Author note at the end.
Mahli and Ewan, welcome to the crazy house, you are gonna love it.
ALSO:
YOU ASKED, I DELIVER.
The green dragon left the cold walls of Winterfell at first light.
Lord Stark and his baseborn sister stood on the tower and watched the shape grow smaller against the pale sky.
With every wingbeat the prince and his mount drew farther away until they were little more than a dark speck above the distant hills.
Sara leaned her forearms on the stone parapet, a faint smile still touching her mouth.
“He asked if I wished to ride with him,” she said.
“I refused. Truly, I did. But I regret it now.”
Cregan said nothing and the silence stretched long enough that she finally turned to look at him.
His eyes held a quiet, steady accusation.
He did not need to speak for her to hear the judgment in them.
When the words finally came, they were measured and stern.
“I am disappointed in you, Sara.” He kept his gaze on the horizon rather than on her face.
“You knew well enough the man was spoken for, even before that pale prince came stamping into our halls. Yet you let yourself fall for him. I told you not to entertain these southerners.”
Cregan turned away from her and fixed his gaze on the low hills rising beyond the walls, and on the vast stretch of white land that rolled away toward the horizon.
“Jace warned us the boy carried a serpent’s tongue,” he said as a humourless snort escaped him.
“Why do you think they sent Jace in the first place? Every southern prince is born with a silver tongue, Sara. The only real difference between them is what lies underneath it, in the heart.”
Sara’s smile faded as she pushed away from the wall with a soft sound of annoyance.
“Aye, I fell for a man who already belonged to another. That choice will haunt me for the rest of my days but you have made a choice of your own. Will yours haunt you the same way?”
Cregan closed his eyes for a moment and a thousand thoughts moved behind them.
The thick cloak around his shoulders suddenly felt heavier than the wool and fur had any right to be.
“Father swore his oath to the princess,” he said at last.
“And I had to put Bennard aside before I could take this seat. Half the lords of the North still look at me and see a green boy playing at lordship. I cannot be the first Stark to break an oath the moment trouble comes riding up from the south.”
Sara stepped closer and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.
She could feel the tension in the muscle beneath the cloak, the constant weight of duty that never seemed to leave him.
“Do you regret refusing the green offer?” she asked carefully, soft enough that the question would not push him further into regret if the feeling was not already there.
“A fair price on southern grain would have filled our stores sooner. Many of the lesser lords would have been grateful for it.”
Cregan gave a slow, solemn nod.
A sad smile touched one corner of his mouth and then vanished.
“Aye. They would have thanked me to my face.” His voice dropped.
“And called me oath-breaker the moment my back was turned. They would say I sold my father’s word for a few more bushels of wheat. I will not give them any further reason to question my rule than the ones they already carry.”
Sara patted his back once, firmly.
“If they disobey, put them to the sword or send them to the Wall. You are their liege now, Cregan. The wolves of Winterfell are not fickle beasts. If any house needs reminding why the Starks were kings in the North for thousands of years, then remind them.”
Cregan’s brows rose.
A flicker of genuine amusement crossed his face before he forced it away with a shake of his head.
“Aye. Perhaps.” He drew a long breath and looked out again over the rolling white land beyond the walls.
“There is a war blooming in the south. I do not know how many northerners will ever find their way home once they march past the Neck.”
He was quiet for a moment longer.
“I promised your prince our greybeards,” he said.
“In exchange for their sacrifice I bought us time, time to secure the harvests and the stores, because-”
“Winter is coming.”
Cregan nodded, the sadness returning to his expression.
“Aye. It is.” He rested both hands on the cold stone of the parapet.
“Let us hope the south does not ask more of us than we can give.”
Sara nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling into place.
“Go to the Maester,” He said.
“Have him send word to Roddy. Tell him to call his banners and gather his men before they make for Moat Cailin. He can lead the greybeards south when the time comes.”
A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“The southerners will die from his stink long before his sword ever reaches them.”
Cregan let out a short, genuine chuckle, the first easy sound he had made all morning.
“Aye,” he agreed, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment.
“They will.”
A/N: Ok, I know technically this is not a North Pov but more like a Stark-ish Pov.
I plan on doing a North Pov later when Roddy comes down from the Neck.
For now, this is all I can give you.
I had no plan to write this chapter and only did this for you guys, so sorry if it does not feel in place.
Also I think I captured Cregan’s thoughts pretty close to what I think his book counterpart did.
He wasn’t really active in the Dance except the end, the Hour of the Wolf is absolute cinema but it did feel like Cregan played it safe for the Northmen until most dragons were gone and the war was almost settled.
That is the reason why he’s my second favourite Stark, he knows his men are more important than others and he knows how to keep them safe while also not losing face, guy had like 4 wives and lived till 80 in the medieval times, that’s gotta be some kinda record.
Theon Stark, the hungry wolf is my favourite, sharing it with Bran the Builder.
Anyway, good night.