Author note at the end.
The North.
I fucking hate the North.
Not the people, most of them were decent enough in their bluntness.
It was the land itself that made me mad.
Every night I had to do the same exhausting thing, find a keep, land Tessarion at a careful distance so the locals didn’t lose their minds, present myself to whatever lord or castellan held the place, exchange the absolute minimum of northern small talk (which usually consisted of my name, my purpose, and a short grunt of acknowledgment), listen to whatever grievances they had about the crown, observe the proper customs, and leave again at first light.
It fucking sucked.
I had already endured it at Moat Cailin, then Barrowton, then Castle Cerwyn, by the time I reached Winterfell, I was fucking done.
My first impression of the castle itself was simple: it was big
Bran the Builder had clearly embraced an early form of brutalism when he raised the place.
It had no delicate spires or pretty courtyards meant for garden parties.
Winterfell had been built for one purpose, to shelter the people of Wintertown and every surrounding village through winters.
The walls were thick enough to laugh at most siege engines and the towers rose from every angle of the main keep.
Everything about it said permanence and survival rather than beauty.
I did not even need to open my mouth to know how the political wind was blowing here.
In the main courtyard a white banner bearing the grey direwolf of House Stark snapped in the cold wind and right beside it hung another: the three-headed dragon in red and black.
I felt a small, tired smile tug at the corner of my mouth.
‘Jace actually pulled his weight.’
I adjusted my cloak against the bite of the air and walked toward the Great Hall, boots echoing on ancient stone.
Winterfell had already chosen its side.
Now I just had to see what that meant for me.
Cregan Stark was my age, or close enough that the difference barely mattered.
He still managed to stand taller and broader through the shoulders too.
He waited at the far end of the Great Hall with someone I recognised at once.
Jace held a girl’s hand in both of his, smiling as he spoke.
The girl in a way looked like Crystal Reed.
She nodded along, though her attention had already drifted.
Her eyes found me the moment I stepped fully into the hall.
I offered a polite smile and a small wave.
‘What kinda uncle would I be, if I don’t embarrass the shit out of my nephew.’
Jace’s expression collapsed immediately and his smile vanished.
He released the girl’s hand and turned fully toward me, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.
A glare he fixed on me carried every ounce of the fury left over from the Eyrie.
But Cregan did not share the same heat.
His voice was measured and formal.
“Winterfell welcomes a prince of the blood to its hall,” he said.
“Yet I am told by my new friend that I cannot be certain whether the man who stands before me is a true prince of the realm… or a traitor.” The source of this chapter is novelping.com.
I inclined my head, keeping my tone calm.
“There is indeed a prince in your hall, Lord Stark and no traitors. My nephew believes his mother is the rightful heir, and so he fights for that belief. I know the final words spoken by my father, and I fight for those. It is a matter of wills and wishes. Nothing more. There are no traitors here, only men bound to their causes.”
The girl beside Jace let out a short, disdainful snort.
“Jace mentioned a silver-haired, serpent-tongued prince would find his way to these halls,” she said boldly.
“It seems he was not wrong.”
Cregan’s voice cut across hers at once sharply.
“Sara.”
She shot him a look, then stepped back half a pace, though the glare she kept fixed on me never softened.
I let a slow smile spread across my face.
“Jace?” I repeated, tasting the familiarity.
“Not Prince Jacaerys? How amusing.”
I began walking toward them, closing the distance without hurry.
“I do not know if you fancy him, my lady,” I said to Sara, voice mild.
“My nephew is handsome enough. He has the makings of a great man, and qualities to match. You would have every right to fall for him.”
Colour rose steadily in her cheeks with every word, while Jace and Cregan both narrowed their eyes, clearly trying to decide where I was going with this.
“But I fear,” I continued, “that he cannot fall for you in return.”
Her gaze snapped up to mine but I turned away from her and faced Cregan instead with an internal grin.
“He already has a promised betrothal on Driftmark.” I offered Jace a small, almost sad smile and his glare had returned in full force.
“Yet here he stands, playing with another’s heart.”
“That is no concern of yours,” Jace snarled.
“True,” I agreed easily.
“It is not for me to decide who you love or who you marry. And I did not come here for that purpose.”
I turned back toward Cregan, but the young Lord of Winterfell raised a hand and stopped me before I could continue.
“You need not waste further words on me, prince,” he said.
“I have given my promises to Prince Jacaerys, and I intend to keep them. Take your offers or your threats elsewhere. The North stands for the black.”
I nodded once, accepting the declaration without surprise.
“Your walls made that clear the moment I arrived, Lord Stark.” A thin smile touched my mouth.
“I would even say you have made a good choice… but alas, I cannot lie so freely.”
“A traitor who cannot lie,” Jace scoffed.
“Is that the irony?”
I chuckled and closed the remaining distance until I stood nearly chest-to-chest with my nephew.
“As I have already said, my dear nephew,” I murmured, loud enough for the nearest tables to hear, “there are no traitors in this hall.”
Then I leaned in and spoke the next words for his ears alone.
“Or perhaps you speak of yourself, following your mother’s footsteps, unable to keep the promises made to your betrothed, finding solace elsewhere. Isn’t that not some irony?”
The shove came immediately.
The hard stone of the hall floor met my back with a solid thud and impact knocked the breath from me for half a second, but the pain was secondary to the sight of Cregan locking both arms around Jace and hauling him backward before a second strike could land.
I laughed under my breath as I pushed myself up onto my elbows.
“The truth is a funny thing when spoken aloud, is it not, nephew?”
I climbed to my feet more carefully, one hand pressed to the small of my back, and settled against the nearest bench.
“Lord Stark,” I asked, stretching my back and hips, “what do the Northmen do to oath-breakers?”
“We cut the lungs from their chest while they still live, so they may know they are dying. Then we take their heads once the pain has burned itself out.” He answered immediately.
‘Wow, brutal.’ I nodded.
‘Clearly Ned was more Arryn than Stark.’
“My sister has broken every oath she swore upon her marriage,” I said calmly.
“And you have chosen to raise your banners for her all the same.”
Jace lunged again but Cregan shoved him back harder this time and Sara caught his arm and began dragging him toward the side doors of the hall, her face set with equal parts anger and embarrassment.
Jace went reluctantly, still throwing murderous looks over his shoulder until I couldn’t see them.
Cregan turned the full weight of his stare on me.
“You have no proof of the matters you speak.”
“The proof stood before your eyes only moments ago,” I replied.
“Acknowledging it would simply prove inconvenient. I have always heard that the Starks never break an oath. It seems you only hold to them when they are easy to keep.”
A low sound escaped Cregan’s throat, something between a growl and a curse.
He crossed the space between us in three heavy strides and looked down at me from his greater height.
“Get out of my hall.”
I offered him a polite, almost pleasant smile.
“I will be pleased to do so.”
I reached into the leather satchel at my side, drew out a single folded parchment, and held it up for a moment so he could see the unbroken seal.
Then I tossed it into the nearest hearth.
The edges caught at once and flames curled around the offer that would never be read.
“The proposal was simple,” I said as the paper blackened.
“It held no grand speeches or unnecessary formalities. Bend the knee to Aegon, and the Reach would have granted the North favourable rates on the grain that keeps your people alive through winter. It seems the parchment is useless now.”
I gave him a final, firm nod.
“I wish you fortune in the wars to come, Lord Stark.”
A/N: I actually wanted to do a three chapter thing in the North, like I did with the Vale.
I actually wanted to do this weird bromance brooming between Jace, Daeron and Cregan and all these boys understanding that the war that is coming is unstoppable and they have their own parts in it.
It should have ended with a doomed bromance ending with Daeron and Jace separating and each going their ways to their respective families but instead I did this.
I did this because that would be a bit of a far stretch, considering Daeron literally ragebaited Jace out of the Eyrie and Jace has been in Winterfell for like a month more than Daeron.
Or do you guys like that better, let me know.
Also I’m watching a bit too much Sopranos lately and I think it’s affecting my writing in some way.
I don’t know, I just feel like it.
Tell me if I have to lay it off and go back to historical dramas.