Letters of Intent
author's note: chapter 3 is here! sorry for the wait, I was busy with resit exams and my new semester has also started :((
cregan stark x oc (she/her pronouns)
warnings: mention of death (both human and dragons). making threats. crying. anger. swearing. spoilers for fire&blood.
The dungeons beneath the Red Keep were a labyrinth of despair, a place where even the bravest souls found their resolve tested. As Visenya descended the stairs, the air grew colder and more oppressive, the distant sounds of the keep above fading into nothingness. The stone walls were slick with moisture, the air heavy with the stench of rot and neglect, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the corridors like the ticking of some unseen clock.
At the third level, the narrow stairway gave way to a series of rough-hewn tunnels. Here, the true darkness began. The flickering torchlight carried by the northern guards did little to push back the shadows that clung to the walls, as if the darkness itself were alive, waiting to swallow them whole.
The Black Cells.
The passage narrowed further, the stone walls pressing in on either side, until at last, they reached a row of heavy wooden doors, their surfaces scarred and battered from years of use. The wood was thick and dark, soaking up the light, so that the cells beyond were cloaked in absolute darkness. There were no windows, no cracks in the walls through which even the smallest sliver of light could pass. Once the door was closed, the black cells became a tomb of night, where time ceased to exist and prisoners were left alone with nothing but their thoughts - and their fears.
When one of Cregan's men opened the door to Corlys' cell, the light from the torch spilled into the space, revealing a small, cramped chamber. The walls were close and suffocating, built to crush a man's spirit as much as his body.
His figure sat slumped against the cold wall. The Sea Snake, once a man of legend and renown, had been reduced to a shadow of his former self, his silver hair matted and his eyes sunken from more than a week spent in blackness. As the torchlight reached him, he squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness.
''Visenya?'' His voice was rough, as if he had not spoken in days.
She stepped forward, her presence commanding even in the oppressive gloom. The torchlight played across her silver hair and pale skin, casting sharp shadows that made her seem more dragon than woman. She regarded him with a cool gaze, her expression betraying nothing. ''Your time in this darkness is at an end, my lord.''
Corlys struggled to his feet, the chains around his wrists clinking with the movement. He winced, his body stiff from confinement, but his gaze never left the young princess. ''What have you done?''
Visenya ignored his question, her eyes flicking to the northern men standing at attention beside her. ''Release him,'' she commanded, her tone brooking no argument, ''and escort him to his new apartment in Maegor's Holdfast.''
The men moved forward, unlocking the chains that bound Corlys. The heavy shackles fell away with a clatter, the sound echoing through the narrow, suffocating cell.
For a moment, Corlys simply stood there, rubbing his raw wrists, his gaze fixed on Visenya. He wanted to demand answers, to know the cost of this sudden reprieve, but the steel in her eyes held him back from speaking to her as he had done in the years before.
''Princess,'' he sighed, breaking the thick silence, ''what happened?''
The words were heavy with exhaustion and the remnants of pride, a plea wrapped in the dignity of a man who had been brought low.
Visenya's gaze did not waver. For a long moment, she simply looked at him, as if weighing how much to reveal, how much to keep hidden.
''You were able to save my nephew,'' she said softly, the authoritative tone in which she had commanded the guards gone, ''but I was not able to save your son.''
Corlys inhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat as the impact of her words struck him. He staggered slightly, catching himself against the cold stone wall, his hand trembling.
''Addam,'' He whispered, the name escaping his lips like a prayer, a lament for the son he had claimed as his own.
She weakly nodded, the guilt of his death still filling her body each time she thought of the young Velaryon man she had taught to become a dragonrider their rightful Queen could depend on. She had watched him grow, had seen the fire in his eyes as he bonded with Seasmoke, and had placed her trust in his loyalty.
Unfortunately, after the death of her third son and the betrayal of Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White, Rhaenyra had succumbed to paranoia, her once-steady mind fracturing under the relentless pressure of loss and betrayal. She had seen enemies everywhere, even among those who had once been closest to her. It was in this fevered state that she had commanded the arrest of Addam, convinced that he, too, would turn on her, as so many others had. She had seen treachery in every shadow, and in her desperation to cling to her crumbling power, she had condemned a loyal dragonrider.
But Corlys had known better. He had seen the fear in his queen's eyes and the madness that clouded her judgement. It had been he who warned his bastard son, who had sent him away with Seasmoke to flee from King's Landing before the Queen’s guards could reach him. But in the end, the war had taken him as it had taken so many others.
There was nothing she could say that would ease his or her grief, no explanation that would justify the tragedy that had befallen Addam at Tumbleton.
She could still see it in her mind: the horror of that battle, the moment she and Sōnax had arrived too late to save him. The sight of Vermithor tearing into Seasmoke, the sound of Addam's last cry lost in the roar of the flames. It haunted her, and she knew it would haunt her forever.
''He was brave,'' she smiled, the memory of Addam descending upon Raventree Hall ingrained in her mind, ''and loyal.''
Corlys closed his eyes for a moment, as if drawing strength from her words. ''Thank you.'' He murmured, though the words were heavy with sorrow. He did not look at her, not directly.
Visenya nodded. She knew it was more than his gratitude for getting the stubborn Lord Cregan Stark to change his mind, but to speak so highly of his son, whom many believed was still a traitor as the other two dragonseeds had been.
''Let us leave this place,'' she said, her voice firmer now, ''your granddaughters will be delighted to see you again.''
With a slow nod and a faint smile at the mention of Rhaena and Baela, Corlys turned to follow her and the two northern men, who'd watched their interaction in silence.
As they emerged into the light of the Red Keep, the heavy, oppressive air of the dungeons seemed to lift slightly. Cregan's men prepared to escort Corlys to his chambers, but Visenya, however, raised a hand to halt them. She stepped closer to the Sea Snake, her gaze steady and resolute.
''Before you go,'' she began, stern but not unkind, ''Aegon will restore you to your rightful offices and honours. You will have a place on the small council, where your experience and wisdom will be invaluable.''
The sailor nodded in acknowledgment. He turned to follow the guards, but Visenya's next words made him pause once more.
''Wait,'' she said, signalling for the northerners to step back, giving them some privacy. She took a step closer to him, her eyes narrowing slightly, ''there is one more thing you need to hear.''
Corlys turned back to her, his expression curious but cautious as well. ''Yes, Princess?''
''Guide Aegon well,'' she advised, her voice low but intense, ''he is in his minority and his reign is fragile. Do not make me regret my decision to intervene. If you falter in your duties or act against the realm's best interests, know that I will see to it personally that the sentence originally decreed by Lord Stark will be executed. And it will not be by his sword - it will be fulfilled with the fire of my dragon.''
Her gaze was unflinching, her tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. There was no room for error, no chance for betrayal. The stakes were high, and he understood the consequences of failing her or the young king.
Visenya motioned for the guards to resume their duty, leading him to his chambers. As they moved away, the corridors of the Red Keep seemed to close in, the weight of her warning hanging in the air.
The days following the release of Lord Corlys passed in a blur. The Red Keep, ever a hive of intrigue, had settled into a tense quiet as the last of the executions and sentences were carried out. True to his word, Cregan had wielded Ice with the grim resolve expected of a man from the North, but as soon as the blood was washed from the stones, he had tendered his resignation as Hand of the King. ''The snows are falling in the North,'' he had declared to Aegon, ''and my place is at Winterfell.''
Yet, he had not yet departed the capital, lingering in King’s Landing for reasons known only to him.
Now, a different kind of tension filled the council chamber. The noble women and men seated around the large oak table were not here to discuss war or executions but something far more delicate: the marriage of Prince Aegon and Princess Jaehaera.
''They are children, Tyland!'' Visenya's voice cut through the chamber, resolute and sharp, leaving little room for argument. ''Aegon is only one-and-ten, and Jaehaera is even younger. This marriage, while needed, should not be rushed. Let them grow before you make them say words they cannot comprehend.''
The room fell into a tense silence, her words echoing off the stone walls. Ser Tyland Lannister, a former Green, leaned forward, his golden hair catching the dim light of the chamber. ''Princess, I understand your concern for your nephew and niece, but this marriage is not just about them. We need stability, and this union will provide that. The sooner the better.''
She narrowed her eyes at the man, making Tyland lean back again. ''Stability bought with the innocence of children is no stability at all.'' She spat back.
Making the marriage of the young children part of the peace pact had not been Visenya's idea, but at the time she had understood it was necessary. Aegon the Elder's death was fresh in the mind of the realm, and Corlys wanted immediate peace, or in his words, the madness needed to end.
Corlys, sitting to Tyland's right, clasped his hands in front of him. ''Visenya, the realm needs this marriage to happen. We cannot afford to wait.''
She clenched her jaw as she listened to the Sea Snake speak, a man she had saved not long ago, and yet here he was, aligned with those who would rush her nephew and niece into a union neither was ready for.
''They are children,'' she repeated, her voice softer but no less firm, ''I am not asking to delay until their nameday, but let them have a respite from this war. They have both watched their family die, one by one. Let them heal before thrusting them into something they have no say in.''
''The Princess speaks wisely,'' Lady Jeyne spoke up, ''but wisdom is often lost on those who seek quick fixes.'' The Maiden of the Vale glanced towards Corlys and Tyland, her disdain barely concealed.
The room fell into a brief silence, broken only by the shifting of chairs and the occasional clearing of throats. Jeyne's words hung in the air like a challenge, daring anyone to dismiss Visenya's concerns outright.
Lord Ryce Caron, father of Lady Elenda Baratheon, raised his voice for the first time, his deep voice rumbling through the room. ''This marriage is a symbol, a promise that the bloodshed is over. We cannot wait for them to grow.''
Others around the table murmured in agreement, their voices mingling in a chorus of urgency. Visenya felt the pressure mounting, the weight of their collective will pushing against her resolve.
''Besides, many of the great houses in Westeros are already on their way to King's Landing for the occasion,'' Corlys added, ''the wheels are in motion, Princess. To delay now would send the wrong message, one of uncertainty and hesitation when we need to project strength.''
Visenya's hands clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to maintain her composure. She knew that Corlys was right, at least in a political sense. However, the thought of forcing the young ones into a marriage they were not ready for felt like a betrayal of her silent promise to Rhaenyra to protect her legacy, meaning Aegon.
After a long pause, Tyland Lannister sighed, breaking the silence. ''Princess, your concerns are valid, and no one here wishes to see the children harmed. But we must also be realistic. The realm needs this union, and it needs it now. The Prince and the Princess will be married, and his coronation will follow subsequently. He'll be the Third of his Name, others will rule in his minority, you included,'' he inclined his head, trying to swoon her of some sorts, ''and peace will be restored.''
Her gaze hardened, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at Tyland's attempts to placate her with empty promises. She could see through the facade of his words, the subtle manipulation intended to sway her. But she also knew there was little more she could do. The council's decision had been made, and while she had voiced her objections, the momentum was against her.
''Very well,'' she said finally, the words leaving her lips with a heavy resignation. She could feel the collective relief in the room as she yielded. The tension seemed to dissipate, the lords relaxing ever so slightly, ''but I will take no part in the preparations. You wish to have a wedding and a coronation now, you will plan it amongst yourselves.''
She stood up from her chair, her movements deliberate and controlled. The rest of the table quickly followed suit, rising in a show of respect as the Princess made her exit. Her presence was still intimidating, and though they had overruled her, they were not foolish enough to forget the power she held.
Without another word, she turned and left the chamber, making her way toward the gardens. The tension in the chamber had been stifling, and the cool air outside was a welcome relief, though it did little to soothe the frustration boiling within her. She needed space, a moment to breathe and collect herself away from the prying eyes of the court.
As she walked, the sound of footsteps following her grew louder. The steady, deliberate pace was unmistakable, and she did not need to turn around to know who was behind her.
She reached the entrance to the gardens, the familiar scent of blooming flowers greeting her as she stepped onto the cobblestone path.
Cregan caught up to her, falling into step beside her. ''Visenya,'' He spoke her name, a hint of concern laced in his voice.
She stopped, her back still turned to him, her hands still clenched into fists at her sides. For a moment, she said nothing, letting his presence wash over her like a wave of calm. The anger and frustration she had been holding onto so tightly began to loosen its grip, though it did not disappear entirely.
Finally, she turned to face him, her eyes blazing with the remnants of her earlier fury. ''They are blithering idiots!'' She burst out, her voice sharp with anger. ''They sit at that table, so sure of themselves, like they cannot be touched. That Lannister cunt gets to walk around freely while a mere moon ago, he was kissing the Usurper's ass and now he gets to make decisions on my nephew's future, on my sister's son's future? Pathetic.''
She began to pace, her movements agitated, as if the energy of her anger needed an outlet. ''How dare they? I am a Princess of the Crown, a Princess of the Realm. While I was out there fighting a war that despicable men like them started, they were simply sitting in their castles, doing nothing.''
Cregan listened in silence as Visenya vented her frustration, his gaze steady and unwavering as he watched her pace back and forth like a caged lioness.
Her voice rose with each word, the injustice of it all fueling the fire within her. ''I bled for my sister, sacrificed for her, and now they think they can sit there, in their comfortable chairs, and dictate the future of my blood? They presume to make decisions for Aegon and Jaehaera as if they have earned that right - as if they understand the cost of the peace they so desperately seek.''
''Where were they when my sister got her birthright stolen? Where were they when they had to honour their oaths? They were nowhere! They were hiding, waiting to see who would emerge victorious, so they could crawl back into power like the cowards they are.'' Her pacing quickened, her steps echoing on the cobblestones as she continued.
Visenya stopped suddenly, turning to face Cregan with a fierce intensity. ''And now they want to make these children spew vows they do not understand.''
She shook her head, her expression one of disbelief. ''They see this marriage as a neat little package to tie up the war and move on. But they are blind to the damage they are doing. They do not care for those children, only about what they represent. Power. Control. A chance to secure their own positions.''
Her breathing was ragged, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. For a moment, she just stood there, the anger that had fueled her rant giving way to a deep, aching sadness.
Cregan reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, grounding her in the present moment. ''You are not wrong, Princess,'' he spoke calmly, ''but you are above them, stronger than their petty schemes.''
Visenya looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ''I just want Aegon to smile again. I cannot even remember what he looks like while smiling.'' She admitted, her voice trembling.
His heart ached at the sight of her, the depth of her pain cutting through him like a blade. The fierce, determined woman who had stormed out of the council chamber moments before now stood before him, vulnerable and worn.
He shuffled a bit closer, his hand squeezing her shoulder with a reassuring firmness. ''He will smile again,'' he murmured encouragingly, ''because he still has your love, your strength.''
She blinked, and a single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, frustrated at her own display of weakness. ''But I'm leaving him, Cregan,'' Visenya whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her fear, ''I am abandoning him when he needs me the most. Just… just like I abandoned Rhaenyra.''
Her voice quivered as she spoke, the mention of her sister breaking down the strong facade she had worn since arriving back in King's Landing. The grief she had buried deep within threatened to overwhelm her, the memory of Rhaenyra's loss still fresh, still raw.
Cregan shook his head, his expression easing. ''You did not abandon your sister nor are you abandoning your nephew,'' he began, his voice low and persistent, ''you heeded her commands, as a loyal ally should. Rhaenyra sent you to the Riverlands because she believed in you, in your strength and valour.''
Visenya looked away, her gaze distant, her heart heavy. ''Yet I was not by her side when she met her end. I was not there when…'' Her voice caught in her throat, the words too painful to speak aloud.
The man in front of her reached out, his hand warm and gentle as he cupped her cheek, turning her face back toward him. ''You carried out her will, Visenya. Your sister knew the risks, the dangers. She made her choices, and she entrusted you with a part of her legacy. You honoured her memory by doing as she bade.'' His thumb brushed away the tear that had fallen, his touch tender, almost reverent.
She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch for a moment, drawing strength from his presence. ''I should have defied her commands,'' she shook her head, her voice thick with regret, ''she was a fool to go to Dragonstone with nothing but her son by her side. With Sōnax, I would have burned Aegon alive and she would be sitting on her throne at this moment.''
Cregan's expression remained fixed, though his gaze grew more solemn. ''The past is a cruel master,'' he said quietly, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek, ''but you cannot change what has been done. Rhaenyra was a queen who made her own choices, for good or ill. You did as she bade because you are loyal, because you loved her. Do not dishonour her memory by doubting her decisions now.''
Visenya opened her eyes, filled with sadness. ''I should have been there,'' she insisted, ''she should not have faced that betrayal alone.''
''Rhaenyra knew the dangers, and she faced them as she saw fit. Her end was her own, it is not yours to carry.'' He said firmly, his hand still clinging onto her cheek.
Cregan could still see the disappointment etched into his betrothed's features, a burden she bore with every breath. Her eyes, though fierce, were clouded with the weight of self-reproach.
''Visenya,'' he mumbled, his gaze not wavering from hers, ''you have a life ahead of you, one that your sister, your Queen, would want you to live with all the vigour and courage she saw in you. She made her choices, and now, you must make yours. And I shall stand beside you, my Princess.''
Her eyes, still filled with disappointment, began to soothe, as though his words had found a place within her heart. Slowly, she found herself believing him, finding comfort in his certainty.
A faint, tremulous smile touched her lips. ''I thank you, Cregan,'' she whispered, ''for all that you have done, and all that you are.''
Cregan's gaze softened further, and he let his hand remain for a heartbeat longer before lowering it. He dipped his head slightly, acknowledging her gratitude with a humility that belied his own strength.
''You need not thank me, Princess.''
Visenya walked with purpose through the stone corridors of the Red Keep, her mind focused on her next task - checking in on Aegon. The tension of the day's council meeting still lingered, but she had little time to dwell on it now. As she rounded a corner, her path was suddenly blocked.
''Oh, my apologies, Princess.'' The man dipped his head swiftly in respect as he recognized who stood before him, his grand frame shifting aside to clear her path.
Visenya paused, taking in the man before her. He was undeniably Northern, his broad shoulders and simple yet sturdy attire a stark contrast to the more refined courtiers of King's Landing.
She offered him a slight nod in return. ''Do not fret, uh…'' She searched for a name, almost embarrassed she did not immediately recognize the sigil on his chest.
''Lord Edrick Cerwyn, Princess. I beg pardon for nearly running into you like a clumsy fool.'' He introduced himself, straightening his posture.
Her eyes flickered with recognition as the name registered. ''Lord Cerwyn,'' she repeated, her voice carrying a touch of warmth as she spoke, ''there is no need for apologies. The Red Keep can be a labyrinth for even the most practised among us.''
Edrick offered a modest smile, his rugged features softened by the gesture. ''Still, it was not my intention to impede your path, Princess. I have heard much of you, though this is our first meeting. I hope I have not left a poor impression.''
''You have not,'' she assured him, ''you are a close friend of Lord Stark, are you not?''
Visenya had seen the man around the Warden of the North a handful of times. Cregan had mentioned his name once during one of the earlier council meetings, but she hadn't had the chance to actually speak with him.
''Aye,'' Edrick grinned, his voice filled with a quiet pride, ''Cregan and I have known each other since we were boys.''
The young woman nodded thoughtfully. ''It is good to know that Lord Stark surrounds himself with those he trusts deeply. Such bonds are rare, especially in these times.''
Visenya couldn't help but notice the easy charm in Edrick's demeanour, a warmth that felt almost disarming compared to Cregan's more stoic nature. She found herself smiling a bit more naturally, her earlier tension easing.
His grin widened slightly. ''Aye, rare indeed, but those bonds are what keep the North strong.''
''I see why Lord Stark counts you among those he holds close.'' She responded, her tone much lighter now.
Edrick chuckled, the sound rich and genuine. ''Thank you, my Princess. In truth, I am looking forward to your arrival in Winterfell. The North can be a cold place, but I suspect your presence will warm it considerably.''
''You flatter me, my Lord.'' She said, smiling more naturally at his kind words, a touch of colour rising to her cheeks.
''Not at all,'' he replied, his tone sincere, ''Cregan, uh, Lord Stark speaks highly of you, Princess, and he is not one to give praise lightly.''
Her smile faltered slightly, a hint of surprise crossing her features. ''He has spoken of me?''
''Aye, he has,'' Edrick confirmed, ''he holds you in high regard, as he should.''
Visenya was silenced for a moment. She hadn’t imagined that Cregan would speak of her to his closest friends. The idea that she had made such an impression on the Warden of the North was unexpected, and it left her feeling both flattered and slightly unsettled.
''I was not aware.'' She admitted after a pause, her voice quieter.
He offered a gentle smile, sensing some unease. ''Well, now you are, Princess.''
She nodded slowly, her mind still processing. ''It, uh, was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Cerwyn,'' her voice wavered slightly, but she quickly composed herself, ''I hope to see you soon again.''
Edrick dipped his head in a respectful bow. ''The pleasure was mine, Princess. I am sure our paths will cross again, whether here or in the North.''
Visenya resumed her walk after giving him a final nod, her footsteps carrying her down the familiar stone corridors of the Red Keep. Initially, her destination had been clear, to check on her nephew. But after her conversation with Edrick, her mind buzzed with new thoughts, leading her feet in a different direction.
She turned down a quieter corridor, where the air felt cooler and the noise of the castle seemed to fade into a distant murmur. Her steps guided her to the private chambers of Lady Melina Massey, one of her ladies-in-waiting and the younger sister of Lady Elinda, who had served her late sister Rhaenyra.
Visenya and Melina had always had a great relationship, offering a blend of wisdom and warmth that made her an invaluable companion. The woman of House Massey was only a few years older than the Targaryen Princess so it had always felt natural to confide in her when it came to more personal subjects.
As Visenya approached the door, she took a moment to compose herself. Then, with a gentle knock, she announced her presence. The door opened shortly after, revealing Melina's kind and attentive face. She immediately sensed that something was amiss.
''My Princess,'' Melina greeted her with a slight curtsy, her tone laced with concern, ''is everything well?''
Visenya managed a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. ''May I come in? There is something I would like to discuss.''
The older woman stepped aside without hesitation. ''Of course, Princess.'' She gestured for Visenya to enter, closing the door behind them to ensure their privacy.
Inside, the room was cosy and inviting, with warm tapestries adorning the walls and a soft glow emanating from the fire burning in the hearth. Melina gestured for her to settle in one of the chairs by the fire, herself taking the opposite seat.
''What troubles you, my Princess?'' Melina asked gently.
Visenya took a deep breath, her gaze flickering to the flames before meeting Melina's eyes. ''I just met Lord Edrick Cerwyn. He is a close friend of Cregan,''
Her lady nodded, showing her full attention was on her.
''He said that Cregan speaks of me, to him - that he speaks highly of me.''
Melina leaned in slightly, her eyes alight with curiosity. ''So, Lord Stark speaks of you to his closest friends? That is rather telling, don't you think?'' She grinned, a teasing tone in her voice.
Visenya offered a small, somewhat embarrassed smile. ''I cannot say. At times, he seems very reserved. I didn't imagine he would mention me to anyone, at least not in a personal way.''
Her friend's grin widened, clearly enjoying this rare moment of Visenya's vulnerability. ''Oh, my Princess. You are to be married. Of course, he would speak of you in such a light. How could he not?''
She shifted slightly in her seat, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the armrest. ''I suppose you are right,'' she admitted softly, ''I do wonder what he tells Lord Cerwyn.''
Melina's eyes sparkled with intrigue as she leaned in closer, her voice lowering as if they were sharing a secret. ''Oh, I can only imagine. I bet he speaks of your wisdom, your intelligence, your resilience, your beauty.'' She teased, her tone light and encouraging.
Visenya's cheeks warmed at the thought, but she let out a small laugh, her earlier uncertainty fading. ''He is difficult to read, always composed.'' She mused.
Her companion chuckled softly, her smile warm and knowing. ''Reserved men often speak volumes in the little they do say. And if he’s speaking of you, it’s because you’ve given him something to think about.''
The Princess' gaze softened as she considered Melina’s words. ''Perhaps,'' she murmured, a gentle smile tugging at her lips, ''it’s strange, though, to think of him discussing me… us… with his friends.''
Melina nodded, her expression filled with understanding. ''It might feel strange, but it is a good sign, Princess.''
Visenya tilted her head, her voice thoughtful. ''He is not like the men at court, who are all too eager to boast or flatter,'' she remarked, rolling her eyes, ''with him, every word feels… intentional. After the council meeting today, I was upset and frustrated. Somehow, he found me at the right time and he listened to what I had to say, without asking him to.''
''Maybe he could feel it in his bones that his future lady-wife was not feeling well?'' Melina laughed, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
The younger woman, unable to suppress a grin, leaned forward and playfully slapped her friend's knee. ''Oh, will you hush!'' Though a faint blush graced her cheeks, the teasing was met with good-natured laughter from both.
But as the laughter subsided, Visenya's expression grew more serious. She glanced toward the fire, the flames reflecting in her violet eyes. ''Melina,'' she began, her tone shifting to something more contemplative, ''there is something I wish to ask you.''
Melina straightened in her chair, her attention fully on the Princess. ''Yes?''
''In a few moons, when it is time for me to leave for Winterfell, I would ask if you would come with me.'' She was nervous asking such a question, to leave her home.
Melina's eyes widened slightly in surprise. ''You wish for me to accompany you to the North?''
Visenya nodded. ''I believe it could be a new start for the both of us. Winterfell is far from here, and there are a lot of uncertainties. Having a familiar face with me in an unfamiliar place would mean a great deal.''
Both women had endured the profound loss of their older sisters - Visenya with Rhaenyra, and Melina with Elinda. The grief they carried had only strengthened their bond, one that went beyond mere duty or friendship.
Melina reached across the small space between them, taking Visenya's hand in hers. ''It would be an honour. I will go wherever you need me, even to the ends of the earth, Visenya.''
The Princess's lips curved into a grateful smile. ''Thank you, Melina. Truly.''
Melina squeezed her hand gently, and for a moment, the two friends simply sat in the quiet warmth of the room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. It was a peaceful moment, something they both unconsciously needed.
The days that followed were filled with significant events that would shape the future of the realm. The wedding of Aegon and Jaehaera was a grand yet poignant affair, held outdoors atop Visenya’s Hill. A deafening cheer erupted from the gathered smallfolk when the marriage was solemnised, the streets thrumming with the sounds of celebration as the royal pair were paraded up to the Red Keep in an open litter. The coronation followed swiftly, with Aegon crowned in a simple circlet of yellow gold, his child bride beside him as he took on the mantle of Aegon III, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.
But even amidst these grand ceremonies, Cregan's departure was imminent. The portcullis at the castle gates was raised, and the cobblestone courtyard buzzed with activity as the Warden of the North and less than a hundred of his men prepared for their journey back to Winterfell.
Visenya stood near the entrance of the courtyard, her posture straight and her face carefully composed. The cold wind ruffled her hair, and the weight of her impending role as regent settled heavily on her shoulders. She watched as Cregan, mounted on his powerful horse, oversaw the final preparations of his men, his expression a mask of determined calm.
As the moment of farewell drew closer, she took a deep breath, steeling herself. Cregan finished giving orders, his commanding presence unmistakable even in the midst of the bustling activity. He dismounted his horse, his long coat billowing behind him as he walked toward Visenya.
They met in the centre of the courtyard, where the noise of the departing men and clattering of hooves seemed to recede into the background. His gaze met hers with an intensity that was unnervingly intimate.
Visenya took a step forward. ''I wish you a safe journey to the North, my Lord.''
He inclined his head slightly, the usual firmness of his features softened but still unwavering. ''Thank you, Princess. I shall take great care.'' His voice was low, almost hushed.
They fell into a silence, the noise of the courtyard seemed to shrink around them. Cregan's expression was unreadable, his eyes intense as if searching for something in her gaze. There was an unspoken tension between them - not of conflict, but of uncertainty. They were both aware that this parting was different, heavier with the weight of their impending union and the months of separation that loomed ahead.
Visenya hesitated, her mind racing to find the right words. ''I trust you will find the North in good order when you return.'' The words came out more formal than she intended, and she cringed internally at the stiffness of her tone.
Cregan's brow furrowed slightly, a faint shadow of confusion passing over his features. ''I will do my best to ensure it.''
She forced a smile, cursing herself for the awkwardness she felt.
The Warden studied her for a moment, sensing the unease in her expression and the stiffness in her tone. He took a small step closer, his voice lowering as if to offer her some comfort. ''I look forward to your arrival in Winterfell, my Princess. The North will look forward to seeing you.''
Visenya’s forced smile softened. He had a way of making things feel less daunting, even in the simplest of statements. ''Thank you, my Lord.''
''I will write to you in the moons we will be apart, if it pleases you?'' A hint of a smile played at his mouth as he asked, the stern lines of his face easing.
She visibly eased at his words, her heart warming at the prospect of receiving his letters. ''I would like that very much.'' She replied, feeling much more comfortable now.
Cregan nodded, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he noticed her growing ease.. ''Then you shall have my letters. I won’t let the distance make us strangers.''
''I will write too, though I fear my letters may be more about my complaints of the council than anything else.'' Visenya chuckled.
Cregan's smile deepened, a rare warmth present. ''I will read them all the same. It will remind me that the South still has its own battles to fight.''
''And perhaps I will learn more about the North through your letters than I could from any book.'' She remarked, her voice softer now, a touch more sincere.
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. ''You’ll find the North is as much about its people as its lands.''
Cregan's tone held a hint of pride. The North was a place of harsh winters and fierce loyalty, a land where bonds were forged in the fires of adversity, and he wanted her to know that she would be welcomed not just as a princess, but as one of their own.
''Then I shall look forward to your letters, my Lord. Perhaps they will make this time apart a little easier to bear.'' Visenya said, her words laced with a mix of anticipation and hope.
His gaze lingered, as if he were committing every detail of her face to memory - the way the light afternoon light caught the silver strands of her hair, the gentle curve of her lips as she smiled, the hint of vulnerability in her violet eyes that she tried so hard to hide.
In an almost quiet, instinctive gesture, Cregan reached out and gently took her hand in his. His grip was firm, yet careful, as though he were holding something delicate that he could easily break. Without breaking eye-contact, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.
He let go, and stepped back, a respectful distance now between them. ''Farewell for now, Visenya,'' he said, with an intimate use of her name, ''may the winds favour your journey when you come North.''
''And may they guide you home safely, Cregan.'' She replied, feeling flushed by the manner he spoke her name.
With a nod, Cregan turned, his fur coat sweeping behind him as he mounted his horse once more. The beast shifted beneath him, sensing the change in its rider's mood, eager to be off. Visenya watched as he took his place at the head of his men. The sound of the hooves striking the ground echoed through the courtyard as the Northern party began their journey. She remained rooted in her place as they moved out of the castle walls.
With one final look over his shoulder, Cregan met her gaze from a distance. He raised his hand in a final, silent farewell, and Visenya raised hers in return.
She watched until the last trace of his party disappeared from view, the banners of House Stark swallowed by the winding streets of King's Landing that had never truly welcomed them. Only when they were truly gone did she allow herself to lower her hand.
The courtyard felt emptier now, physically and figuratively. The last weeks the Wolf in the North had been a constant presence, even when that presence was not always appreciated. He had brought with him the biting winds of his homeland, the uncompromising nature of a man forged in a harsher climate, and though his presence had often been met with wariness, it had also provided an anchor, a grounding force in the midst of chaos.
It was comical how the Lord of Winterfell had gone back to his frosty mountains and weather, yet it was Visenya who felt cold without him there. She felt his absence keenly now. He had been a fixture in the Red Ked.
A man out of place, but never out of his depth.
The council chamber was filled with the low murmur of voices as the lords, Lady and Princess debated the finer points of the realm's governance.
Visenya sat at the long, polished table, her posture straight, betraying none of the fatigue that had settled into her bones. To her left sat Ser Torrhen Manderly, the burly lord of White Harbor. On her right sat Corlys, while Lady Jeyne had taken the seat across from her. The Targaryen woman no longer occupied the chair at the head of the table, now belonging to the new Hand of the King, Ser Tyland Lannister.
Just as Lord Westerling was making a point about the raids of the Red Kraken on the western coasts, the chamber doors creaked open. The maester, a stooped man with a bald head and a chain heavy with links of various metals, stepped inside. He cleared his throat, cutting through the debate.
''Princess,'' he said, his voice gravelly with age as he addressed Visenya, his eyes respectfully lowered, ''a raven has arrived from Winterfell.''
Several faces turned to Visenya, curiosity and concern etched on their features. She remained outwardly composed, though her heart quickened at the mention of Winterfell. The raven could only mean one thing - Cregan had sent word.
She nodded calmly at the maester. ''Yes, thank you,'' she then turned to the council, her voice measured, ''my Lady, my lords, if you will excuse me. Feel free to continue the discussion amongst yourselves.''
The members of the council exchanged glances but nodded in acquiescence. Tyland gave her a small, acknowledging nod. ''Of course, Princess. We shall carry on in your absence.''
Visenya rose gracefully from her seat, her movements fluid, betraying none of the excitement that fluttered within her. The eyes of the council followed her as she exited the chamber, the heavy doors closing behind her with a quiet thud that left the room in a thoughtful silence.
Once outside the council chamber, the maester waited for her just beyond the doors, holding out a small, tightly rolled scroll sealed with the direwolf of House Stark. The parchment was thick and slightly weathered from its long journey south.
''A message from Lord Stark, Princess.'' The old man said, handing her the scroll with both hands.
Visenya took the scroll from him, the weight of it light in her hand. ''Thank you, Maester.''
The maester bowed and stepped away, leaving Visenya in the quiet of the corridor. She turned and walked a few steps further down the hall, seeking a more secluded spot near a window where the light streamed in, casting a warm glow over the stone walls. There, she carefully broke the seal and unrolled the scroll.
''Princess,'' the letter began, formal yet familiar, ''I trust this finds you well. The North is as cold as ever, but its people await your arrival with great anticipation. The preparations for your journey are underway, and I have ensured that Winterfell will be ready to receive both you and your dragon with all the respect due to your station.''
Visenya couldn't help but smile faintly at his mention of her dragon. The thought of Sōnax in the North, among the snow and cold, was almost surreal.
Cregan continued. ''I also wish to inform you that the Bannermen of House Stark have been notified of your impending arrival, and they have pledged to welcome you with the respect and honour that you deserve. Rest assured, you will find strength in the North, and I will do all in my power to ensure you are welcomed as a Stark in every sense.''
There was a pause in the letter, almost as if he had hesitated before writing the next part. ''Until then, I will await your letters with impatience. Do not keep me waiting too long, Visenya. I find myself growing quite curious about how you are managing the regency council. I can only hope they are not giving you too many headaches, though knowing the Southern lords, I fear that might be wishful thinking.''
Visenya couldn’t suppress a smile at his playful tone. It was a side of Cregan that he rarely showed in his time in the Red Keep. The image of the stern Warden of the North expressing impatience for her letters, and humorously acknowledging the difficulties of dealing with the council, was endearing. ''Do not delay in writing back, for your words are a comfort in this time apart. Until we meet again, Cregan Stark.''
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