~129 A.C~

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WINTERFELL
The cold northern wind howled around them, biting against their skin, but neither Jocelyn Velaryon nor Rhaenys Targaryen paid it any mind. The sky belonged to them.

Above Winterfell, two magnificent dragons soared—Meleys, the scarlet queen, her powerful wings slicing through the crisp air, and Mirax, Jocelyn's own beast, her chocolate-colored scales glistening under the pale sun, her blue eyes sharp as she followed her mother's dragon. Below them, Winterfell looked smaller, a vast castle of gray stone surrounded by snow-dusted trees, its courtyards and walls busy with movement. Preparations for the wedding were well underway.

Jocelyn let out a breathless laugh, her cheeks rosy from the wind. "I never thought I'd be wed in Winterfell," she called over the rushing air, glancing toward her mother, who rode slightly ahead on Meleys.

Rhaenys turned her head slightly, smirking. "You always spoke of adventure, did you not?"

Jocelyn grinned. "Yes, but I imagined myself in Dorne or sailing beyond the Stepstones—not racing through the North on dragonback, betrothed to a Stark."

Rhaenys chuckled, guiding Meleys into a slow arc above the castle. "Life has a way of surprising us, my love." Her tone softened as she gazed at Jocelyn. "Are you happy?"

Jocelyn's smile faltered for only a moment before it returned, softer now, thoughtful. "I am." She glanced down at Winterfell, where Cregan was likely overseeing the wedding preparations, perhaps tending to Rickon or speaking with his bannermen. "Cregan is... good to me. He is kind and honorable, and he makes me laugh. I think—I think I love him." The words left her lips with a surprising ease, as if speaking them made them more real.

Rhaenys watched her carefully, her golden eyes unreadable. Then, after a long moment, she exhaled. "That is all I have ever wanted for you, Jocelyn. Love, kindness." Her voice wavered slightly, so faint Jocelyn barely caught it over the wind.

Jocelyn frowned, studying her mother. "You're sad."

Rhaenys turned her gaze back to the open sky. "Not sad. Just..." She hesitated, as if weighing her words. "Rhaenyra is still uncertain of what to do next. None of us want bloodshed or suffering, but war is inevitable and everyone knows it. And I find myself here, watching you about to begin a new life—one that will take you far from me." She let out a small, breathy chuckle. "I have always known you would leave one day, but I did not expect it to be so soon."

Jocelyn's chest tightened. "Mother..." She guided Mirax closer to Meleys, the two dragons flying side by side. "I will never be far from you. Even here, even in Winterfell, I am still your daughter."

Rhaenys' lips curved into a soft smile. "And I, your mother." She reached out a gloved hand, and Jocelyn clasped it tightly.

For a moment, there were no words, only the rush of wind and the steady beat of dragon wings.

Then Jocelyn smirked. "And if I ever find myself missing you too much, I'll simply fly to Dragonstone and demand you take me on another adventure."

Rhaenys laughed, shaking her head. "The North has made you bold, I see."

Jocelyn grinned. "I was always bold. You just never let me be reckless."

"And Cregan does?"

"He doesn't stop me—he just follows after me." Jocelyn's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Rather endearing, really."

Rhaenys sighed dramatically. "The poor man."

Jocelyn let out a bright laugh, tilting her head back as Mirax roared into the sky, the sound blending with the distant horns of Winterfell below.

And for the first time in a long while, Rhaenys felt peace.

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Winterfell was alive with movement. Servants hurried through the halls carrying bolts of fine cloth, silver platters, and garlands of evergreen and winter roses. The great hall was being transformed—long tables polished to a shine, a roaring fire crackling in the hearth, and banners of House Stark and House Velaryon being hung from the rafters. It was more festivity than Winterfell had seen in years, all because of Lady Glover's determination.

"More candles, light more candles!" Lady Glover clapped her hands, her sharp gaze sweeping over the preparations. "We are not a cave of wildlings—this should be a proper wedding, a grand occasion."

Cregan Stark stood in the corner of the hall, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold. His patience was wearing thin.

His mother had insisted on something simple, something befitting the North—yet here they were, with half the castle being turned upside down in preparation.

With a long sigh, he finally spoke. "Mother, enough."

Lady Glover turned to him, hands on her hips. "Enough? This is your second wedding, Cregan."

"Aye," he said dryly. "My wedding. And I said I wanted something small."

"This is small," she huffed. "You should thank me that I am not throwing a feast that lasts seven days."

Cregan ran a hand over his beard, exasperated. "The hall looks as if we are preparing for the coronation of a king."

Lady Glover waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense. You're marrying a noble southern lady who has dragon blood, boy—this should be an event worth remembering."

Cregan pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "I don't need an event, Mother. I need Jocelyn."

Lady Glover paused, her stern face softening just slightly.

Cregan turned to look out the window, where the distant figures of Meleys and Mirax were still visible in the sky, flying together in great sweeping arcs over the castle. He exhaled, his mind drifting to his betrothed—his small, fierce Jocelyn, who challenged him in every way and yet fit perfectly into his arms.

He wanted this over with, not because he dreaded it, but because he simply couldn't wait any longer.

Lady Glover studied her son for a moment before shaking her head with a smirk. "Gods, you are lovesick."

Cregan grunted. "And whose fault is that?"

His mother chuckled, motioning for the servants to carry on. "Very well. I'll not argue more—for now. But don't think I won't have my way on the feast."

Cregan smirked. "I would not dare to think otherwise."

Lady Glover patted his arm before returning to the preparations, muttering under her breath about stubborn men.

Cregan, however, had already turned back to the window, his mind elsewhere, waiting for his sweet, small Jocelyn to return to him.

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The chamber was warm, lit by dozens of candles that flickered against the stone walls. The scent of lavender and pine filled the air as the handmaids moved around Jocelyn, carefully dressing her in her wedding gown.

The fabric was white as freshly fallen snow, soft against her skin, lined with fur at the collar and cuffs to keep her warm against the northern chill. Her long, wavy dark hair was gathered into a bun at the nape of her neck, a few delicate tendrils left loose to frame her face. Beneath the long skirts, she wore a pair of finely crafted boots—practical, sturdy, and perfect for Winterfell's cold stone floors. She wiggled her fingers into soft leather gloves, completing her ensemble.

The handmaids stepped back, admiring their work.

"You look beautiful, my lady," one of them murmured with a smile.

Jocelyn took a steady breath, smoothing her skirts as she turned to the mirror. She had never worn anything so elegant before—so different from the riding leathers and simple dresses she was used to. She almost didn't recognize herself.

Just then, the door creaked open, and her mother, Princess Rhaenys, stepped inside.

The older woman paused, her sharp violet eyes sweeping over her daughter from head to toe. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, she smiled softly, stepping closer.

"You are breathtaking, Jocelyn."

Jocelyn let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "I feel... strange. Like this is a dream and I will wake any moment."

Rhaenys reached out, taking her daughter's gloved hands in her own. "It is no dream, my love. You are a woman grown, and tonight, you will be wed."

Jocelyn swallowed hard. "I know, but... it all feels so fast."

Rhaenys studied her, tilting her head. "Do you have doubts?"

Jocelyn's eyes widened. "No! Never." She shook her head quickly. "Cregan is... everything. He is kind, and strong, and—" she hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly, "—I love him."

Rhaenys' expression softened. "Then there is nothing to fear."

Jocelyn exhaled, nodding. "I suppose not."

Rhaenys smirked, a hint of mischief in her gaze. "Besides, I saw how he looks at you. That Stark is utterly and completely besotted."

Jocelyn groaned, covering her face with her gloved hands. "Mother..."

Rhaenys chuckled, gently prying her hands away. "It is the truth. And I am glad. If I must give my daughter away to the North, at least I know she will be loved."

Jocelyn's throat tightened. She looked up at her mother, her fierce, strong mother, and suddenly, she felt like a child again. "Will you stay? A little longer, after the wedding?"

Rhaenys' expression flickered, as if something weighed on her mind, but then she nodded. "For a while. But you must understand, Jocelyn—my place is with your father, with our house, with Queen Rhaenyra."

Jocelyn swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. "I understand."

Rhaenys cupped her daughter's face gently. "You are my daughter, my pride. And I could not be prouder of the woman you have become."

Jocelyn smiled, leaning into her mother's touch for just a moment before pulling back. "And you are my mother, the Queen Who Never Was. The strongest woman I know."

Rhaenys chuckled, shaking her head. "Enough of that. Come, let us not keep your groom waiting."

Jocelyn nodded, taking a deep breath as she turned toward the door. This was it.

Her wedding night awaited.

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Cregan Stark stood tall before the polished iron mirror, adjusting the thick fur-lined cloak draped over his broad shoulders. His wedding attire was fitting for a Warden of the North—dark woolen breeches and a tunic of deep gray, embroidered with the direwolf sigil of House Stark. Over it, he wore a black leather doublet, lined with silver thread. Around his shoulders rested a great white direwolf fur, heavy and warm, clasped with a simple silver brooch. His boots were sturdy, well-worn, and practical, and his belt bore the weight of his ancestral sword, Ice, its presence both a comfort and a responsibility.

As he pulled on a pair of thick gloves, the door to his chamber swung open, and his mother, Lady Glover, strode in, hands on her hips.

"Look at you," she mused, eyes sweeping over him with a mix of pride and exasperation. "You clean up well, I'll grant you that. A Stark groom through and through."

Cregan huffed a small laugh, fastening his cloak properly. "You sound surprised, Mother."

Lady Glover scoffed. "Not surprised, merely relieved. I half thought you'd come to your second wedding in your riding leathers, looking like you'd just returned from a hunt."

Cregan smirked. "Jocelyn wouldn't mind."

His mother rolled her eyes. "The girl may love you, but that does not mean you should test her patience."

At the mention of Jocelyn, Cregan's smirk faded into something softer. The thought of her—her laughter, her warmth, the way she had kissed him first, unafraid—made his chest tighten in the best way. He was marrying her. Finally.

Lady Glover watched him carefully, her expression shifting from teasing to something more thoughtful. "You love her."

It wasn't a question, but Cregan still answered, his voice steady. "Aye. I do."

His mother let out a long breath, stepping closer. "Then you'll be good to her."

Cregan turned to face her fully. "Always."

Lady Glover reached out, adjusting the fur on his shoulder like she used to when he was a boy. Her hands were steady but warm. "I know you're a Stark through and through and I see so much of your father in you. And he loved deeply." She looked up at him, her voice quieter now. "Let yourself love her like that. Let yourself be happy."

Cregan swallowed, nodding. "I intend to."

Lady Glover studied him for another moment before stepping back with a satisfied nod. "Good. Now, shall we get you wed before I start crying like some fool?"

Cregan chuckled. "That would be a sight."

His mother narrowed her eyes, swatting his arm lightly. "Watch it, boy. I can still take you over my knee."

Cregan barked a laugh, shaking his head as he strode toward the door. "I'd like to see you try."

Lady Glover sighed dramatically. "I don't know how Jocelyn puts up with you."

Cregan smirked over his shoulder. "She loves me."

Lady Glover scoffed but didn't argue. Instead, she linked her arm through her son's, squeezing it lightly as they walked out together.

It was time.

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The Godswood of Winterfell was blanketed in fresh snow, the ancient heart tree standing tall with its crimson leaves swaying gently in the cold wind. The weirwood's face, carved into the bark, watched solemnly over the gathered witnesses as torches flickered in the evening light. The solemn beauty of the North surrounded them, the hush of nature itself a quiet blessing for the union about to take place.

Lord Cregan Stark stood before the heart tree, clad in his heavy furs, waiting. His dark eyes, sharp as the winter winds, softened the moment Jocelyn Velaryon stepped into view.

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, tall and proud in her deep crimson cloak, guided her daughter down the snow-dusted path. Jocelyn's white gown, lined with the softest furs, shimmered against the flickering light of the torches. Her dark hair was swept into a loose bun, wisps curling against her cheeks, her violet eyes wide with emotion. She looked every bit a vision, a Southern jewel in a Northern winter, yet there was no doubt—she belonged here.

Cregan barely breathed as he watched her approach.

Jocelyn's heart pounded in her chest, but her mother's steady presence kept her grounded. Rhaenys squeezed her daughter's gloved hand lightly before stopping at the base of the heart tree, giving her away with a proud nod.

Cregan took Jocelyn's hands in his, his warmth bleeding through even the thick gloves they both wore. She looked up at him, breathless, and he gazed down at her with something steady, something sure.

The old Maester of Winterfell, draped in thick robes to fight off the chill, stood before them and began to speak.

"We stand before the old gods, beneath the heart tree, to witness the union of Lord Cregan Stark and Lady Jocelyn Velaryon." His voice was deep, carrying through the stillness. "Cregan Stark, do you take this woman to wife? To love her, protect her, and honor her, from this day until your last?"

Cregan's voice was deep and steady. "I do."

The Maester turned to Jocelyn. "Jocelyn Velaryon, do you take this man to husband? To love him, stand by him, and honor him, from this day until your last?"

Jocelyn, her cheeks flushed from more than just the cold, met Cregan's gaze and smiled softly. "I do."

The Maester gestured for them to clasp hands, palm against palm. Their fingers intertwined, a perfect fit.

"With your hands joined, so too are your lives. The old gods bear witness." The Maester took a long strip of white ribbon, wrapping it gently around their hands, binding them together. "You are now man and wife, bound before gods and men."

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, the Maester gave a knowing nod. "You may seal your vows."

Cregan didn't hesitate. He pulled Jocelyn closer, tilting her chin up as he pressed his lips to hers. Jocelyn melted into the warmth of him, gripping his hands tighter as her heart thundered in her chest. His lips were firm, steady—everything he was, everything she had come to love.

The moment they parted, a soft sound broke through the hush—Lady Glover's unabashed sobbing.

"Oh, my sweet boy," she sniffled, dabbing at her teary eyes with a thick handkerchief. "And Jocelyn, my darling girl! I prayed for this!"

A deep chuckle rumbled from Cregan's chest as he glanced at his mother with affection.

Nearby, Rhaenys Targaryen stood tall, watching with eyes that glistened with unshed tears. She said nothing, but her smile, so full of quiet pride, said everything.

Jocelyn turned to her mother, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. Rhaenys gently brushed her fingers against Jocelyn's cheek, before whispering, "You are happy."

"I am," Jocelyn whispered back, her voice thick with emotion.

Rhaenys exhaled, her lips curving into a smirk as she murmured, "Good."

As the ceremony came to an end, Cregan gently tugged Jocelyn closer, murmuring into her ear, "You are mine now, my sweet Jocelyn."

Jocelyn grinned, whispering back, "And you are mine, my lord husband."

The North had gained a new lady, and Winterfell would never be the same.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

DRAGONSTONE
The sea stretched out before her, dark and endless, its waves glistening under the pale light of the moon. A soft breeze carried the scent of salt and brine, rustling through Vellena's loose silver hair as she stood on the balcony, her arms resting on the cold stone. The night was quiet, save for the distant crash of the waves against the shore, and yet her mind was far from the present.

A memory, warm and unbidden, surfaced in her thoughts.

She had been twelve then, and Jace fourteen. It had been four years since their mother and Prince Daemon wed, bringing them to live on Dragonstone. The island had felt like a fortress at first, dark and unfamiliar, but Jace had been her anchor in those early days.

She could still hear their laughter echoing across the beach. They had raced across the shore, bare feet kicking up sand, her silver hair streaming behind her as she surged ahead.

"I win again!" Vellena had laughed breathlessly, spinning around to see Jace slowing to a stop behind her, hands on his knees, panting.

Jace had groaned, shaking his head. "You always win."

"Maybe you're just slow," she teased, her violet eyes gleaming with mischief.

Jace had smirked then, something playful and wicked flashing in his brown eyes. Before she could react, his arms had wrapped around her waist, lifting her up with ease.

"Jace, no—!"

But it was too late. He had thrown them both into the sea.

The cold water had swallowed them whole, and Vellena had screamed, thrashing as panic seized her. She couldn't swim—she had never learned, and the moment her feet couldn't find the ground, terror had gripped her chest.

Jace had held her close, his arms firm and steady. "Vellena, I've got you," he had whispered against her ear. "I know how to swim. Just hold on to me."

And she had. Her small fingers had clutched at his shoulders, her body pressed against his as he kept them afloat. Slowly, her panic had faded, her breath coming in softer gasps as Jace's warmth surrounded her in the chilling sea.

She had clung to him that day, and he had never let go.

Vellena exhaled slowly, shaking herself free of the memory. She had changed. Jace had changed. Everything between them had fractured, and the warmth that once bound them together had turned into something else—something bitter, something unspoken.

She did not notice that she was being watched.

From the shadows of the corridor, Jace stood leaning against the stone wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed her in silence. The moon cast a soft glow over her features, highlighting the delicate curve of her face, the way her silver hair moved with the wind. She looked deep in thought, lost in whatever memory had taken hold of her.

He had one of his own.

He had been twelve, and she ten.

It was another evening like this, the corridors of Dragonstone dimly lit with torches. Vellena, ever the bookworm, had been reading while walking, completely unaware of where her feet were taking her. He had been a few steps behind, amused by her focus, when suddenly—

She had tripped.

Her small body had hit the stone floor hard, her book falling from her hands as pain registered in her young face. A sharp cry had escaped her lips, and when Jace had rushed forward, he had seen the scrape on her knee, blood pooling on the pale skin.

Tears welled in her violet eyes as she clutched at her knee. She had tried to be strong, to blink them away, but the pain had been too much.

Jace hadn't hesitated. He had scooped her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest.

"Shh, Vellena, you're alright," he had murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as she sobbed into his shoulder. "I've got you. It's just a little cut. We'll go to the Maester, alright?"

She had nodded against him, sniffling, and he had carried her all the way to the Maester's chambers, refusing to put her down even when she insisted she could walk.

Jace clenched his jaw at the memory, at how different things had been between them. When had she stopped looking at him the way she once did? When had she started seeing him as something to despise? When he ruined it all...

His fingers twitched at his sides. He longed to step forward, to say something, anything. But he knew that if she turned, if she saw him there, she would only glare at him, eyes full of resentment, and walk away as she always did.

So he stayed where he was, watching her in silence, drowning in the memories of what once was.

Suddenly Vellena started to sob. Her fingers dug into the stone railing, her shoulders trembling as she fought to hold herself together. But the weight of everything—the memories, the grief, the betrayal—was too much.

And Jace couldn't take it anymore.

His own tears blurred his vision, but he didn't bother wiping them away. He took a deep, shaky breath, his throat tightening as he watched her, the girl he had grown up with, the one who had once been his closest companion—his little sister—now sobbing before him, suffering because of him.

With a deep, shaky breath, he took a step forward. Then another. And another.

He reached for her hand, his fingers brushing lightly against hers before closing around them, holding her gently yet firmly. Vellena gasped softly, lifting her tear-streaked face to look at him. The moonlight bathed her features in silver, making her more beautiful than ever, even in sorrow.

Jace swallowed hard before, without hesitation, he dropped to both knees before her.

His forehead pressed against her flat stomach, his arms wrapping around her waist as if she were his anchor, the only thing keeping him from drowning. He felt her tense beneath his touch, her breath hitching as she stared down at him in shock.

"I'm so sorry," Jace whispered, his voice breaking as his grip on her tightened. "Please, forgive me. I cannot bear the thought of us being apart, and even more so, I cannot bear to see you in pain, knowing I am the reason for it."

His fingers curled against the fabric of her gown, his tears dampening the soft material. "I am a stupid fool. A worthless cunt for blaming you for Luke's death. For treating you like I did. You didn't deserve it, Vel. You never did." His shoulders shook as he exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss against her stomach. "I don't expect you to forgive me, but please, I beg you... do not suffer anymore."

Vellena looked down at him, her lips parting as her fingers twitched at her sides. The sight of Jace—her Jace—kneeling before her, vulnerable and broken, made her chest ache.

Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her hand and threaded her fingers through his dark curls.

"I am in pain..." she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jace's grip tightened as he shook his head, pressing another desperate kiss to her stomach. His brown eyes, glossy with unshed tears, lifted to hers, searching, pleading. "I'm sorry, my sweet. This is all my fault..."

Vellena shushed him gently, her hand slipping from his curls to cup his damp cheek. Then, slowly, she knelt down before him, their knees touching, their foreheads nearly brushing.

She didn't hesitate this time.

Her arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, as if afraid he would slip away again.

Jace let out a ragged breath, burying his face in her shoulder, his arms encircling her in return.

"I forgive you..." she whispered into his ear, her voice thick with emotion. "Just please... let's be Vel and Jace again... please..."

Jace let out a choked sob, nodding against her, his lips pressing to her temple, a silent vow that he would never let her slip away again. Vellena, in turn, pressed a soft kiss to his tear-streaked cheek, her fingers still tangled in his curls.

But deep down, beneath the forgiveness and the embrace, they both knew the truth.

Things would never be the same.

No matter how much they wished it.

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NEXT CHAPTER WEDDING FEAST AND MAYBE FIRST JOCELYN AND CREGAN SMUT😏 ALSO VEL FORGIVES SO EASILY. THEY ARE ALRIGHT NOW... UNTIL SHIT GOES DOWN AGAIN 🥲 (at Rook's Rest)