86 AC
The Red Keep
Queen Alysanne Targaryen sighed in exhaustion and frustration as she left her daughter Viserra's chambers. Somehow, Viserra had learned that even the aged Lord Manderly was being considered as a potential suitor for her hand. Alysanne was certain her ladies-in-waiting and staff were utterly loyal, yet Viserra had still discovered the matter Septon Barth had suggested to her two days prior. Alysanne might have seriously considered Lord Manderly had it not been for old Theomore's betrayal of her trust. He should have sought her counsel before choosing to support Lord Stark and her grandson's reckless schemes to amass power and wealth.
Whoever had informed Viserra had conveniently omitted her sharp rejection of the idea. As a result, Viserra had attempted to seduce Baelon. The mortified prince dragged a naked Viserra before Alysanne and her royal husband. While her husband was not visibly angry—after all, Viserra had tried to seduce a Targaryen—Alysanne was livid. She understood the deep love Baelon bore for Alyssa and how devastating her loss had been for him. Loss was something Alysanne knew intimately—daughters and sons lost in childbirth left scars that never fully healed.
In hindsight, Alysanne regretted dismissing Aemon's grief over the loss of his love. He had barely been a man then, and she had thought he couldn't possibly be not affected considering the magnitude of loss she and her husband had endured in their youth. Yet, she was proud of the man Aemon had become, having turned his pain into strength. She even knew of his failed attempt to meet his bastard son, thwarted by the distance and the cursed Wall.
As she entered her chambers, she found solace in the presence of her six-year-old daughter, Gael. Her sweet, obedient child was a balm in these trying times, a comforting listener for all her woes—whether about her husband, her sons, or even her bastard grandson. Alysanne couldn't understand why her love for some of her children and grandchildren felt so natural, while for others, it was an effort. Her frown deepened as her wild grandson, Daemon, barged into her chambers, calling out for Gael. Perhaps it was the boy's name that soured her feelings, or perhaps his casual arrogance and his face, which reminded her too much of her accursed uncle.
"Daemon, how many times have I told you not to barge into my room?" she said coldly, satisfied to see the headstrong boy looking at least mildly chastened.
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Rhaenys Targaryen grinned as she slipped through the secret door near her chambers, eager to escape her septa and the drudgery of lessons. She had discovered the hidden passage only recently and was determined to explore it fully. Her dress would surely be ruined by cobwebs, but she cared little. Clutching a ball of thread from her sewing lessons, she tied one end to the door handle to mark her way back, should she fail to find another exit.
Exploration was thrilling, but what she loved even more was overhearing the secrets of adults. Her Cousin, Vissy, loved hearing her discoveries, though he was far too timid to venture into the secret passages himself. Dim light filtered through cleverly concealed holes in the walls, designed for spying on the rooms beyond.
Rhaenys was growing tired when her mother's voice reached her ears. Stifling a squeal of excitement, she hurried toward the sound, eager to eavesdrop.
"How could you do this to me, Aemon?" Jocelyn's voice rang with anger. "You swore Daemon would never be allowed south, and now you, the King, and the Queen discuss betrothing him to Viserra, as your idiot brother baelon suggested?"
Rhaenys froze. 'Daemon? But he was already here!'
She pressed her ear to a small hole in the wall, straining to catch every word.
"But that is not happening," Aemon replied. "Viserra is to be betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark, not my son."
Son? Rhaenys felt her heart stop. She had a brother? Wariness and anger surged within her as she jumped to the conclusion that he must be a bastard.
"Because your mother—my half-sister—had the sense to deny it vehemently," Jocelyn retorted. "And you? You didn't even reject the proposal, not once! Is it because it was your precious brother Baelon who suggested it? Does Baelon have more loyalty to your bastard son because the boy saved my nephew Aegon?"
"Enough, wife!" Aemon's voice turned cold, sending a chill down Rhaenys's spine. "Never question my valonquor's loyalty. Baelon would die for me before going against my wishes. He named his second son Daemon in my honor and because I asked it of him."
"Perhaps," Jocelyn said icily. "But that doesn't change the facts. You went north against your promise to me, and now you're discussing a royal marriage for a princess with a bastard. To make it happen, the King would need to legitimize him. Perhaps you truly want Daemon legitimized, and Baelon is your catspaw in this scheme."
"I had no choice, Jocelyn," Aemon snapped. "I didn't want to go north, but I was forced."
Jocelyn snorted in derision. "Forced? The Crown Prince who defied orders whenever it suited him claims he was forced to go north? No, you went for her. For her damned son!"
"No!" Aemon snapped, his voice sharp and unyielding. "I went for Rhaenys."
The room fell into a suffocating silence. Jocelyn's anger faltered, her sharp retort caught in her throat. Aemon took a deep breath, his tone softening as though the admission had drained him.
"I never told you what happened that day when my father sent Baelon and me to the Dragonpit," he began quietly. "This must not leave this room, Jocelyn." He paused, his gaze heavy and burdened. "The King threatened me. He demanded I renounce my inheritance, Rhaenys's inheritance, and any claim to the throne if I refused to go north. He was furious when I said no in the small council, that I ran away from my duties. He made it clear that any rebellion against his orders would have dire consequences—for us all. Do you understand, Jocelyn? The fact that we are dragonlords meant nothing to him in that moment. So tell me—what was I to do? Should I have cast aside our daughter's future?"
Jocelyn's anger ebbed away, replaced by a dawning realization. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Aemon exhaled, his shoulders sagging in relief. "Then you understand why I went north. It wasn't for her. It wasn't for him. It was for our daughter."
Jocelyn reached for him, her hand brushing against his arm.
But Jocelyn, ever sharp, wasn't entirely placated. "Even so," she said, her voice regaining a measure of its edge, "you still allowed Baelon to suggest betrothing Viserra to that bastard."
"Baelon only suggested it because he was furious over Viserra's foolish seduction attempt," Aemon countered. "The King would never allow Daemon Snow to come south, let alone legitimize him. You know that better than anyone."
Jocelyn hesitated, her lips pursed in thought. "Do I?" she said at last. "We're talking about the same King who humiliated his own half-brother, Lord Baratheon, before the entire realm by publicly confirming our great-grandfather Orys's bastardry. This is a man who proclaimed that House Targaryen will reward loyalty greatly, even to bastards. What's stopping him from legitimizing the boy to make a spectacle of it? After all, what greater reward could there be for saving his grandson?"
"Ah, but it was Cregan who traded the cure, not Daemon and it was House Stark who negotiated the deal." Aemon replied. "I don't see why you care about him, when you have not even seen him atleast once and he is banned from the south till called upon. No one is going to support him over my own trueborn daughter."
"You foolish man. You dare ask me this? You don't see why I would hate the living proof of my beloved's love for another girl—a northern heathen at that? A love so strong that you lost your sanity for over two years after the death of that stupid girl!" Jocelyn snapped. Even in her anger, the sadness was evident in her voice.
Rhaenys's eyes began to water as she grew sadder and sadder at her mother's heartbreak, as well as witnessing the first argument between her beloved parents.
Aemon gaped at Jocelyn, processing her words.
"You are jealous? Jealous of a girl who died in childbirth almost eighteen years ago? This is unbelievable," Aemon said.
Jocelyn scoffed, her sadness suddenly vanishing. "What of it? I might have forgotten about her entirely if not for your blasted son. She gave you a son, and as much as I love Rhaenys, she is a girl—not a boy. More than that, your son has got to be some kind of prodigy, some gifted person. I knew he was trouble the moment I first heard whispers of his involvement in the northern fleet and their ventures. The only relief I've had is that, at least, my kinsman Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, is still more renowned and superior in that field. And here you are, still making me take moon tea to prevent me from conceiving again because of your fears, while I want to bear a son for you."
Rhaenys had to cover her mouth to stifle the sound of her sobbing, making sure her parents didn't hear her. Tears streamed down her face as she processed her mother's frustrated words. Anger at her supposed elder brother began to take root in her heart. She vowed to become better than her bastard half-brother.
Aemon remained silent for a time, struggling to find words to appease his wife.
"Jocelyn, Rhaenys is my heir and will be queen after me. I am already training her for that role, along with Baelon. She will claim a dragon next year and she will trained by me and Baelon. Know this—my father will never summon Daemon here, as he fears anyone laying claim to Balerion, even in the dragon's sickly state. Even if my father does what you fear, I will ensure Rhaenys remains my heir when I become king."
Rhaenys felt a glimmer of relief and gratitude that her father supported her…
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Viserys Targaryen was glad to have his cousin Rhaenys as a companion growing up. Even though she often dragged him into trouble, their bond was a lovely one. Rhaenys was vibrant, even during lessons with the septa she hated. But for the last three days, she had been absent-minded and sad. Their parents might not have noticed, but Viserys, who spent so many hours with her, could see it plainly.
They were sitting in the library, reading Valyrian texts, when Viserys decided to break the ice.
"Rhaenys, cousin, what's wrong? Why have you been so sad and angry these last few days?" he asked, fed up with her mood.
Rhaenys looked up from the book she was reading, frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. She glanced around to ensure their conversation wouldn't be overheard.
"Come with me, Viserys. Let's go to the godswood, where no one can overhear us and we can see anyone approaching."
Viserys nodded.
The godswood was beautiful as always. The red leaves of the weirwood provided shade from the sun's heat. Viserys often felt a sense of being watched here, though he dismissed it as his imagination.
"Vissy, you must promise me not to speak of this to Uncle Baelon, my father, or anyone else. Do you know of my brother Daemon?" Rhaenys asked.
Viserys was pleased that Rhaenys considered his brother as her own, even though they were only cousins.
"I'm happy you see my brother as your own, Rhaenys, but what kind of question is this? Of course, I know my brother," Viserys replied, perplexed.
Rhaenys closed her eyes to calm her exasperation.
"Not Daemon Targaryen, you idiot. I'm talking about my elder brother—a bastard my father had with someone in the North, Daemon Snow. I overheard my mother arguing with my father about him being a threat to my status as heir. Father even said that Uncle Baelon named his second son Daemon because he asked him to."
Viserys's eyes widened comically.
"But… but… we've never heard of him before. How could this be possible? And what threat does a bastard from the North pose to us here?"
"I don't know, Vissy. That's why I'm asking you. Is there anyone trustworthy enough to find out without anyone knowing?"
Viserys thought for a moment and brightened.
"I know someone. Ser Otto Hightower has always been helpful to me in the library. Unlike other adults, he doesn't treat me like a child when explaining things."
Rhaenys looked thoughtful.
"Let's see if he knows something. Arrange for him to meet us here tomorrow."
Viserys agreed to do so.
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Ser Otto Hightower grimaced as he entered the godswood to meet with the young prince. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why Prince Viserys had asked him to meet in this heathen place of worship. This was not the first godswood Ser Otto had seen, but no other godswood had given him the unsettling sensation of being observed. The foolish heathens in the North might believe it was the Old Gods watching them, but a clever and learned man like Otto knew better. It was vile sorcery—man, not gods—doing the watching.
Otto had once discovered an ancient parchment in the Hightower vaults detailing the magic of greenseers and the dangers they posed. Initially, he had scoffed at the notion of such terrifying power to spy upon important people. But when he visited this godswood, he understood. The warnings about the feeling of being observed, sometimes overwhelming, sometimes absent, made sense now. It terrified him beyond belief when he realized he had no idea who was watching, where they were, or, more disturbingly, when they might be doing so.
After being knighted by Ser Ryam, Otto had ventured back to Oldtown to visit his family and was permitted to come back under the pretext of learning from the Grand Maester himself. Ser Ryam had been persuasive enough to convince the king to allow Otto's extended stay, and the opportunity to meet the young Prince Viserys was merely an added benefit. Otto smiled to himself, knowing he had made a strong impression on the impressionable prince. With his marriage drawing near, Otto was preparing to leave King's Landing, but whatever the prince had to discuss so secretively would surely leave a favorable impression as he departed.
"My prince, I am here as you asked," Otto said as he approached. He found Prince Viserys standing by the weirwood tree. As the prince stepped aside, Otto saw Princess Rhaenys sitting at the tree's roots. Fortunately, the oppressive sensation of being watched was absent.
"Princess Rhaenys, this is a surprise," Otto said, bowing as tradition dictated. He studied the young princess and noticed she seemed troubled.
"Ser Otto," Rhaenys began, her voice firm, "I have to know something, and Prince Viserys has assured me that you are knowledgeable and trustworthy enough to ensure that no one else will hear of this conversation." Otto detected the arrogance typical of a young royal, and it took all his self-control not to scoff or roll his eyes. Whatever had happened, it was clear the princess had shed some of her childish innocence and naivety. Yet she still failed to grasp one fundamental truth about royalty: arrogance and pride only led to foolish actions and made one an easy tool for others more cleverer than you.
Ser Otto bowed again and replied, "I will be honest, Princess, and share whatever I know about the topic you wish to discuss. I am, after all, a humble servant of the royal family."
Princess Rhaenys inclined her head and said, "That you are. I want to know everything about my bastard half-brother, Daemon Snow."
Otto's eyes widened in surprise, though he quickly masked his reaction, suppressing the smirk threatening to form. The Seven have truly blessed me, he thought. Here was an opportunity to influence the future King Consort and Queen of the realm regarding one of the greatest threats to House Hightower's goals. Perhaps he could even persuade them to deal with Daemon for him. Otto's mind burned with anger as he thought of Daemon's knowledge of sorcery, including miracle cures that defied explanation.
"My princess, this is a delicate matter," Otto said, injecting a note of reluctance and feigned panic into his voice. "I must ask for your promise—and your prince's as well—that neither of you will ever reveal that it was I who informed you, especially not to your father."
Rhaenys scoffed. "I already told you that no one will know about this, and yet you ask for a promise from your prince and princess?"
"Apologies, Your Grace," Otto said humbly. "But I know how unpredictable an angered Targaryen can be, especially from the tales of your father and your bastard elder brother. You might shout my name in anger after learning the truth when you discuss this with Prince Aemon."
"We promise that no one will know of this, Ser Otto," Rhaenys said, and Prince Viserys nodded in agreement.
Otto began his tale. "It all started when a thirteen-year-old Prince Aemon was seduced by a fifteen-year-old bastard daughter of the previous Lord Stark. Prince Aemon fell deeply in love with the girl, enough to ask the king for permission to marry her. However, the girl was punished by the Seven for her lustful ways—she died in childbirth. Your father, enraged and grief-stricken, blamed Daemon Snow for her death. The king proclaimed Daemon banished from the South. Lord Benjen Stark raised Daemon as a trueborn Stark, with all the privileges that entailed."
Otto paused, giving the royal siblings time to absorb the story. He deliberately glanced around, as if uneasy.
"Why are you looking around, Ser Otto?" Prince Viserys asked.
"My prince, I am merely being cautious," Otto replied. "There is a reason you have never heard of Daemon Snow in the Red Keep, not even from servant gossip. Everyone fears Prince Aemon's wrath. He once proclaimed he would personally punish anyone who insulted his love or her son by calling them bastards. He proved his resolve during a tourney held in your honor, Princess Rhaenys. Your uncle, Lord Baratheon, was conversing privately when your father overheard Lord Connington insulting Daemon. Prince Aemon silenced him by cutting out his tongue in full view of the realm. When Lord Baratheon tried to intercede, the king declared that if they feared Aemon overhearing, they should stop speaking Daemon's name altogether."
Rhaenys stared wide-eyed, anger and disbelief warring in her expression. "This happened during a tourney celebrating my birth?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes, my princess," Otto replied. "Daemon was a frequent topic of conversation at the time. He had insulted Queen Alysanne by devising a method to reclaim the Gift for the North from the Night's Watch. He has since accomplished remarkable feats, solidifying the North as a powerful base and demonstrating his martial prowess during wildling attacks. The people call him the 'Red Death' for the bloodshed he unleashed against the wildlings when they killed his Stark grandfather. Your grandmother is wise to be wary of him. But the king himself proclaimed he would reward bastards if their service to House Targaryen were remarkable enough."
Otto smiled inwardly as he observed the doubt and fear for the magical abilities of Daemon creeping into the young royals' minds. He continued his carefully crafted narrative about the things happened in the realm due to that bastard.
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The Sunset Sea
Harlan Pike watched the Mormont ships as they hunted down a leviathan—a whale. He had to admit they had turned this into an art in a remarkably short time, almost rivaling the Ibbenese he had encountered during his long years of reaving. The Ironborn had initially dismissed rumors of the destitute Mormonts venturing into shipbuilding. But as whispers persisted and several Ironborn ships, disguised as pirates reaving along the northern coast, were lost, the truth became harder to ignore. By the time the Ironborn took the threat seriously, it was too late to sabotage the shipyards at their roots.
Even now, Harlan marveled as the Sea whispered to him of the sheer number of vessels in these waters. The count was far higher than ever before, and the Drowned God was clearly displeased. Harlan Pike, the most powerful Ironborn captain outside the lords of the Iron Islands, had built a fearsome reputation. His exploits and success in raids had attracted many free captains eager to try their luck under his banner. Only the support of the drowned priests and his own cunning had kept him alive this long. The assassins he had sent to meet the Drowned God numbered too many to count. To challenge him now, any Ironborn lord would have to call their banners—something few dared, fearing the scrutiny of the Dragonlords and the end of their golden age.
Being a vassal to the Targaryens had its advantages, particularly when selling stolen goods to the Westerosi markets. For all their pride in the iron price and their ethos of taking what they needed, even the Ironborn traded when it suited them.
Harlan observed the Mormont crew through a Myrish lens, his attention drawn by the constant whispers of the Drowned God urging him to destroy these heathen vessels. Lord Greyjoy himself had issued a challenge, commanding the greatest reaver of the age—Harlan—to put an end to the Mormonts' audacity in Ironborn waters. Between his god and his lord, Harlan had ample reason to act.
Through the lens, Harlan studied the bastard grandson of the King in the North, who barked orders to his crew and even joined in hauling the slain whale aboard. Rumors of the bastard's martial prowess had reached even the Iron Islands, along with that insufferable song, The Red Death. Harlan begrudgingly admitted the northern version of the song was at least tolerable—Daemon Snow had paid the iron price, even in the least exaggerated versions of the tale. Harlan could believe the story; ambushes were often decisive, he should know as his own success stemmed from overwhelming his enemies through ambush and numbers, even without betrayal or a stab in the back and thus that the thousand northmen survival shows the truth of the tale.
What truly enraged the Ironborn, however, was the Riverlands' version of The Red Death. The Tullys had dared to twist the tale, changing wildlings to Ironborn in the legend, attributing the name to their red hair. The insult was unforgivable as they were given their power by Aegon The Dragon.
Harlan's musings were cut short when Daemon Snow turned his head and smiled directly at him. At first, Harlan thought it couldn't be directed at him, but the arrogant smirk and a casual wave left no doubt. Bewildered, Harlan tried to make sense of it. There was no way the bastard could see him, hidden as he was.
"Skinchanger."
The eerie whisper chilled his spine. He immediately looked up and spotted an eagle circling among the clouds. His gaze dropped back to Daemon, who smirked again, this time with a knowing shrug.
Harlan's instinct was to order an attack, but an overwhelming sense of fear and caution swept over him. The Drowned God's will was clear. He signaled his crew to relay the message to the other ships. With reluctance, Harlan ordered a retreat back toward the Iron Islands.
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3rd Moon, 87 AC
Bear Island
It had been several moons since the Ironborn came sniffing around the Mormont boats and retreated when their leader realized I am a skinchanger. Maybe he was afraid that I could skinchange into him and control him. I hadn't started my journey to the North in disguise, as I kept postponing it. The Mormonts are now at a stage where they could maintain the new whaling and shipbuilding efforts without my leadership, but I didn't want to leave Bear Island now.
The only thing missing is having my friends Aethan and Cregan here. Even though we were in contact through warging, I missed them dearly. One of the reasons I delayed going AWOL was the discussion on betrothing Cregan to Viserra. After years of practice, I can now finally enter the Red Keep and look for the specific meeting in my greenseeing using the weirwood in the Godswood. Earlier, I had to manually search through memories, but now it has improved drastically enough that I can will myself to specific words or times. Whatever magic King Maegor had enshrined in the stone didn't keep out Targaryen blood from scrying.
I was delaying my travel, as I didn't want to meet the Targs at all if the marriage happens in Winterfell. Cregan would be devastated, but I didn't want to meet them and show false respect when I had none for them. To disrespect them boldly when I have no dragon is utter foolishness, even for me. Just by staying silent and away from them, I am achieving what I envision.
I was broken from my thoughts by the shouting of Lyra as she called for our daughter, Lyanna.
I looked at the angry and sad face of my paramour and raised an eyebrow in query.
"Lyanna is missing from her room. She has wandered off somewhere, and we have no clue where she is," Lyra said.
"Well, she is more handful than me if that is so. Let's see where Fenrir is, and he could easily find her."
I closed my eyes, even though it wasn't necessary, to connect with my direwolf.
I felt exasperation and wariness as Fenrir immediately showed me what he was seeing.
My two-year-old daughter was wrestling with a cave bear cub. By the looks of it, it was only two to three moons old, yet bigger than Lyanna and stronger too. Still, I could see my daughter laughing as she landed on the overturned bear cub. I was so engrossed in my daughter's antics that Fenrir had to nudge me to notice the humongous cave bear a couple of meters away, watching its cub and my daughter.
Now that I saw the bear, I can see Fenrir was wary and had tensed muscles to intercept if the bear attacked Lyanna. I left a mental order to continue the vigil and retreated so I could personally arrive at the place.
I opened my eyes and saw a frowning Lyra looking at me impatiently.
"She is with Fenrir in a cave and playing with a bear cub," I said as I started walking toward the location.
"Oh, that's good," Lyra said, her posture relaxing and tension leaving her body.
"The mother bear is watching from a couple of meters away," I said casually.
"What? How are you not running there then?" Lyra exclaimed.
"Don't worry. The bear cub will be bonded with her, and the mother knows it. Also, the bears in these forests know to fear Fenrir by now. He is standing guard quite near Lyanna."
"Well, let's hope you are correct. If something happens to her, it will be very painful days ahead for you."
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The Skagosi Rebellion of 87 AC was nothing but a brief event for the people of the South. Even Prince Aemon waved away any concern when he heard it was his son, Daemon Snow, who was leading the armies of the North. Lord Cregan Stark, in his idiocy, had gifted the bastard his ancestral Valyrian steel sword, Ice, for the duration of the campaign. Furthermore, this is assumed to have been the final straw for Regent Bennard Stark and the true reason for the War of the Wolves in 91 AC, as Cregan went to the Iron Throne to make Daemon the leader of the northern army and went as a squire for the duration of the campaign.
It was known that Daemon was not on Bear Island at the time the banners were called and that he joined Cregan alone in Winterfell. It is speculated that Daemon and Lord Cregan had a secret way of contacting each other, but there is no way of knowing the truth. All the lords of the North were eager to answer the call, as all of them hated the Skagosi and their cannibalistic ways. The war, if it could be called that, lasted eight moons, and by the end of it, the three lordly houses of Crowl, Stane, and Magnar were ended in the male line. The ancient cruelty of the Starks was evident as their daughters were given as brides to a Karstark, Umber, and Dustin, respectively. It is said that they were happy to accept the lordship but not the daughters, but no one was foolish enough to protest against the It is said that Daemon Snow volunteered to oversee the growth of the land, just like he did on Bear Island, along with the gold granted by Winterfell. There were grumbles in the Small Council as the North assembled another fleet on the eastern shores, but The King Jaehaerys dismissed any voices of protest.
"Wooden ships burn faster than even stone castles. Winterfell has paid taxes for the building of ships. They will pay the tax for trade done by them. Let them do it."
Even though no one has confirmed it, Maesters has speculated that King Jaehaerys was always impartial regarding his bastard grandson and looking back it explains what he did later in his reign along with the consequences of such actions.
Excerpts from The Bastard King. Chapter 2: Years in Exile. Written by Maester Theon in 200AC
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90 AC
Bear Island
Daemon Snow.
I looked at the bustling small town near Bear Keep as I arrived at Bear Island. The port had developed once again, attracting people from the North seeking greater opportunities. The Mormonts were already known for selling their whale products along the entire west coast, except for Dorne. These products were in high demand in both the Reach and the Westerlands, where the wealthy paid exorbitant prices for them. Even the quarrelsome mountain clans near the shores of the Bay of Ice had begun trading with the Mormonts. Their offerings included fish, grains, and even fierce mounts.
I had to personally handle negotiations, as the mountain clans only respected a Stark—or someone with Stark blood. Finding a few wargs to scout for ships and avoid Ironborn ambushes had been an unexpected blessing.
As I entered the keep silently, I noticed new defenses made from reinforced metal. Fenrir, who had stayed behind to watch over the only acknowledged child of mine—and because having a warhorse-sized direwolf would draw too much attention—had already sensed my arrival. Joy radiated through our bond. My initial plan was to sneak into Lyra's room unnoticed, but it was thwarted by my own daughter.
"Stop right there, thief! You've been caught by the mighty she-bear of Bear Island!" A cute voice rang out from behind, accompanied by a light poke at my back.
I turned slowly, only to find my almost six-year-old daughter standing there. The bear cub she used to play with had grown to the size of a small man. I could sense the warg bond between them; the bear's heightened senses had sniffed me out. Looking at my daughter, I was utterly floored by her sheer cuteness. Thankfully, she resembled her mother more, but traces of my inhuman beauty were budding within her. Her silky hair, flawless skin, and the way she stood with a sword in hand spoke volumes. No child, not even with training, should have such a poised stance. Clearly, my children had inherited my accelerated learning abilities.
I wondered how much more extraordinary the children I had fathered over the past two years would become. I had left money for their upbringing and paired each with an animal to watch over them. Breaking ordinary animals to serve such purposes had been straightforward, and I checked on them every few weeks using my greenseeing abilities. My own bloodline resonated strongly when seeking power through the weirwoods, making it easy to monitor them all.
It was cruel, I admitted, to repeat what my own father had done to me. But the situation demanded planting the seeds now. The wights, after all, had been amassing an army for eight millennia, along with having more powers. Raising the collective strength of humanity in Westeros was the only way to eliminate the Others.
Lyanna stood before me, holding a large knife that served as a short sword in her small hands. Despite her wariness, the bear beside her—aware of the true predator here—was visibly hesitant to attack. Scenarios flashed through my mind as I considered how to handle this. She was only six, and though I could see a rudimentary stance in her posture, challenging a grown man was foolish. Likely, she felt confident because the bear was with her. Still, she needed to understand that far greater threats existed in the world.
Before I could teach her a small lesson in caution, she frowned and attempted to stab my thigh. Her strength wasn't enough to pierce my durability, and the sheer surprise on her face made me laugh.
"So, you're the defender of this castle, little lady?" I asked with amusement. Lyanna, still trying to stab me, huffed in frustration.
"This is not possible!" she exclaimed, her face scrunching up in thought before a mischievous smirk appeared. "Thief, surrender now, or my teddy will kill you and eat you!"
I was impressed that she hadn't taken her eyes off me despite her bold claim. "Oh? Is that so, little lady? But look at her—she's afraid of me and isn't attacking," I said, pointing at the bear while projecting a calming presence toward it.
Lyanna looked confused and glanced at her bonded bear. That was my opening.
Within seconds, I disarmed her, sending the sword clattering to the ground, and scooped her up into my arms. "Don't you remember me, Lyanna? It's only been two years," I said, holding her tightly.
The girl protested, punching me with surprising strength—more than any child her age should have. Fenrir appeared from behind me, drawing Lyanna's attention. She stopped struggling and grinned.
"You're defeated, thief! Now is the time to run! My bear may be lazy, but my direwolf will defeat you and eat you!" she declared confidently.
I raised an eyebrow, realizing she was referring to Fenrir. Her lack of fear in my arms surprised me. Perhaps she instinctively recognized I meant her no harm, or maybe she sensed the calming aura I had directed toward the bear.
Feigning betrayal, I turned to Fenrir. "Traitor! When did you abandon me to join this little lady?"
Lyanna's smirk faltered, replaced by apprehension. "What? Your wolf? You're Daemon Snow—the Stark everyone talks about? Are you my father? I overheard people whispering, but my mother wouldn't tell me anything except that my father was a bear in the woods."
Her innocent, pleading expression broke my resolve to remain distant. With a defeated sigh, I nodded.
A squeal of happiness erupted from the little girl as she hugged me tightly. Smiling peacefully, I carried her toward Lyra's room.
===================
I lay in a cuddle after two rounds of coupling with Lyra. Sex had almost become a chore for me, but having it with someone you genuinely like was an entirely different experience. It was surprisingly more satisfying than anything I'd felt in a long time. Lyra was asleep beside me, but my mind was restless, lost in thought.
I had lost almost a year dealing with the Skagosi rebellion and their development, but it had been necessary. With the advantage of my prior experience developing Bear Island, and thanks to having enough money and manpower, the initial stages of Skagos's development had taken only six months. The three lords of Skagos respected and feared me, though it was clear they didn't appreciate my overall authority. They tolerated it only because I had decreed that I would remain in control until I deemed the development self-sustainable.
After those six months, I had grown weary of the task and decided to gamble. If the lords followed my orders and methods, the island would thrive. If not—well, that would become Cregan's headache, not mine.
My thoughts were interrupted by hurried knocking on the door. I sighed, reluctantly getting up.
Pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt, I opened the door to find Lady Dacey Mormont herself standing there.
Before I could ask a question, she whispered urgently, "Come with me."
I shrugged, following her without further inquiry.
She led me to her solar. As I stepped inside, I was surprised to see my cousin Cregan there, along with Winter. No one else was present.
I hadn't contacted him in weeks, but I couldn't imagine why he would be here unless the foolishness of canon Bennard had repeated itself in this world.
Cregan stood as soon as he saw me and closed the distance to embrace me tightly.
I was stunned for a moment before awkwardly patting his back.
When he released me, I observed him carefully. He looked weary, as if he had endured a harsh journey to get here. Though still a head shorter than me, he carried himself like a seasoned warrior. I knew his physical prowess was exceptional, heightened by the abilities I had shared with him.
"I'm glad to find you here, Daemon," Cregan said, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "My uncle has lost his wits. He planned to assassinate me to hold onto his authority. The same hypocrite who warned me about you is now betraying me."
His cold fury was palpable. The ancestral greatsword Ice leaned against the wall of the solar, emanating an almost tangible chill that seemed to mirror Cregan's temper.
"I see," I said calmly. "What happened, and how did you discover this?"
"I have the same control over Winterfell that our grandfather had. Nothing happens there without my knowledge," Cregan replied pointedly. I understood that he had learned this through the cats and rats that roamed the castle. "I fled in the night after sending my mother, my sister Sara Snow, and Brandon to the Glovers, accompanied by trusted guards."
"Well then," I said, leaning back slightly, "what do you plan to do, Cregan? This is your moment to decide how you will rule the North. You have three choices, and I've taught you enough to know them without my guidance."
Cregan looked thoughtful before he spoke. "I will not use subterfuge, nor will I rely on you to kill my uncle. You've proven yourself as a battle commander twice now—it's my time to take up that mantle."
Turning toward Lady Dacey, he continued, "My lady, I need your raven and your raven master. I am going to call the banners and summon them to Winterfell. I'll ask for your forces, Lord Glover's, and the mountain clans to muster with me. Let the other lords decide for themselves where their loyalties lie."
Lady Dacey looked as though she wanted to protest, but before she could speak, I interjected.
"A bold move, brother. You'll have my support, and I'm certain the majority of the lords will stand with you. You've already impressed them during the campaign against the Skagosi."
Cregan looked momentarily relieved before nodding in thanks.
=====================
Winterfell
Bennard Stark
He looked at the letter delivered by raven from Bear Island.
To the North,
It is with regret that I must inform you that my uncle Bennard has lost his wits and decided to usurp my rightful position as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I was forced to leave Winterfell before I found myself compelled to strike down my own men should they act against me. As such, I call my banners to Winterfell. Every lord is commanded to attend with their army in four months and pledge fealty to me. Let the North itself bear witness and put an end to my uncle's madness.
Lord Cregan Stark
Bennard Stark's hands trembled as he read the letter. His blasted nephew, who had slipped away from Winterfell just after his sixteenth name day, had now reappeared on Bear Island.
"Of course, it's there," Bennard muttered under his breath. "Cregan ran like a masterless dog to that bastard."
He hadn't wanted this. Never in his life had Bennard imagined himself trying to usurp the rightful Lord of Winterfell. But the events of the Skagosi rebellion had changed everything. They had proven, to his mind, that Cregan would always remain a puppet to the bastard dragon on Bear Island.
Bennard had even offered his apologies at the tombs of his father and brother for what he now intended to do. The plan had been simple—take Cregan on a hunt, make him swear before the gods that he would take the black upon their return, and thus ensure the stability of House Stark and the North.
It wasn't ambition that drove Bennard but necessity. He told himself it was for the future of the North and House Stark.
Now, just as Cregan had done, Bennard prepared to call his banners. He was confident that the powerful lords, like the Boltons and Karstarks, would support him. They had been the most vocal in their anger toward the bastard dragon, who had somehow ignored their lands entirely in his travels and assistance.
Bennard knew he had other advantages as well. The men-at-arms of Winterfell had not abandoned their posts and still followed his commands, just as they did for years now. He decided to spread word that Cregan had promised to take the black before the gods. Now, Cregan's flight from Winterfell would be seen as breaking that sacred vow.
Every move Bennard made was calculated to secure his claim. After all he needed a legitimate reason to be recognized as the rightful Lord of Winterfell.
==============
4 moons later.
Outskirts of Winterfell
Daemon Snow
I looked at the assembled armies and already knew that, except for the Karstarks and Boltons, everyone intended to bend the knee to Cregan. There were murmurs about my influence over the Lord of Winterfell, but loyalty to the true line of succession from my grandfather was deeply ingrained in the northern lords. Cregan would have to fail spectacularly to lose that loyalty, and he had done nothing of the sort.
Nearly half the lords, those who could think for themselves, recognized the wisdom of granting me Ice and command during the Skagosi rebellion. It wasn't due to my influence or my bloodthirsty nature as rumours whispered about me. It was a matter of practicality: using the best resource for the task—nothing more, nothing less.
I shook my head as I entered the command tent late. The lords were grumbling among themselves, and Lord Bolton regarded me warily. Even I was surprised that Bolton decided to follow Cregan. Before arriving at Winterfell, he had planned to side with Bennard, but the overwhelming support of the other lords—along with my presence—likely stayed his hand. Cregan had already warned everyone to be wary of the Boltons, informing them that Bolton had pledged his allegiance to Bennard until his arrival at Winterfell. I had laughed hard when intelligent lords like Manderly and Dustin realized Cregan had anticipated their every move.
I shook my head as I entered the command tent late. I walked as the lords grumble among themselves while Lord Bolton looked wary of me. it was a surprise even for me how lord bolton decided to folloe cregan as I saw he was planning to side with bennard before arriving at winterfell. maybe the overwhelming support of lords except for the karstarks and my own presence stayed his hand. Cregan has already contacted everyone else and warned to be wary of boltons informing them that bolton said that he will bend the knee to bennard till he arribed in winterfelll. I had laughed hard as the intelligent ones like lord Manderly, dustin realised that the lord of winterfell knew their moves even before them.
Cregan stood at the center of the table, with my dear friend Aethan Reed to his left. I took the place on his right. My reunion with Aethan was bittersweet and we had reminisced our various adventures. Though we were still thick as thieves, I couldn't ignore that he looked like he was in his early twenties now. The lack of my blood had evidently returned his aging to resume.
"Lord Stark, when are we storming Winterfell and dragging the traitor out?" Roderick Dustin asked with a mad grin. Though he looked to be in his thirties, the man's love of fighting and bloodshed was as strong as ever—something I had witnessed firsthand during the Skagosi rebellion.
The others began voicing their opinions until Cregan raised his hand to silence them.
"Enough. There will be no storming of Winterfell or unnecessary fighting. Have you all forgotten? This is my home and my men. I will call my treasonous uncle for a parley. I intend to resolve this with as little bloodshed as possible."
Though many looked disappointed at the lack of promised bloodshed, they all nodded in agreement as no one wanted to stay in the tent for extra time as both Fenrir and Winter looked feral while they observed every single lord.
==============
The parley spot was chosen just outside the arrow range of Winterfell. Cregan was accompanied by the lords, myself, and his direwolf. Bennard arrived with Lord Karstark, the captain of Winterfell's men-at-arms, and a few other senior men at arms of Winterfell. All men who personally know me and half of them was with me in war against the wildlings. They all looked at me in reverence and I could feel no fear from them.
Before I could needle my uncle, he snapped at Cregan, completely ignoring me and refusing to even look in my direction.
'At least he knows his weaknesses.' I thought as I saw Lord Karstark glaring at me and Cregan.
"Nephew, surrender now and take the black as you should. I do not wish to spill the blood of those trying to take Winterfell—my people."
Cregan scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "Is that the excuse you've concocted to usurp me? Pitiful, uncle. Aside from your traitorous allies, no other lords support your claim. It's a testament to the folly of this endeavor. The men who initially pledged themselves to your cause saw sense before the battle even began and joined my side. Yet here you are, hiding behind the walls of my home."
He straightened, his voice hard and commanding. "Surrender now, and I will show mercy. You and Lord Karstark will take the black. My cousin will remain my heir until I have a child of my own, and Lord Karstark's line will retain their lands under a loyal branch. No further bloodshed is needed."
Cregan's sharp gaze flicked to Karstark. "This is your chance as well, my lord."
Bennard merely shook his head in silent disappointment, while Karstark snarled, defiance etched into his features.
"Nephew," Bennard began, his tone patronizing, "it seems you've failed to grasp reality. One man on the walls of Winterfell is worth ten on open ground. This castle is impregnable. You do not have the numbers to breach it. That the men who know us both follow me only proves why I should be Lord of Winterfell."
Cregan smirked, a cold, confident expression. He turned to the captain standing by his side.
"Captain Arthos, have you followed my orders?"
Without hesitation, Arthos knelt, followed by the Winterfell guards, their collective submission leaving Bennard and Karstark visibly stunned.
"Yes, my lord," Arthos confirmed. "I personally spoke to every soldier and gave them a choice—between you and Lord Bennard. The majority didn't hesitate to choose you, and the rest followed once they heard that Daemon Snow is marching with you. No man who accompanied him beyond the Wall would dare stand against him."
Bennard looked like he was about to die of a heart attack. His teeth grinding was so intense that I could hear the sound even above the winds.
"Well, well, dear uncle, it seems you are not just a fool but a blind fool living in an imaginary world," I said to needle him.
Bennard snarled as he finally looked at me. His hand rested on the sword hilt, but he wasn't far gone enough to break a parley. Too bad, I whispered.
"Uncle, it seems there shall be no need for needless bloodshed. I can see that you genuinely believe I am not worthy of these lands. You are surprised beyond reason by the men-at-arms of Winterfell honoring their vows to me as they should. I don't want to spill a single drop of good northern blood by storming the castle or when my men inside turn against the Karstarks. Let us end this like the First Men, in the old ways. A one-on-one duel against me. If I lose, you can be Lord of Winterfell."
Bennard's face lit up with the hope he needed, and he agreed. The other lords protested, but a growl from Winter stopped them in their tracks.
Vows were exchanged, and I felt proud that Cregan had cleverly avoided saying what he would do when he won.
I had tried to dissuade Cregan from this, but he was adamant. I had sparred with him for the last four months, and I had to admit that unless Bennard had suddenly become Ser Arthur reborn, Cregan would win—especially since he had bonded with Ice.
==================
We entered Winterfell as the Karstark men were disarmed. The training yard of Winterfell was cleared for the fight, and the surroundings were full of viewers.
The fight started, and I immediately realized one thing: Bennard had become weaker due to age and lack of practice, while Cregan was in the prime of his life and enhanced by my own blood from the time he was in the womb. The only people who could be more powerful would be my own children and maybe Lyra, due to consuming more than just my blood for years now, I thought with a grin.
I felt a harsh poke to my ribs from an elbow on my side, where Aethan was standing.
"Do you really want to increase the rumors of your bloodthirst by grinning like a loon while your cousin and uncle fight for their lives and the fate of the North? Get out of your head and enjoy the fight as Cregan wins."
I grimaced as I felt eyes on me and quickly cleared my grin to make a serious face. I saw both Starks panting from the exertion at the furious pace of slashing, parrying, and dodging.
I observed the viewers, and many lords and men, except for Mormonts, Umber, and Karstark, were whispering in wonder at the speed of the fight. They were gaping at the almost inhuman speed of Cregan and the skill, along with the speed of Bennard, as they fought against each other.
"This is spectacular. I want to cross swords with Lord Cregan after this," Dustin murmured with a grin of pure wonder.
I could see many warriors, who knew fighting like the back of their hand, looking at me and the fight in awe. They all had heard of the Red Death. They could see that the people who knew me personally were not surprised by the speed of the fight between Cregan and Bennard. And they only had one logical conclusion to reach.
I was just more...
I grimaced at all the wonder, awe, and even fear they aimed at me and Cregan. Maybe I should have played the entire Skaggosi rebellion differently. It still amazes me that the foolish skagosi lords, after the first one, claimed their rival was just incompetent in executing the Old God's order and followed the dream from the Old Gods of where and how to attack in open ambush instead of focusing on their strengths. The fools who would have hidden in their mountain caves were eager to follow the way to win shown by the Old Gods. And thus, the men of the North hadn't seen me unleashed during that rebellion because it was the arrows and ambushes that won the rebellion for us.
No wonder there as I know otherwise the idiots should have followed my advice in the first place and implement my plans to develop the islands by building ships for whaling and even trade, just like I did for Bear Island. Instead, the arrogant fools spat on my help and tried to kill me. It was just luck for me that a trade ship under the Karstark banner, going to Eastwatch, almost crashed into Skagos. It took me only ten minutes to kill everyone on that ship and later start a rumor that the Skagosi had killed a northern ship in rebellion against House Stark.
Envoys were sent and killed by wild unicorns, but that was enough for the North to bay for blood. Old hatreds on both sides don't die so easily. At least I made Cregan pay double for whatever the men would have earned in their lifetime after the rebellion, for their valuable service to the North. The fact that they were killed by me was irrelevant.
The yelling of the men broke my thoughts as I registered the fact that Cregan had his sword at the neck of Uncle Bennard. I wondered what he would do in this world.
"Uncle, you have been defeated," Cregan kicked the sword away from Bennard. "Surrender now, so the North can see you admit defeat." Cregan yelled above the cries of the crowd baying for blood.
I looked at my uncle and felt only pity. The man could have been lord of a keep, as my plans for the North restarted under Cregan, but hatred can lead even the loyal and mighty to fall. For some reason, I felt I had to really take this lesson to heart myself.
"I surrender, and I will take the Black!" Bennard yelled as he fell to the ground in defeat, exhausted from blood loss from various cuts.
"You and my cousins are sentenced to the Wall for betrayal." Cregan snapped and withdraw Ice from the neck of Bennard
"No!" Bennard yelled in despair and continued murmuring something about his sons.
"Daemon shall be my heir until I have a child of my own," Cregan continued, louder than before. "Lord Karstark and his two sons shall take the Black, and Alys Karstark will be my ward. She will marry a loyal lord who shall take the name Karstark."
The Karstarks looked enraged, but they knew they were defeated and must pay the price of betrayal. Cregan finished and turned to walk back to us
It happened in seconds as the defeated Bennard jumped to his feet, kicking the air and leaping toward Cregan's back with a knife. I felt anger envelop me even before my own feelings reached me and realized that Fenrir's emotions were overwhelming me, making me look through my bond with him.
The direwolf had been lounging near the Mormonts on the side and would have seen Bennard preparing for the attack. The moment I connected, I saw myself biting Bennard's hand holding the knife. Bennard was still mid-air in his jump. The armor on the hand crumbled under my teeth, and the iron taste of blood hit my tongue. My sharp hearing caught the sound of his legs breaking as his brother had already bitten his legs. The two opposite forces had broken the man in half, making his legs scream in agony. I immediately shook myself free from the bond and saw Fenrir spit the arm to the ground while a leg landed on the ground from Winter's mouth. Even before anyone could do anything, Fenrir's teeth sank into Bennard's neck, ending his misery.
Even Cregan looked nauseous at the end of our uncle as the blood splashed on him.
Everyone was stunned into silence until I broke it shortly with a loud laugh. Everyone looked stunned at me and I shrugged,
"Well, my sorry excuse of an uncle has just proven all the shit he was peddling about the strength of the North, weak Cregan, and other things was just that—absolute shit and excuses for hiding his power-hungry nature. I am actually glad my grandfather is not here to see this failure of a son. Let this be a lesson to all traitors: betrayal shall be punished most harshly, and we have a strong Lord Stark in my dear brother Cregan here," my voice echoed around Winterfell in the silence.
Applause erupted along with the shouting:
"Cregan! Cregan! Stark! The Red Death! The Red Death! Winterfell!"
==============================
90 AC
Kingslanding.
Cregan Stark looked at the bustling port as their ship, The Red Death, sailed toward its assigned docking area. The ship was directly under House Stark's control, though it was based in White Harbor for the time being. Lord Theomore Manderly and Aethan Reed were accompanying him on this journey to King's Landing.
Typically, when a new Lord Paramount is sworn in, they appear before the Iron Throne to pledge fealty to their liege—except for the North. Usually, it was a representative from House Manderly who swore fealty on behalf of the Lord Stark, with a message sent via raven to formalize the pledge. But this time, King Jaehaerys had sent a royal summons, commanding Cregan Stark to King's Landing to swear his allegiance in person and to discuss various matters.
Daemon, who had been settling in at Winterfell with him after the armies and lords had dispersed, had been surprised by the king's decision to honor the Pact of Ice and Fire so fastly. Cregan, however, was skeptical. He doubted Daemon's interpretation, believing the king's invitation was about a future arrangement—perhaps a marriage alliance for one of his future daughters that will marry one the kings grandsons. After all, giving a daughter to a Lord Paramount, whose future children might eventually rule, was far riskier than marrying a daughter off to a lesser lord with heirs aplenty.
He still remembers the conversation they had in the Lord's solar.
"I don't see the king offering a daughters hand to me. daemon. It may be that the king want to negotiate for future generation. It would be too dangerous as a daughter could claim a dragon just like Princess Alyssa and even our children may have the ability to bond with dragons". Cregan said.
Daemon nodded. "Don't bother guessing. I assure you, if you marry Viserra, your children will have the capability to bond with dragons. They will be just like me and will have an even better bond with their dragons due to our warging abilities. That is the reason you are being summoned. Viserra is not betrothed to anyone, despite many vying for her hand. After careful deliberation, it was the king who made the decision. He wants to ensure your loyalty never wavers from the Iron Throne and the rightful king. The king also seeks to curb my influence in the North by tying the North closer to the crown."
Cregan gaped at Daemon, realizing that he had spies in King's Landing.
"How? You have spies in King's Landing? How do you pay them? The money you hold with my house hasn't been touched by you at all!"
"Oh, Cregan, why would I need to pay myself?" Daemon smirked. "I can warg and use the weirwood tree there to scry with my greenseeing whenever I wish. And honestly, I'm a little jealous of you—you get to marry a beauty like Viserra."
Cregan blushed, still a boy in matters of romance. He had never ventured to brothels or indulged in the many offers presented to him.
"I still don't understand why you stopped me from becoming a greenseer. Anyway, tell me about Viserra. Will she be a headache for me?" Cregan asked seriously as he wished to have a good marriage and be a Lord Stark that will make his grandfather proud.
"I have told you, cregan, only one powerful greenseer at a time and the risk is too high with no additional benefits. Anyway, I have the perfect plan to make you the most eligible bachelor in Westeros infront of her—well, apart from me." Daemon grinned mischievously. "You should order Lord Theomore to accompany you, no matter what. Say you need his expertise or something along those lines."
Cregan raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"What do you mean?", cregan asked incredulously
"Well, let this be a test to your observational abilities and not be blinded by the beauty of Viserra. If you become enraptured my aunt will eat you alive. You are yet a boy in the matters of women using their viles to get what they want. You must atleast visit the brothel once to atleast make sure that you could put the cold Stark mask even when you are surrounded by seduction incarnates. You will do this in wintertown and when you reach white harbour. I don't care whether you fuck or not, but you must desensitize yourself."
And densinsitize, he did, very thoroughly.
============
Cregan was shaken from his thoughts by Lord Theomore.
"My lord, I still cannot believe the direwolves are back in House Stark's hands after centuries," Lord Theomore said, glancing at Winter.
The direwolf was far smaller than the monstrous Fenrir, but Winter was already nearly shoulder-height to a grown man. Theomore noted the direwolf's unease about the journey by sea, though the creature looked calm and placid. Still, he had not forgotten how both direwolves had torn a traitor in two when Cregan was threatened.
Cregan smiled and rubbed the direwolf's head.
"For that, I am thankful to Daemon. He ventured beyond the Wall and even risked leaving the army to find these pups for us," Aethan said, speaking from Cregan's other side.
"Lord Reed, I'm happy that at least you ventured beyond the Neck, unlike your father," Lord Manderly remarked.
Aethan merely smiled. "Yes, my fostering with Lord Stark made it possible."
As the ship docked at the port, they were hailed by one of the port officers. Sailing for mere travel was costly, but they carried trade goods to offset the expense.
Cregan remained silent as the ship's captain explained their cargo. The officer jotted something down, and the formality was complete.
"My lord, let us disembark and head to the city," Aethan said. "The captain will handle the rest. We're not needed here."
Lord Manderly nodded in agreement, and Cregan followed. As they stepped onto the pier, Winter leaped down with them.
The appearance of the direwolf caused a commotion. Someone screamed in fright, and a group of port guards approached briskly, their hands resting on their half-unsheathed swords.
Before Cregan could use his lordly voice to restore order, another voice shouted over the chaos.
"Enough of this commotion! It's just Lord Stark, a guest of His Grace the King."
Cregan turned to see a man in pristine armor with a flowing white cloak—a Kingsguard. The man was flanked by ten guards and quickly recognized as Ser Ryam Redwyne.
Cregan and his retinue approached, stopping a few paces away from the Kingsguard.
"Lord Stark, welcome to King's Landing," Ser Ryam greeted him. "I am Ser Ryam Redwyne, sent by His Grace to escort you and your retinue to the Red Keep. Rooms have been prepared for you and five others. However, your men are not permitted to carry swords outside their quarters." Ser Ryam's gaze lingered on the hilt of Ice and the large direwolf.
"You are permitted to carry Ice, as ancestral swords are allowed. But I must ask—is the wolf tame?"
Cregan regarded him silently for a moment before snorting. "A direwolf is never truly tamed, Ser Ryam. It becomes our friend. Winter here is calm as long as no one threatens him or those he favors."
Ser Ryam's expression turned stern for a moment. "The wolf is permitted as long as you take responsibility for its actions. No one is to harm you or your companions, so the wolf is welcome as long as you—or someone who can command it—are present."
"Then only myself and Aethan Reed can manage Winter," Cregan replied. "If the wolf is not with me, he will be with my dear friend Aethan here."
Ser Ryam nodded. "Then let us not delay. The royal family awaits you. You are to be presented before the Iron Throne for the swearing-in ceremony at noon. You have limited time to prepare. Your men can carry your belongings, and servants at the Red Keep will assist you."
Cregan nodded and followed as they proceeded toward the city.
===================================
Viserra Targaryen
She didn't know whether to cry or laugh at her situation. She and the entire royal family, along with the court, were assembled at the Iron Throne for the Stark to swear fealty. She hadn't seen her future betrothed up close till now, even when they were escorted in to the Red Keep. The presence of a rather huge wolf made her ignore everything else when she spied upon them at that time.
She was nineteen years old and yet had never experienced true freedom. Her father, in his paranoia, had banned any of his daughters from claiming a dragon. Oh, she knew there was no blatant order to that effect, but the ways her family stopped her, Saera, and even Gael from meeting any unclaimed dragons were evidence enough. Saera had even attempted to claim a dragon before her banishment to the Faith and eventual escape to Lys, but that too had been thwarted.
What truly made her hate her parents was the hypocrisy of allowing Rhaenys to claim a dragon before her marriage to Viserys. Rhaenys had claimed Meleys last year, and Viserra knew that neither Viserys nor Daemon was pleased about losing the chance to claim their mother's dragon. Only Baleon their father allowing Rhaneys to claim Meleys, by bending over to Aemon's words as usual, stopped them from throwing a tantrum Viserra knew the deep friendship between Viserys and Rhaenys had strained because of it, and if some careful words from their "loving aunt" had needled them, it was only for their own good.
Viserra knew the king only permitted Rhaenys to claim the dragon because she was the heir to Crown Prince Aemon and because of the influence of both Aemon and Baelon. Her father, who had once threatened his sons with Balerion for disagreeing with him, had grown calmer and weaker in his old age. His apparent will to enforce his aims on House Targaryen as a whole had diminished. This was evident from their last conversation—the last one she considered ever having with her father. She had decided she had lost him after that because he had enforced his will upon her like a King and only a King.
One year ago…
"Why, Father? What makes Rhaenys so special that you allowed her a dragon? Why not me?"
Her father looked tired, but the disappointment in his expression was evident.
"Why, you ask? Rhaenys is my heir's heiress. She needs a dragon to rule as the queen of this kingdom, not as a puppet to her husband, even if he is a son of House Targaryen. Rhaenys has a blessed bastard brother who has been strengthening one of the largest kingdoms for decades. Only an experienced dragonrider as Queen would make him reconsider ever attempting to claim the throne, if the desire strike him later. Why allow a weakness when we can ensure our strength?"
Viserra was surprised by the thoughtfulness of the King and his legacy.
"And it is not my fault that you failed to impress your brothers—or even Viserys, for that matter—enough to allow you to marry into House Targaryen and thus claim a dragon. You are to be married to Lord Cregan Stark. The Starks are Daemon's only support, and I must sever that bond. That will ensure that no Lords from the past North will think of making Daemon a king, even if my grandson is not interested."
Viserra gaped at her father. This was something she had never considered and then she was angry.
"Father, what are you talking about? Who in their right mind would support a bastard over the legitimate heirs? The North is distant, and even they are not foolish enough to fight the entire South in addition to dragonriders. Daemon has not even ventured a day in the South, and you fear his shadow, sacrificing my happiness and my rights? This is not Maegor Targaryen with Balerion!"
She snarled in anger but immediately froze upon uttering the hated name in front of the king.
She fearfully looked at her father, expecting cruel words or punishment. Instead, she was surprised when the king, for once, did not look ready to burn anyone with Vermithor for merely mentioning Maegor's name.
"You are absolutely correct, my daughter," the king said, and she wondered why she felt as though he was proud of her. "For all your airheadness and the games you play with weak men, there is some cunning in you. I am sacrificing your happiness and rights for the good of our house. I am glad you recognize that.
And no, Daemon Snow is not Maegor with Balerion. If he were, I would feel reassured, as we would know exactly what he is capable of. But now, I have no idea what abilities my grandson possesses or how to defend against him if he chooses violence. I truly considered legitimizing him and marrying him to Rhaenys to end all these worries, but the cost of that would outweigh the benefits. So here I am, yet again, sacrificing one of my children for the good of the house."
Viserra just snorted at the apparent reason spouted by the king.
"What cost and benefit? You're just prideful that the child you abandoned is becoming important enough for you to want him back. You're afraid of the future of our house deviating from the path you designed through Aemon and Baelon. Daemon is unpredictable and not under the influence of our house or our lessons."
"Well, well, now I'm really impressed by you, Viserra," her father said with mirth. "You've spent much time pondering this during your house arrest for attempting to seduce Baelon."
"Aye, many such thoughts crossed my mind," Viserra retorted.
"Daughter, for your sacrifice and in recognition of your cunning, I will acknowledge your children as princes and princesses of the realm," the king said.
Viserra was confused. "I thought any children and grandchildren of the king were princes and princesses."
"No," the king replied with a smile. "Only the male line has that right. Any female who marries outside retains her birth title, but her children are only Lords or Ladies."
Viserra looked thoughtful for a moment. She didn't know why she asked the next question or why it included that particular name. Perhaps it was because Rhaenys had been giggling about the Sea Snake's accomplishments that morning. Or perhaps it was fate.
"So, for example, if Rhaenys married outside the family—say to Corlys Velaryon—then their children would be Lords and Ladies unless Rhaenys became queen or the king acknowledged them as princes and princesses. Is that correct, Father?"
The moment she finished her question, she realized her mistake. The king's gentle smile vanished, replaced by a cold, rage-filled expression. His eyes glinted with fury and even a hint of madness. This was the reaction she expected when she mentioned her cursed grand uncle Maegor not for this trivial question.
"Viserra, you are dismissed. You will inform me of any such plans involving my sons or even Rhaenys. Do you understand?"
The tone was harsh, unlike any before, and she could only accept the order and flee from the solar.
==============
That conversation had happened over a year ago, and Viserra had spent much time pondering what had made her father so angry. Shameful as it was to admit, it took a spy from her mother's side—her little sister Gael—to tell her about their mothers' complaints about their father's apparent dislike of the Sea Snake.
Viserra was glad she finally understood it, and now she could have her own form of revenge on Rhaenys, the king, and her foolish elder brothers. Rhaenys had a crush on the handsome older man, and Viserra had used every opportunity to turn that small crush into a deep infatuation.
Rhaenys had Aemon in her grasp, and Viserra knew that the naïve Aemon would ensure Rhaenys could marry whomever she desired. The fact that the Baratheons and Velaryons were also related to her through their shared grandmother, Alyssa Velaryon, only worked in her favor. The best part? She would be out of the capital when it all finally happened, entirely blameless in the scheme.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the herald called out names as they entered.
Viserra's anger at her parents surged when she saw Theomore Manderly for the first time.
Her mother dared to marry her off to this fat, ugly, old man? She glared at her mother, who looked genuinely surprised at the appearance of her old friend. Her mother must have felt the weight of her glare, as guilt flickered across her face for a moment before vanishing.
Only the herald's loud announcement of "Cregan Stark and his wolf, Winter" pulled Viserra's attention away.
The first thing that struck her was that this was no boy—it was a man. There was nothing boyish about the fully grown figure standing tall before her. His posture radiated confidence, bordering on arrogance, a silent declaration of his strength.
Her gaze traveled to the massive wolf beside him, and she froze. The wolf's piercing eyes were locked on her, almost as though it understood her every thought. There was an intelligence in the beast's gaze that she had seen only in dragons.
As Cregan approached the throne, Viserra was finally able to get a clearer look at him, and she couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as the swearing-in ceremony began.
At least he was comely,—perhaps even handsome, in his own way and more importantly, younger than her, allowing her to wrap him around her desires. Maybe being the princess of Winterfell will be better than being cooped as wife of Baelon or any other Targaryen without any personal power or choice. No one would be above her station in the North and only the Lord of Winterfell have any perceived power to order her around. The jealous Lords in the court whispered that the Starks are still King in all but name in the North and may be being a Queen in all but name will be what she needed.
==============================
Cregan Stark
Cregan sat in the king's hall with Lord Manderly. We had both been invited by the king for a meeting.
Cregan knew the purpose of the gathering was to discuss the betrothal, and he knew there was no escaping it, even though he had no desire for escaping it. Viserra was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen. Even Winter couldn't sense any trouble from her.
The king, Princes Aemon and Baelon, along with the queen sitting in the table opposite him.
"Lord Stark, I assume you have an idea of why you were summoned to King's Landing," Prince Baelon said.
Cregan was surprised it was Baelon who started the dialogue when all others were elder in age and position. He also noticed the slight nod from the king, signalling that the discussion should begin.
"I will be honest, my prince," Cregan said. "I never thought I would be considered to fulfill our pact. In fact, it was Daemon who correctly guessed that I would fulfill it, and that I was being considered for Princess Viserra's hand. And, as usual, he was right." He said this pointedly, observing their reactions. He missed Winter's presence, as the warg bond would help him truly understand their feelings. But there was no way the king would accept a dangerous wolf in such an enclosed space.
The king looked indifferent, but it was Aemon and the queen who reacted the most—Aemon with interest and the queen with a slight frown and a glare at him.
"It seems the tales of my grandson's talents have not been exaggerated," the king said. "I wonder how he knew of the events unfolding here?"
"I too wonder the same, Your Grace," Cregan replied cooly.
"I see," the king said. "And how is my grandson faring? Has he settled down with a wife? I've heard you've been using him for so long, even declaring him heir until you have children."
Cregan nodded. "Aye, Your Grace. There is no one else with enough Stark blood, and I know he will make a fantastic ruler, should that time come. Daemon, however, will not settle down. He is a free spirit, sowing his wild oats. He likes to travel, and staying in one place bores him now."
The queen snorted in derision. "No wonder. Bastards are, after all, lustful beings. Lord Stark, I wonder whether you've ever considered that Daemon might want your position. He's quite near being in the position of a powerful lord of the realm, and you've even declared him heir. It would only take an accident to make it so. When he was born and was a minor, so many were in line for the position of Lord of Winterfell, and look at his position now."
Cregan noticed Prince Aemon's face contorting with rage, but a hand from Prince Baelon silenced him. The king looked tired but intrigued by how Cregan would respond. However, it was Lord Manderly's reaction that surprised him.
Manderly looked at the queen as though seeing her for the first time, bewildered, before anger appeared on his face quickly morphing into indifference.
"Ah, well, I'm grateful for your concern, Your Grace," Cregan replied pointedly. "But I know your grandson better than all, except maybe Aethan Reed. He doesn't thirst after the North or any lordship for that matter. He doesn't want to be tied down to any one place, and he has higher callings. Also, my queen, it is not in our hands whether we live or die. It was the time for my grandfather and father, but it was betrayal that caused my uncle's line to lose their position. I also don't know if you've realized this, but it's the same number of relevant people ahead of him in his paternal line as well."
Manderly looked momentarily afraid at the sheer gall of his liege lord.
"Are you threatening my house, Lord Stark?" Alysanne asked, her voice tinged with barely hidden anger. "And you've somehow mistaken the numbers. My daughters Visserra and Gael are there too."
"Of course not, my queen," Cregan said calmly. "I'm merely pointing out the similarities between our houses and how the Old Gods could curse us at any point. I didn't include your youngest daughters. I don't think I'd want to leave the North and my home to become king consort if such an unfortunate event were to come to pass. And I've heard the hateful rumors about Princess Gael that have been spread. No lords from the South will support her unless they marry her and usurp her authority. Should the Princess Gael finds in such an unfortunate position being the sole member alive, the only one with Targaryen blood capable of reigning and silencing all those ambitious lords is my brother. Even then, I sincerely pray that such a moment never comes to pass, as he will hate it with all his heart."
"Such pessimistic words from a young mind," the king interjected before anyone could say anything further. "My queen, I'm sure our grandson will not do anything dishonourable, and such a wise man as Cregan would discover any deceit you fear. Lord Stark, I would caution you to use your words carefully. You came close to speaking treason. Still, I understand where those words came from. We both suffered the deaths of our beloved family at a young age, and now betrayal from someone who should support and love us with all their heart."
"Aye, my king," Cregan said, bowing his head. "I apologize to you and to my queen for my words. It's difficult to swallow the disparagement against someone who taught me so much and supported me so much, even if it was my queen and the grandmother of the person in question."
Queen Alysanne remained silent, merely nodding.
"Baelon," the king said, turning to his son, "I see how you granted two great boons to Lord Stark when you went to procure a cure for my grandson. Also, Lord Stark, isn't it presumptuous of you to consider yourself the groom for my dear daughter even before the offer is made? I could change my mind at any point, and no one would find dishonor in it. It's just rumors—no one, not even the small council, knows the truth. So tell me, why should you be honored to have my daughter as your wife?"
Cregan looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.
"Your Grace, it's true that it was presumptuous of me to say so. It was just my own reckless thoughts and desires since seeing the lovely princess. There's no shame for House Stark in a broken betrothal, as it's not known to anyone. It is your order, my king, that I will follow. But as I told Prince Baelon all those years ago, House Stark is the most apt choice for Princess Viserra's hand—unless, of course, Prince Baelon suddenly wishes to remarry. I am a proven warrior, and any threats to our position have been handled in the last three wars in the North. His grace's grandson will be the Lord of Winterfell and the future Warden, loyal to his cousin sitting on the Iron Throne. More than that, his grace wishes to honor the Pact between our houses."
King jaeaherys scrutnised cregan for some time before speaking.
"At least you're more observant and clever than some foolish petitions for her hand I've heard about," the king murmured. "Lord Stark, let us begin the discussion. The marriage should be held in two moons' time in King's Landing, and I'm sure that's enough time for you to court my daughter. We can discuss dowry and other details later."
Cregan hesitated for a moment before sighing.
"Your Grace, I am ready to marry in two moons' time, but I wish to marry in the Godswood, and my brother Daemon to officiate the ceremony. The northern lords would be angered if I married in a sept, as it would give credence to my traitorous uncle's words. Please allow me to send a raven to Winterfell to tell him to come here with your permission of course."
"No," the king said sternly.
"Your Grace?" Cregan asked hesitantly.
"My grandson is banished from the South, and I will not revoke that order now," the king replied. "I'm sure Lord Manderly or Lord Reed could officiate the marriage."
"My king, it's not about the knowledge of officiating," Cregan said earnestly. "I want Daemon to be there. He is the closest thing I have to a father figure now, and I don't want to marry without him being present."
the queen scoffed at that and asked,
"You would reject the hand of a princess, my beautiful Viserra, and the order of your king, along with the boons of marrying royalty, for a bastard?"
"Aye, I would gladly reject the beauty and the boons for my brother, Your Grace," Cregan replied. "But never an order from my king. But this is not an order from my king. If it were, please make it so, my king, and I will follow it." Cregan said, looking at the king. There was no emotion in his face, and Aemon could see the cold Stark mask.
Even without any outward expression of anger or sadness, everyone understood that the order would be followed without question, but it would be remembered forever.
"No, it's not an order. This is a discussion, not a command from me," the king said. "You raise some valid points, the northern lords are indeed prickly. Why make a problem when they are so eager to follow you now?" The king sighed. "The realm wants to celebrate the marriage of the princess, and they would be happy to come to King's Landing. Ignoring them is not something I'm willing to do. So, tell me, Lord Stark, what would you suggest to overcome this?"
Cregan knew the king already had a solution and was testing him.
"My king, our marriage could be held at Winterfell, and all the northern lords would gladly participate. The realm may not like traveling there, but there's no need for that, as Princess Visserra is not Princess Rhaenys, and she's not third in line to the Iron Throne. A celebratory tourney can be held here, announcing our betrothal to the realm. The realm can participate, and House Targaryen can attend the marriage in Winterfell easily, as you are all dragonriders. This will also give me time to properly court the Princess."
The king looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding.
"Close to what I had in mind, Lord Stark. Let us continue the discussion and get it over with," the king said, sighing.
=============================
2 days later.
Family Dinner hall.
Rhaenys Targaryen
She looked to her left, where her mother was sitting and overseeing the courses. It was a private family dinner gathering, with an addition of Cregan Stark. An unofficial way to introduce the royal family, as they were to be kin by marriage. Rhaenys noticed the calm mask her mother projected, but she could see the wariness and anger in her face. Jocelyn had tried to stop the coming betrothal, knowing Cregan would never go against Daemon, since Cregan had been influenced by the bastard since childhood. Rhaenys had even heard her mother complain that this was just a way of handing over Viserra to Daemon and he will influence her to his side.
Rhaenys had tried to defend her aunt. Viserra was the first one to congratulate her for claiming Meleys, even when the king denied herself a dragon. It was her aunt who had helped her immensely, introducing her to the Sea Snake and explaining that sometimes small fancies turn into infatuation and later into love. She had tried to see Viserys in that position, as her father wanted, but she could never see Viserys standing against the vultures to defend her claim the way the Sea Snake would if he had married her. It was the childhood impression of beating Daemon at even a single thing that sparked her small infatuation with the legendary Sea Snake. The stupid bards loved to sing about the Red Death, the development of the North by introducing grains and new techniques, and even god-blessed healing. There were almost a dozen catchy songs spread by the bards, and she wondered whether someone had spent a fortune making them sing it at every occasion.
Rhaenys looked at Lord Stark, who was handsome and a warrior to boot. She wondered whether her bastard brother would be similar. She had heard that Daemon's half-black, half-silver hair was famous, just like his heterochromatic eyes. She continued eating, still unsure whether to make Corlys her husband. She was undecided and still thinking over it.
She saw Viserys smiling as she talked with Cregan while they ate, and the general mood in the room was good. Cregan answered many questions from her father and uncle about the supposed rebellions and how they were handled. She didn't know whether Cregan's handling of the issues was good or not, but her father seemed impressed.
As the conversation between her father and Cregan came to a lull, her cousin Daemon decided to ask a question.
"So, where is the wolf? Has it killed anyone or is it just giant puppy without bite?" Daemon asked casually, and Rhaenys almost scolded her younger cousin for his lack of respect and aggressive tone.
Luckily, Rhaenys noticed her uncle keeping an eye on the conversation, and Cregan looked unbothered by the question, though he glanced at Daemon with curiosity.
"Aye, the wolf has killed many people. The last one was my uncle, when he tried to kill me from behind after surrendering. Though I can't take all the credit, it was Fenrir who finished him. But my prince, you didn't say your name? Are you the prince whose life was saved by my cure?" Cregan asked.
Rhaenys could feel a headache coming, knowing Daemon was already a wild child, and only his harsh training kept him from making trouble.
"Fenrir? There's another one?" Daemon said. "Also, no, I am not Aegon. I am Prince Daemon Targaryen."
"Ah! ha!" Cregan exclaimed with a smile. "The prince named after my brother, Daemon Snow. You have a hard legacy to live up to, my prince. I don't envy you."
Rhaneys could hear the silence as the entire conversation died around the table. Rhaneys knew that the only reason Daemon has not exploded because of the sheer shock.
Rhaenys could hear the silence as the entire conversation around the table died. She knew the only reason Daemon hadn't exploded was the sheer shock of it.
"What? I'm not named after some northern bastard and Who the fuck is this Daemon Snow?" Daemon yelled, hitting the table in anger. The utensils and food flew off the table, making a ruckus.
"Enough!" The king snapped, and Daemon immediately stopped yelling.
Everyone looked at Cregan and Daemon in surprise or blamed him for the outburst.
"I regret mentioning that, your grace. I didn't know that Prince Daemon was not aware of his elder cousin in the north."
Rhaenys could see that Cregan had a sheepish grin on his face, as if he hadn't meant to provoke Prince Daemon, but she understood it had been done deliberately.
Both Baelon and Aemon sighed, knowing it would take time before Daemon calmed down, and that there would be days of suffering from his yelling and temper tantrums. Rhaenys could see that daemon has noticed the lack of surprise on her and viserys face and there would be days full of headache for her in the future. Atleast she knows to escape it by going to Meleys and Corlys
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