?

You sigh in content and close your eyes. 

"'S what I thought," he says to himself.

Your eyes open. "What?"

He doesn't pretend. "Good night, my love." He kisses the side of your head. "Sleep well."

…

"Father wrote me," you chirp, inviting yourself into your husband's solar. A neat letter laid in your hand with a familiar Lannister seal broken atop it. "He told me that his lioness is expecting cubs. Isn't that wonderful?"

Cregan looked up at him you from his paperwork. He blinked once. Then twice. "'S alright," he settled on. In truth, he didn't care of the news at all. 

Your face fell a bit. "Did you not hear me? Cubs."

"My love," he says carefully. "I care not for matters of those against the crown. I have permitted your brother's writings but I do not have to pretend I am overjoyed to hear of more lions that will be slaughtered should a battle commence."

You take a long time to think. You look back over the letter with a more tainted viewpoint than before. "They must be killed?"

"If he brings them into battle as Lannisters have done in the past, yes."

"Well." Your eyes water. "What if he does not? What if he keeps them hidden? Safe? As pets?"

"My darling love." He reached out his hand and drawls you to sit on his desk before him. He sighs and rubs at your hips. "A lion is no pet. They are unpredictable and dangerous. It is a strong house sigil. But to own them—"

"What of your direwolf?" You cry. "It is large and intimidating."

"Dark Night is uncaged. He proves no threat to me and my house. He can read me well. A lion cannot do that."

Big tears pool in your eyes and his heart immediately thumps harder. "My girl." He wipes them as they fall. "Ease your broken heart."

"They are only cubs." You hiccup and lean into his touch. "They have done no wrong."

"It is a curse, I know," he comforts. "Lots of things happen that way. Just the wrong place and the wrong time."

"Can I write? To Father. Can I tell him not to use them?"

Cregan knows exactly how this will go: You will beg Jason. He will lie and agree to ease your poor aching heart and to make Cregan no longer suspicious of the Lannister's war efforts.  Then, in battle, lions will be slain. 

It would happen regardless of what you wrote to your father.

He watched another tear fall down the tracks on your face from the previous ones. And he nods. 

You run off quickly to try to correct this and save the lives of innocent animals. 

He knows it's truly in vain. And when he or his men must kill them, he'll make sure you never hear of it.

But he knows it's the only way your little bleeding heart can sleep tonight.

….

Dark Night lays at your feet, nuzzling against your leg every now and then to get your attention. 

Cregan sits across from you. He's still looking over letters and pages, just in comfort outside of his solar. 

You still don't look up by the third time the dire wolf has nuzzled you. So he nips. 

You whimper. It didn't break skin or cause you tremendous pain. But it was a surprising prick.

Cregan barely looks at the thing and lets out a low growl from his throat to reprimand him.

Dark Night whines and lays down once more.

"Needy thing," he sighs with the shake of his head. "Scare you?"

You nod. "I do not like it when he does that."

"He's only playing. Is that right, boy?"

"Your Northern ideas of play are much harsher," you scoff. "I hate it."

He looks back to his letters. "You do not hate it."

"I do," you insist.

A small flicker of his eyes— swarming with mischief. "You do not hate Northern play."

You catch his meaning and flush. And he was right. This morning, you didn't seem to mind 'northern play' at all.

"You are all savages." You set your embroidery aside and stand. "Heartless and cold and… and…"

"Yes?" He grins.

"And… and I don't like it!"

You watch him do everything he can to hold back just how funny he thinks you are. He only gives a quirk of his brow. "You don't like it?"

"No," you snap. "And I don't like you! Or… your dog… or…" You look around. "Or this rug!"

"Oh?" He looks down at it— the bear skin rug from the animal he caught himself a few weeks after your wedding. "You told me you loved it."

"Well… I lied!" 

He watches you storm out, knowing you didn't mean a word you were saying. That was the Southerner in you talking. 

It made him want to coddle you more. Just to see what lengths you go to.

…

He let you sit and pout in your room for a while before coming to collect you.

He stood outside your closed door, sighing to himself. The things he did for love.

Opening the door, he saw you sitting on the floor in front of the hearth. You didn't look up at him. "And like that, the room is colder."

He scoffed. "Stubborn girl. C'mere and look at me."

"Why? So you can gloat?"

He stopped behind you. "You think I want to gloat?"

"No," you answer honestly. He'd never been one to think better of himself. That was one northern trait you did appreciate of him.

There's a tap of something hitting the table behind you and you turn.

There's a tray he'd just sat down. Lemon cakes and a nice glass of wine. Over the back of the settee he'd walked by was richly colored fabrics. 

"What is this?"

He shrugs. "If you don't want it, I can take it back—"

"Stop!" You sit up more now. "It can… it can stay."

His brow tilts. "Can I?"

You nod. 

He sits on the settee and waves his hand at you. You obey without a second thought, coming into his lap. 

"Thought about you," he admits, brushing your hair from your face. "I miss you during the day. Wish you'd visit me more often."

"They told me it was unbecoming of the Lady Stark to bother you while you work."

"Who told you that?"

You sigh. "Northerners. You know, my father let me speak to him at any time of the day in Casterly Rock."

"I know it," he agrees. "'S how you became so fucking spoiled." You grow defensive, but he quickly soothes it with a brush of his hand. "So are you going to visit me more or not, little garden rose?"

You hum in thought. "I will, but I have some requirements."

"Aye, I figured. Go on then. Name your terms." He pulls you closer, having a hand on your back to keep you from pulling away. "Tell me what you want."

"Well, I want a new dress to start. A brighter one of those fabrics. The colors here are too drab." 

He hums, nuzzling his nose against your neck now. 

"And I want… I want a horse of my own. I want to ride like I did at Casterly Rock."

"Too cold for you to ride," he murmurs. It makes a shiver go down your spine. 

"I want a northern horse and I want a heavy cloak so that I can, then." 

He lays a sloppy kiss against your throat. You squirm. "You're not listening to me," you whine.

"I am." He kisses. "Dresses and a horse." Another kiss. "A heavy cloak. What else?"

Your head grows dizzy when his scruff brushes against your skin. "I want…"

"Tell me what you want, wife," he whispers then kisses again. He nips lightly then soothes it with his tongue.

"I want… I want… new perfumes."

He groans at the thought and moves a meaty paw of his up into your hair to force your face up. "You'll have it."

He works across your neck and down to the place where it meets your shoulder. When you feel teeth there, you squirm and whimper. He groans out a 'good girl' when you let him finish the hickey you know will be there for at least a week.

He pulls his face away to look up at you now. His lips are swollen but there's a victory in his eyes. "Anything else?"

When you try to reach up touch the cooling spot at your shoulder, he intercepts and keeps your wrists in his hold. He looks the spot over. And at seeing the color beginning to pull, he grins. "Looks pretty," he tells you.

"And I want you to take me seriously."

The grin pulls into a knowing smile— bright and rare. "I take you very seriously, love."

"You don't! You… You're a brute."

"Mhm." He says as he looks you over.

"You're horrid. Just horrid."

"I know." He draws you in and slips his hands under you. 

You shriek when he picks you up suddenly. "And a barbarian!"

"The worst," he agrees as he carries you to the bed. "The worst I've ever seen."

"I hate the North!"

He plops you down on the furs, making you let out a small 'hmph.' Then, he knocks your knees apart with his own and leans over the bed until you feel his breath upon your face. "You don't hate the North," he purrs.

"No," you whisper back.

"You like the North very much, as barbaric as it is."

"I do."

He lays a kiss to your lips. "I know."

The horse, the dresses, all of it— yours.

He made sure you, his little sensitive southern flower, were the most spoiled thing in the Realm.

........................................................................................