Lord Stark

Guilt welled up in his chest, rearing its ugly head and making itself known. Exhaustion was painted all over the king's face, seeping beneath his flesh, rimming dark circles beneath his eyes. The king was as similar looking as the prince had been, but Cregan had never recalled his prince looking as tired as his king did. That was the price of that crown, he supposed. Inner peace sacrificed for stability, equilibrium for the peace, and his soul sacrificed for that ugly, twisted iron chair. That throne taunted him, though Cregan would prefer to keep his person far from the mangled shape of it, it took all of who Jacaerys had been and left little behind. It left a saddened, tired creature behind, and Cregan could hardly recognize him. Recognition be damned, the love remained. It remained, as it always would. To love someone is to watch them change, and Jacaerys had surely changed. Shaped by his crown, molded by his throne, and maddened by his reign. Cregan could not think of a singular living soul who was less deserving of this torment.

But he did not allow himself to say those words aloud, and certainly not to Jacaerys’s face. No, if time proved eternal, the sensitivity that Jacaerys harbored would have remained, and upsetting the king would surely not make for a good first impression. He may have known and loved Prince Jacaerys, but he knew little of King Jacaerys, and he intended to remain wary, till his confidant proved himself unchanged. His knee remained planted firmly to the hard marble floor, forever bent for his friend and the dynasty he represented. Jacaerys’s palm rested on his shoulder, soft, but not lacking in its power. He spoke fondly, and if he didn’t feel so discomforted by the southron rats that this court had been filled with, he would have graced his king with a smile. Perhaps later.

At his king's command, he stood, and kept the amusement he felt to himself, immediately noting the lack of growth in His Grace’s stature. He felt relieved when Jacaerys dismissed his subjects, even his guards, leaving the king vulnerable with the wolf. When the last guard took his leave with a polite bow, he allowed himself to relax, shoulders loosening. Instead of returning to perch on his throne, the king stepped into his personal space, brushing his thumb over the silver pin fastened to his collar. A gift, more than an honor, one Cregan did not himself desire for, but he thought that Jacaerys would appreciate seeing it. “Aye, I did.” He uttered, keeping his tone low and only for his ears, despite them being alone. “...I thought you would like it.” He continued quietly, pulling his lips into a frown at the wetness rimming his dark brown eyes. On the verge of tears, but he still smiled at him, declared that he had missed him. He wondered what he did to deserve such a smile, but he was too selfishly desperate for his attention that he did not question.

His breath shuddered at his words, even more as he reached for his right hand, no doubt seeking out the scar that lay beneath his riding gloves. Cregan had missed him as well, had missed his presence in Winterfell, hells, he had even missed that insufferable dragon of his. Though the winter that Jacaerys had come to him in had been a difficult and grueling one, the prince had been a welcome distraction. A confident boy that had charmed his men, and had somehow managed to charm him as well. He had missed him, more than he could admit to himself or to Jacaerys, but the brunette had always had a talent for managing to see what lay beneath his skin, and he had an inkling that he didn’t need to say a word of his yearning. “It has been long. Longer than I would have liked.” He admitted gruffly, and that was the closest he could ever get to saying I missed you too. Jacaerys pulled the riding glove from his hand, crushing the supple leather in his grip, and Cregan turned his hand over, baring the long, white scar to his king.

Cregan didn't need to admit aloud that he missed him. Jacaerys could simply tell by the way that the man looked at him. He was suddenly aware of his pallid skin, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and how thin he had became since becoming king. Jace felt as though he looked like a spectre that was merely inhabiting his own skin. Wearing the crown felt natural to the boy who had known that one day it would sit amongst his curls. Only Jace had hoped by the time he sat upon the throne that he would have ample time to prepare himself. He had forced himself upon it, claiming his birthright from his brother who was too young to reign. The same thing could be said about Jace who was still just a boy in the eyes of many, but much more capable. He had already proven himself to be a savvy politician during the Dance, and the crown had emboldened him. He now had more power than he knew what to do with, and was currently employing it to salvage what remained of the realm.

"I like it very much." He says, rubbing the pin between thumb and forefinger gently. Jacaerys doesn't comment when he sees a flicker of amusement poke through Cregan's gruff exterior. He knows that the man is tickled pink with his lack of growth. Jace hadn't grown an inch since their time together, leaving him just as short as he had been when departing Winterfell. The only consolation was that his crown added an inch or two to his height. Jace wants to pull the man into a deep hug so he might smother himself against his furs and wrap his cloak around him. He resists, uncertain if there are any eyes currently upon them. King's Landing was a den of vipers, and Jacaerys knew that there were still supporters of Aegon lurking within her walls. Instead he simply offers Cregan a smile of reassurance so he might combat his frown. After traveling for weeks on end he deserved better than to feel guilty over circumstances out of his control. Jacaerys was there before him. Alive. Stressed, tired, and addled with a special sort of guilt, but very much alive.

I'm here now. You'll have me for as long as we both breathe, my lord. Jace thinks but doesn't say aloud. He doesn't want to overwhelm Cregan or throw himself upon his feet. Jace was a king now and had to have some decorum. That facade quickly crumbles when Cregan turns over his hand, revealing the scar that bonded their blood and souls together as one. Jace looks up from the scar to his beloved while the entire room begins to shimmer. Control yourself, Jacaerys. He thinks but can already feel tears coming on. His shoulders pushed themselves up and then fell heavily down as he began to cry.

Pity and embarrassment rooted the king before Cregan. Ever since arriving in King's Landing he hadn't allowed himself to grieve. Even when he held his younger brothers when they became mournful, he remained stoic and strong for them. In front of Cregan, whom he trusted more than anybody else in the world, he could cry freely. "--I'm sorry, Cregan." Jace chokes out softly, wiping at his eyes with a red and gold embroidered sleeve. "Seeing you has brought forth everything I've tried so hard to suppress these past weeks." He sniffles, casting his gaze away from the man whom he was afraid would judge him for his lack of decorum. Jacaerys was no longer a prince who could indulge in something as human as crying. He was a king now, one who had lost a majority of his family and felt as though he was still clinging to the wreckage of the gullet.

#𓃦───── interactions #𓃦───── jacaeryse #𓃦───── the first of his name

Tired was the first thing that Cregan thought of when he saw Jacaerys. Exhausted, crushed by the weight of his responsibilities. Responsibilities thrust upon him too young, before he was meant to bear them. It reminded him painfully of himself, forced into a position he had not been ready for. The situation made him think of his own, when he too had been young and inexperienced, attempting to fill in a hole left by someone much bigger than himself. He remembered himself as a young, frightened boy of ten and three, the title of lord now suddenly attached to his name. It had taken much strength for him to do the things he had done then, and though he had learned long ago that Jacaerys was not weak, but he found himself wondering if they possessed the same nature of strength.

“I’m glad you like it.” He replied, soft and oddly gentle. Tilting his head enough to watch as the king rubbed the pin between his fingers, tenderly, as if his touch would stain it. Hesitantly, he raised his other hand up to rest it over Jacaerys’s, brushing his thumb over his knuckles, before squeezing his nimble fingers between his own. He watched as the king's lips twitched upwards, a small smile, one undoubtedly intended to be reassuring. It was not reassuring, not in the slightest, but he didn’t believe that Jacaerys was quite in the mood to hear of his doubt. He presented his hand to the king, exposing the long, pale scar across his palm. The truest symbol of their bond, their camaraderie, their affection. He had expected the sight to bring some sort of comfort to Jacaerys, somehow. Cregan had never been the most skilled with gauging emotions, even less skilled with working around them, but even he, in all his density, had been caught entirely off guard by the sudden onslaught of tears.

His lips parted, and though he wanted to speak, no words came out. He was unused to tears, to crying, to comforting. He was not the comforting type of man, nor did he know any way to provide it. He even felt discomforted when his son cried, still as young as he was, the little pup was always susceptible to tears and screaming fits, but it was easier to be comforting to a toddler than it was to comfort a man, with a deeper perception of the realm. A deeper feeling to the weight and the crown that now crushed him beneath its weight. And yet, some sickened part of him thought that Jacaerys looked almost pretty, with his cheeks wet and his eyes rimmed red. He forced that part of him down as deeply as it could go, jaw working as he swallowed back his own disgust. He stood there like a fool whilst he cried, swiping at his glassy eyes with his finely made sleeve, babbling out his apologies as if Cregan could ever truly detest him for anything.

He clenched his fingers tightly around his palm, hiding the scar sliced across it. Perhaps it was the scar that had set him off, had brought forth the tears, a reminder of a time that he could never truly return to. He would never admit to being so tender, but this sudden ascension saddened him. The circumstance was a deeply unfortunate one, and he feared that already Jacaerys was slipping from him, gliding through his grasping hands like water. He would never know Prince Jacaerys again. He would be smothered beneath the king, and Cregan still did not yet know if the king remained the same as the man. Yet, the king still had the face of someone he loved, who he would always love, and he could not force himself to turn away. “Do not apologize.” Perhaps once, he would have said it as a command, not as a request, but now he must heed his position. Prince Jacaerys would have abided, no matter how reluctant, but he could no longer make demands of Jacaerys, only requests. Hesitantly, he reached out to take hold of his wrists, sliding his palms upwards to grasp at his hands, firmly but soothingly. “It is unnecessary.” He continued, and despite his belief that this nest of rats was always watching, for once he threw his caution to the wind, and lifted one of Jacaerys’s hands up to kiss his knuckles. “Must you suppress it still? I am here before you, living and breathing, ready and willing to bear this pressure beside you. I will be put to the sword before I turn my back to you.”

every time i reread something ive written kind cant help but think "damn this looks like it was written by ai"

#𓃦───── ooc #does anyone else have this worry orrr

This fake king could slither this way and that, sinking his poisoned teeth into every great lord and lady he happened upon, but Cregan was not so easily persuaded. Jacaerys had nothing to offer him, nothing he had any need for. Even if he offered Cregan nothing but his threats, he would not be swayed. His father had made an oath, bent his knee to Rhaenyra, and the seed of Starks did not breed recreant. Jacaerys even being allowed to stay in his keep was little more than a courtesy, but the boy was too blinded by his own arrogance to see it. Without his dragon, he was nothing. Just a small, vain boy who thought the whole of Westeros owed him something for the blood that happened to pump through him. He would be disappointed to discover that the north did not care for that hideous iron chair his family fought over so savagely, and who sat it meant even less.

His strides were longer than Jacaerys’s, and the crunching of snow beneath his boots as he strode to catch up with him was quite amusing. He was less amused when Jacaerys shamelessly slid his arm through his own, gloved fingers prodding at the muscle of his bicep beneath his cloak. The inside of the Great Keep was less cold than the courtyard, the water from the hot springs that pulsed through the stony walls warmed everything, and still he could feel every tremor that racked through his slight frame. Lord Manderly had done him a great favor by forewarning Cregan of Jacaerys and his little reign of terror, and he had made a wise decision of setting aside a better chamber than he deserved. It was a kind accommodation, spacious with wide windows that permitted a lot of sunlight. He was more than happy to allow Jacaerys to untangle the arms, watching as he observed the room with an eye that was too critical for a guest. The king picked up the goblet as if it was tainted, and it took a lot of his restraint to not roll his eyes at him.

“You will be well taken care of.” He reassured him, though his tone was lacking in any friendliness. He already pitied the poor boy that he would have to appoint to the king's care. He ought to put aside some coin for the victim, as compensation, and an apology. He watched as his face shifted from one of displeasure, into one of disgust. He could at least attempt to enjoy the accommodation, and he ought to be more grateful. He was lucky that Cregan did not strike off his head the moment he laid his eyes on him. Jacaerys set the goblet down, seemingly displeased that the sheen of it did not sate his pompous appetites, and he had the gall to hold out his hand, as if he had been tainted. He had to remind himself that Jacaerys was a guest. Jacaerys’s safety here remained solely on luck. Lucky that Cregan was gracious enough to allow him to stay, lucky that he was willing to accommodate him and his dragon, lucky that Cregan held guest right close enough to his heart that he would not abdicate it. If only Jacaerys had come earlier, he would have gladly laid his sword across his lap for all to see.

He glowered down at Jacaerys as he wiped his hand along the edge of his cloak, seemingly wiping off whatever grime stained his precious hands. He found some amusing irony in Jacaerys’s words, commenting that his boy was a pup, and useless to him. Jacaerys was little more than a pup himself, not just that, but an unruly one as well. It was becoming clear to Cregan that Jacaerys had never had an ounce of discipline, not once in his life. He had been spoiled and catered too, and the product of that upbringing resulted in an arrogant, self assured boy, prancing about on his dragon and demanding anyone and everyone that he stumbled upon bend their knee to him. Jacaerys was certainly not a king that Cregan wanted to kneel for.

Cregan grunted softly when Jacaerys planted his palms flat against his chest, thumbs brushing the steel direwolf that he adorned. His back pressed against the thick, oak door, and he once again thought that Jacaerys was once again graced by luck. Lucky enough now that Cregan was willing to stay where he herded him, allowing Jacaerys to believe that he had him pinned. He must be aware of the difference in their size, that Cregan could barrel him over with ease. Could kill him with ease, no sword even required. That pretty neck of his would give easily beneath his hands, but Cregan was not king slayer, no matter how incompetent of a king he may be. Jacaerys spoke of the supposed attitude problem he had, and he raised a questioning brow. In Cregan’s mind, he had been kinder than Jacaerys deserved. He ought to be thanking him, truly. Cregan was not given a chance to defend himself, as Jacaerys grasped his stubbled chin between his fingers, angling his head down so he was forced to look at him. His lips parted, so shocked by the audacity it took his breath away. His surprise quickly morphed into anger, brows furrowing deeply, his neutral expression turning to a cold glare. Dog. He dared to call him a dog, to his face after he had been so courteous. “I would be most pleased to see your attempt at making me do so.” He replied, defiant and unbending. “You insult me with your mere presence, yet expect my fealty all the same. Not even a dog would kneel for you, and nor will I.”

Cregan could have rolled out a velvet carpet for Jacaerys to walk upon so his boots never touched the grime of Winterfell, and it still wouldn't have been enough. There was no satisfying a boy who believed that the entire world was a gift meant only for him. Everything he had ever asked for he had been given upon a golden platter. When the boy made demands they were met with haste, and those that failed him were often subject to humiliation. So it was a shock when Cregan denied him outright. His grip upon Cregan's stubbled chin tightens while anger simmers beneath lavender colored eyes. "You don't understand the gravity of your situation, Cregan." Outside a deafening roar echoed throughout the castle, permeating their very bones. Sensing his owners irritation, Vermax had abandoned the crypt so he could circle over Winterfell. "Rhaenyra is going to lose this war. I will not see your people suffer for your foolishness." His words curl around the smile that fixes itself upon his pretty features, "White Harbor and the Vale have already sworn themselves to my cause. You're all that's left. Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be." All the while Jace's other hand had been working to undo the strap keeping Ice strapped to Cregan's back. It falls away from his person and against the door with a heavy thud. Disarmed fully, Jacaerys pushes the man back against the door, slotting his thigh between his legs. He wasn't afraid of Cregan or his fabled skills as a fighter. Jacaerys had pure tenacity on his side, and a dragon threatening the entirety of Winterfell. "That's much better." Jace purrs, admiring the wolf who was rather handsome despite his lack of proper breeding. Any other man would have yielded in the face of a man twice their size and capable of killing him with one hand alone, but Jace was anything but ordinary. Like the Targaryens of old he believed himself divine. Winterfell, alongside the rest of Westeros, belonged to Jacaerys and he wouldn't allow a simple-minded oaf to keep it from him. Jacaerys didn't need to threaten Cregan. Not while Vermax lingered outside his castle. All it would take was a bout of Dragonfire for Cregan's entire legacy to fall apart. Having fought off his uncle for control would mean very little when there was nothing left but ruins to lord over. "It's not everyday that I am denied." Jace traces over Cregan's square jaw, admiring him as if he were a work of art. He could use a man like Cregan at his very side. Somebody unafraid to voice their opinions and deny his extravagences. "I've had Vermax devour men for less. But you're worth much more to me alive, and Rickon is still just a pup. He can't lord over Winterfell if you end up in the belly of my dragon...." Jace slides his hands back down to Cregan's chest where he taps the sigil upon his chest. "I shall have Winterfell one way or another. You'll find my methods are much more preferable than the alternative." He traces the sigil of House Stark slowly, while savoring the tension beneath them. Not even Ice would be able to slice through it. Then an idea strikes the king. An awful and insidious idea. If Cregan would not kneel before him and swear his loyalty, he would simply force the man to do so. "Instead of punishing you for your impudence, I have decided to reward you." Jace's eyes shimmer with mischief, "Cregan Stark, you have won the honor of my hand in marriage." He purrs, tossing aside the usual grandeur and circumstance of a royal proposal in favor of the impromptu. Jace held no love for protocol, and while it was entirely unheard of for two men to wed one another Jacaerys would rectify those very laws now that he was king.

#𓃦───── interactions #𓃦───── jacaeryse #𓃦───── the silver prince #sorry this isn't as good as usual i felt like i was being skull fucked by a jackhammer while writing this

To Cregan, it seemed that Jacaerys was finally beginning to realize that he was not a dog to be called to heel. The hound that Jacaerys believed him to be had teeth, and he would continue to snap and bare those teeth at him. He was angering the boy, he could tell. His anger simmered his blood, and the soft palm cradling his jaw tightened enough to pinch. When he found the stomach to look Jacaerys in the eye, he saw nothing but disdain and anger swirling in his pale, lilac eyes. If the boy was so disturbed and insulted by this, how could he think to rule an entire kingdom? His mere presence disturbed lords and ladies, and though Cregan was certainly no Lord Manderly or Lady Arryn, he had seen enough of Jacaerys to know that whatever terms he had met with the two had likely not been peaceful, amicable ones. But, Jacaerys held the upper hand, whether he liked to admit it or not. The dragon changed much, and tipped the stakes in the boys favor, and he was forced the remember the dragon, an even more insulting presence in his lands, as it left the comforting warmth of the crypts with loud, leathery flaps of its wings to circle overhead, screeching and bellowing as if it could feel Jacaerys’s anger.

Perhaps it could. Cregan knew nothing of dragons except for the danger they posed. Jacaerys’s voice was silky and soft, but the words were poisonous. Threatening, angered. It was becoming clear to Cregan that he was one of the few who remained loyal to the Queen, and any amount of men he could scrape together would be fickle against this boy king and whatever host he now possessed. But he was not a turncloak. If he abandoned what he held true to his heart at the first signs of a struggle, he would not stand as Warden of the North. His lip curled, exposing the sharpened points of his canines as he tore his head free of Jacaerys’s repulsive touch, huffing and rubbing his palm over his jaw as if to rub the lingering touch away. “But I am not Lord Manderly or Lady Arryn, am I?” He said, and though perhaps it was said with the air of question, it was not one. He was no Lady Arryn, nor was he Lord Manderly, and what they did meant nothing to Cregan. Pressure was an inutile weapon against Cregan, one he had hardened himself against long ago.

He had been so appalled by Jacaerys’s audacity, and even more consumed by his anger, that he had failed to notice that the boy had seemed to lose control over his hands. His fingers undid the strap, leather rubbing against the metal buckles, loosening it enough for the sword to fall. Ice was not a heavy sword, despite its appearance, but when it leaned against the sword before falling to the floor with a loud thunk, it made a muscle in the lord's jaw twitch. A subtle, familiar weight had been lifted from his back, but in its place an even more surmounting one had been placed upon his shoulders, a weight that he could not part from no matter how much he may want to. The weight stood before him, goading and mocking him, and he would desire nothing more than to rid himself of it. The lulling words that slipped past his lips made Cregan’s skin crawl uncomfortably beneath his clothing, and he wondered bitterly what he would be forced to do to get those lips to seal and remain as such. “You will get used to denial.” He remarked flatly, anger beginning to swell up inside him again as Jacaerys swept his fingers over his jaw.

It was a gentle touch, like the touch of a lover, but Cregan certainly did not feel love, but only anger. And yet, to him, anger and love sometimes felt one in the same. He felt them both so intensely, and both were all consuming. Love and anger consumed like a frenzied hound, and he worried to think of which one may finish him off first. Once again, his lips twitched, sliding up enough to flash the hard ivory of his teeth, but Jacaerys was hardly deterred. He spoke so casually of allowing his dragon to taste his northern flesh, but the threat did not burn quite so badly as how he spoke of his son. As if he were merely disposable, a pawn of his to be used when he desired. Rickon was hardly more than a babe, and something like guilt coiled itself around his heart when he thought of his boy, of how frightened he must be. In that moment, he recognized that Jacaerys truly did have the advantage against him. Cregan, though loyal to the oath his own father had sworn, was no glory hungry fool, willing to go out in a blaze and greatness just so someone may remember his name in a few hundred years. His heart would remain true to the north, to his people, before it could remain to any monarch. He had been loyal, he always would be. So loyal that it would damn him, force him to submit to a tyrant.

Jacaerys slid his palms back to settle against his chest, tapping at the direwolf pin that remained fastened then. His touch burned, lit a flame within him, but Cregan was not so foolish as to let it burn. Every word Jacaerys spoke forked into another meaning, and it irritated him. Jacaerys was no dragon, he was merely a snake. Even less than that, a lizard. His words were a dual-edged sword, slicing him open no matter how he approached them. His brows furrowed, icy grey eyes narrowing into an expression of distrust. Reward was the last thing he had expected, especially not from a man like Jacaerys. “Reward.” He repeated, unimpressed, tone flat as he shifted against the leg slotted between his thighs. He was not even sure what he had been expecting. In truth, he had expected to be meeting his end, despite Jacaerys himself recognizing that he proved much more useful alive, and a foolish part of him hoped that the reward would be Jacaerys taking his absence, but no, the pretty, light eyed mink thought himself as the reward.

His jaw tightened, clenching his teeth so hard they began to ache under the pressure. Marriage. It was unheard of, two men being wedded. Though, as it stood, Cregan would remain as little more than Jacaerys’s war prize, lest he be forced into such an arrangement. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt more insulted in all his life. Something in him that tethered his rage to his inner core frayed, before it snapped entirely. He seemed to be reminded of his superior size, and he bullied his weight against the king, enough to push him back, and before he could truly weigh the consequences of what he was doing, he spat at him, uncaring if it truly made contact with him or not. “How dare you.” He grated out between his clenched teeth, the bridge of his nose wrinkling with disgust. “I would impale myself upon my own blade before I spend a moment bound to you.”

implementing wolflike behaviors in cregan fuckkk i feel like a genius

#𓃦───── ooc #wolflike behavior in ALL my stark muses actually

i think about how cregan and his life before the war very often. 20-year-old single father, (presumably) both parents' dead, wife dead, pos uncle who tried to usurp you imprisoned, singlehandedly running the north, AND those evil blondes are fighting over the chair again and they need your help. oh and the winter this year is brutal btw. can we all chip in to get him a spa day or something cause holy

#𓃦───── ooc #free him

i shall redo my carrd eventually. maybe. i have to figure out how to make it fit my vibe

willjulep

Bro, we are cooked. The knight that dogs the prince's shadow like a dark and silent wraith just knelt to press his forehead to the prince's hand. Yeah, now he's uttering a prayer whose recipient is ostensibly God but in reality is the deified version of the prince that exists only in his mind. Aaand the prince just caressed his cheek to preemptively grant him absolution. I gotta... I gotta get out of here.

#𓃦───── jacegan

sorry in advance for the bad sex scene you guys are going to be subjected to ive never had sex in my life and my knowledge comes from ao3

crashbandacoochie

fyi if we’re mutuals you have full consent to be as feral as you want in asks and dms

#𓃦───── ooc #me and my bff that i annoy the shit out of #i love them dearly

mythshire

°✧*:·゚ 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 ··· a collection of political marriages, throne betrayals, crown versus heart & forbidden alliances sentence starters. genre: royal drama, angst, power struggles, forbidden love.

• The treaty has been signed. • You wear my crown well. • I care not for desire. You're marrying the heir to secure the alliance. • The council has voted. Your claim to the throne has been invalidated. • Take off the crown when you speak to me. I want to see the person, not the monarch. • I found the poison in your chambers. Were you planning to use it on my father or me? • Our kingdoms have been at war for three generations. A wedding won't change that. • You're asking me to choose between you and my birthright. That's not fair. • I saw you in the gardens with [insert name]. Does your betrothed know? • I don't want the throne. I never wanted it, not truly. • The marriage was never consummated. We can still get an annulment before anyone knows. • You're a hostage here. Stop pretending otherwise. • I loved you before you were king/queen. I'm not sure I can love what you've become. • The lords are calling for your head. I can't protect you anymore. • Your signature on this document means war. You know that, don't you? • I'm carrying your child. Your legitimate heir is going to have a bastard sibling. • They found your letters to the enemy court. They're calling it treason. • You promised me a crown. Instead, I'm locked in a tower. • The alliance is broken. Your family killed mine under a banner of peace. • I don't trust you. But I need your army. • You've been on the throne for six turns of the moon, and already there are three coup attempts. • We were meant to rule together. When did you decide you wanted to rule alone? • The royal bloodline ends with me. I cannot give you an heir. • I would burn this kingdom to the ground for you. Is that what you wish to hear? • You're not fit to rule. The council is preparing to name a regent. • I loved you when we were just children in the garden. Before any of this mattered. • The succession is unclear. If you die without an heir, the kingdom falls to chaos. • They're starving in the streets while we feast in the palace. • Your exile is permanent. If you return, it's death. • I never agreed to be a political pawn. I had dreams before I had a crown. • You killed the rightful heir. Every day you sit on that throne is built on murder. • The marriage contract has a clause. If I fail to produce an heir, you can set me aside. • Your father's debts are now yours. • I am a queen, not a broodmare. I will rule, not just provide heirs. • The small council is calling for your execution. I'm running out of reasons to deny them. • Your claim is older than mine, but my army is larger. Choose your next words carefully. • I didn't realize loving you would be considered an act of treason. • The regent is poisoning the young king/queen. I have proof, but no one will believe me. • You renounced your titles for me. I never asked you to destroy yourself. • The consort's chambers are on the opposite side of the palace. There's a reason for that. • The lords are circulating a petition to have our marriage dissolved for barrenness. • I watched them behead my entire family. You expect me to swear fealty? • The alliance needs consummation witnesses. I know it's barbaric, but it's tradition. • I didn't flee my own kingdom just to become a prisoner in yours.

#𓃦───── memes

cregan and alton

i lowkey neglect all my moots... sorry guys i do love you all im just shy💔💔i made this blog for one person i didnt expect people to actually follow me

#𓃦───── answered asks #“these damn kids” -cregan #probably

GET OFF OF MY BROTHER.

you should be asking him to get off of me 🤨

ngl targ!jace might be able to dom cregan he's that determined

If Jacaerys expected a sniveling, weak-willed lord who would bend over backwards to accommodate his every decree, he would be surely disappointed. He had more pressing matters to be concerned with. Winter was coming, and Jacareys’s presence, along with his dragons, was entirely unwelcome. He had neither the resources nor the patience to deal with either of the smug, troublesome creatures, and he intended to make his displeasure known. Guest right was a sacred thing in the north, and Cregan would not allow this pale-haired, fire blooded creature to unravel his virtues, that did not mean he had to be pleased with him. Tolerance was a much different force than willingness, and Jacaerys would learn that very quickly whilst he remained in Cregan’s domain.

The dragon was large and hulking, and every step it took seemed to vibrate though the cold, hard earth beneath his feet. Even though the dragon trailed behind, Cregan could feel the hot, sulfurous breath wafting against his back, penetrating the thick furs of his cloak. Perhaps a dragon was not such a burden, it warmed everything around it. Warmth was an unaffordable luxury in the winter, and the dragon breathing against him was the warmest he had felt in weeks. Jacaerys turned his head, soft white curls rustling in the warm breath of his dragon. He spoke something in a language that Cregan did not understand, his tongue like velvet and his voice a rolling cadence. Cregan watched him, eyes flitting to the dragon before falling away again. Vermax, the king had called him, and he assumed that must be the beast's name, though he cared little for whatever name it had. The dragon stalked ahead, the warmth that permeated its scales warming his face as it slid by him, the tip of its tail lashing out to snap at his ankle. The leather of his boot protected the skin beneath, but the jolt of it was felt in full, and it brought another deep, displeased scowl to Cregan’s face as he watched the dragon coil in the mouth of the crypt. It seemed content, though Cregan had no experience when it came to the emotions of dragons. The creature let out a curt huff of steam through its nostrils, and Cregan took that as a pleasant emotion. He forced his face to remain still, but inside, disgust twisted sharply in his belly.

It was an insult to him, a slap in his face after he had been so kind to this spoiled littling princeling who styled himself a king. This pale haired little princess had done little more than invade his keep, frighten his men, and make himself comfortable in a place he had no right being in. Jacaerys could call himself king all he liked, but words with no truth meant nothing to Cregan. So far as he was concerned, Rhaenyra was his queen. His father had bent his knee and sworn himself to her, and Cregan would follow the footsteps his father had laid before him. Jacaerys was his enemy, though the boy was not keen to believe it. In his eyes, the north was a vast, virgin kingdom, ripe for his taking. Not only had this false boy king insulted him with his presence, but he insulted his ancestors as well, forcing Cregan into permitting the beast to nest in his keep. His brows furrowed as he stared at the dragon, at the mass of muscled, jade green scales. He exhaled sharply through his nostrils, sending a short mist of warm air from his nostrils. He listened keenly to what Jacaerys said, but offered him no reply except for acknowledging grunt.

Jacaerys turned towards him, the expression on his delicate face little more than mischievous, or snide. He couldn’t quite tell. He stared blankly at him, his brows furrowing as he stared intensely at his face. The boy had the nerve to flutter his lashes at him as well, like a shy little maid. He was anything but shy, though he supposed small was a certainly more befitting descriptor. His blank expression bled into a glare, and a muscle in his jaw grew tight and rigid. Now he made commands of him, bold ones as well. He was unsure if he should admire his audacity, or curse his insolence. As frustrated and insulted as he was, he could not force himself to recoil at Jacaerys, nor did he entrust him to behave himself around his men. He gave a sharp nod, before turning to walk back towards the Great Keep. “Come.” He said authoritatively, not turning to see if he followed. If Jacaerys valued keeping that freckled skin attached to his frame, then he would follow without any more sass or question.

Jacaerys cared very little for protocol and the tedium that came with it. He was as wild and spontaneous as Dragonfire, consuming everything he came into contact with before reducing it to ash. Having visited the Vale and White Harbor, Jacaerys had been an upstanding if not fickle autocrat. Jeyne Arryn had agreed to aid Jacaerys under the condition that a dragon be provided to the Vale for protection. He agreed to install Argon and Sunfyre there. Jace hoped that time far away from the Capitol would curb his eldest brother's appetites. Lord Manderly had folded easily when Vermax revealed himself to be a beast of considerable size and awful temperament. What would he have to offer to get Cregan Stark upon his side? He hadn't considered that thus far. Any lord with their brain in tact should have thrown themselves at the feet of King Jacaerys to serve him fully. But from the way Cregan stared down at him with nary a thought behind those grey eyes, Jace doubted there was little to nothing going on up there. For such an oaf the man was particularly stubborn.

"Gladly. I cannot wait to take a warm bath and change my clothes."Jacaerys says, waving goodbye to Vermax who continued to watch Cregan with those eyes of molten bronze. The King catches up to Cregan easily, looping their arms together once more. Jace has to put forth a great effort to keep up with the northern lord who was walking much faster than his short legs could comply. Inside of Winterfell they continue their silent tour through the castle, navigating depressing and dreary hallways enroute to the prince's chamber. Jace helps himself through the door to the rooms appointed to him. He steps inside, immediately displeased with the accommodations. Jace looks around, observing the lack of decoration or finery. There is only a silver tray with a bottle of ale and two goblets waiting for the king. Jace lifts one of the goblets so he can inspect the shine and make of it. He finds it lacking. "I'll need a valet for my stay." Jace says without so much as looking up at Cregan.

He sets the goblet down before walking forward, hand lifted up and away from his person as if tainted by grime. Jace wipes his hand upon Cregan's cloak before looking up and at his stern face. "Your boy is just a pup and therefore cannot be of service." The King boldly plants his hands upon Cregan's chest, his thumbs brushing the Stark sigil that decorated his leathers. "But you on the other hand? You're more than capable, and you've got an attitude in need of curbing." Jace traps Cregan against the door to his chambers, leering up at him like a cat who had caught a mouse. His lavender colored eyes twinkle with delight, fully aware that it would be near impossible for Cregan to deny him. One hand slithers upward, catching Cregan's chin between thumb and forefinger so he was forced to look down upon his king. "I ought to make you kneel before me. To remind you of your rightful place at my feet, dog."

#𓃦───── interactions #𓃦───── jacaeryse #𓃦───── the silver prince #guards impregnate that twink!!!

This fake king could slither this way and that, sinking his poisoned teeth into every great lord and lady he happened upon, but Cregan was not so easily persuaded. Jacaerys had nothing to offer him, nothing he had any need for. Even if he offered Cregan nothing but his threats, he would not be swayed. His father had made an oath, bent his knee to Rhaenyra, and the seed of Starks did not breed recreant. Jacaerys even being allowed to stay in his keep was little more than a courtesy, but the boy was too blinded by his own arrogance to see it. Without his dragon, he was nothing. Just a small, vain boy who thought the whole of Westeros owed him something for the blood that happened to pump through him. He would be disappointed to discover that the north did not care for that hideous iron chair his family fought over so savagely, and who sat it meant even less.

His strides were longer than Jacaerys’s, and the crunching of snow beneath his boots as he strode to catch up with him was quite amusing. He was less amused when Jacaerys shamelessly slid his arm through his own, gloved fingers prodding at the muscle of his bicep beneath his cloak. The inside of the Great Keep was less cold than the courtyard, the water from the hot springs that pulsed through the stony walls warmed everything, and still he could feel every tremor that racked through his slight frame. Lord Manderly had done him a great favor by forewarning Cregan of Jacaerys and his little reign of terror, and he had made a wise decision of setting aside a better chamber than he deserved. It was a kind accommodation, spacious with wide windows that permitted a lot of sunlight. He was more than happy to allow Jacaerys to untangle the arms, watching as he observed the room with an eye that was too critical for a guest. The king picked up the goblet as if it was tainted, and it took a lot of his restraint to not roll his eyes at him.

“You will be well taken care of.” He reassured him, though his tone was lacking in any friendliness. He already pitied the poor boy that he would have to appoint to the king's care. He ought to put aside some coin for the victim, as compensation, and an apology. He watched as his face shifted from one of displeasure, into one of disgust. He could at least attempt to enjoy the accommodation, and he ought to be more grateful. He was lucky that Cregan did not strike off his head the moment he laid his eyes on him. Jacaerys set the goblet down, seemingly displeased that the sheen of it did not sate his pompous appetites, and he had the gall to hold out his hand, as if he had been tainted. He had to remind himself that Jacaerys was a guest. Jacaerys’s safety here remained solely on luck. Lucky that Cregan was gracious enough to allow him to stay, lucky that he was willing to accommodate him and his dragon, lucky that Cregan held guest right close enough to his heart that he would not abdicate it. If only Jacaerys had come earlier, he would have gladly laid his sword across his lap for all to see.

He glowered down at Jacaerys as he wiped his hand along the edge of his cloak, seemingly wiping off whatever grime stained his precious hands. He found some amusing irony in Jacaerys’s words, commenting that his boy was a pup, and useless to him. Jacaerys was little more than a pup himself, not just that, but an unruly one as well. It was becoming clear to Cregan that Jacaerys had never had an ounce of discipline, not once in his life. He had been spoiled and catered too, and the product of that upbringing resulted in an arrogant, self assured boy, prancing about on his dragon and demanding anyone and everyone that he stumbled upon bend their knee to him. Jacaerys was certainly not a king that Cregan wanted to kneel for.

Cregan grunted softly when Jacaerys planted his palms flat against his chest, thumbs brushing the steel direwolf that he adorned. His back pressed against the thick, oak door, and he once again thought that Jacaerys was once again graced by luck. Lucky enough now that Cregan was willing to stay where he herded him, allowing Jacaerys to believe that he had him pinned. He must be aware of the difference in their size, that Cregan could barrel him over with ease. Could kill him with ease, no sword even required. That pretty neck of his would give easily beneath his hands, but Cregan was not king slayer, no matter how incompetent of a king he may be. Jacaerys spoke of the supposed attitude problem he had, and he raised a questioning brow. In Cregan’s mind, he had been kinder than Jacaerys deserved. He ought to be thanking him, truly. Cregan was not given a chance to defend himself, as Jacaerys grasped his stubbled chin between his fingers, angling his head down so he was forced to look at him. His lips parted, so shocked by the audacity it took his breath away. His surprise quickly morphed into anger, brows furrowing deeply, his neutral expression turning to a cold glare. Dog. He dared to call him a dog, to his face after he had been so courteous. “I would be most pleased to see your attempt at making me do so.” He replied, defiant and unbending. “You insult me with your mere presence, yet expect my fealty all the same. Not even a dog would kneel for you, and nor will I.”

Cregan had insisted that the king be there to witness every single execution. Jace had accepted with only an ounce of hesitation. Whenever he had descended upon the Gullet a top of Vermax he had set countless Triarchy sailors ablaze. Those unfortunate men and women had been scorched by Dragonfire, burned beyond recognition before attempting to douse themselves in the ocean. Jacaerys had seen none of their faces, remembering only their screams as Vermax soared upward. This was much more different. Each death had been so visceral, and the sight of decapitated heads and their bloodied necks would forever be imprinted upon his memory. That was the price of regicide. These men had to serve as an example for all who would ever fathom of betraying King Jacaerys. Rhaenyra had instilled in her son as many lessons as she could during her life. He had styled himself after his late mother, incorporating everything she had ever taught him now that he was seated upon the throne. Jace would be a firm but kind king, using his powers for the betterment of his people while not slacking on punishment when necessary. Cregan, however, had compelled Jace to continue the war to snuff out any and all opposition to his claim. He had considered it for only a moment. Jacaerys had spent his entire life with the stain of his alleged lineage. That certainly wouldn't change now that he had became king. Whispers and rumors would persist, and not even Vermax was proof enough of his Targaryen blood to some. But to persist meant more bloodshed and Westeros had already suffered enough during the dance. Jace would usher in an age of peace much to the chagrin of his loyal hound. Cregan had spilled enough blood, yet it hadn't been enough. Jacaerys pondered if the man was perhaps exacting revenge upon those already long since passed for taking his sweet summer prince away from him. That version of Jace still existed within the king, buried beneath duty and entangled in everything he had suffered thus far. In moments like these it was easy for Jace to pretend that he was still there in Winterfell with the man who had so easily captured his heart. But the warmth of King's Landing was always enough to remind him of reality. In time Cregan would have to return to Winterfell so he might resume his duties and return to his people. Surely his men had also grown tired of King's Landing and her fickle people, as well. Jace knew that Cregan certainly had. It saddened the king that he could not merely order Cregan to remain at his side. Doing so would be selfish. Rickon had remained in Winterfell, waiting for his father to return to him along with the rest of the north. The thought forced Jace to instinctively tighten his grip upon Cregan. After everything they had found each other again only to be torn apart by circumstance. Jace would have thought it romantic if it hadn't made him feel sick to his stomach. He shakes the thought off, refusing to wallow in the troubles of tomorrow. He takes a step back from Cregan so he can look up at the man. Jace would never grow tired of admiring him. Even after the man had grown gray and grizzled with age. "You know what's unfair?" Jace asks after a moment of simply gazing upon Cregan, "Two years have passed and I haven't grown a single inch." After the week they had endured together Jace tried desperately to instill a moment of levity between them. It had been foolish of him to do so. Everything felt warped by the specter of death and the inevitability that hung between them.

"--Tell me, Cregan. Though I am certain of the answer, I must hear it. Even after everything. Do you still love me?"