{𝔸 𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕤𝕠𝕟}
EPISODE 1

129 A.C

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

WINTERFELL. WEEKS LATER.
The chamber was silent, save for the occasional howl of the wind outside. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting pale silver across the furs covering the bed. Aestra lay still, staring up at the ceiling, unblinking. Sleep did not come for her—not here, not in this cold place so far from home.

Home.

Her lips parted as she exhaled slowly, memories creeping into her mind like shadows in the night.

She could still hear the crackling hearth in the halls of Dragonstone, the scent of salt and ash thick in the air. She could see Daemon standing at the head of the table, his sharp eyes watching over the war council, always thinking, always planning. She had never needed to ask if he loved her—Daemon did not love with words, but in the way he trained her to fight, in the way he had stood beside her when the dragons answered her call. In the way his hand had settled atop her head, just once, after her first battle, the only sign of pride he had ever openly given.

Rhaenyra... Rhaenyra had been different. The first time Aestra had seen her, she had expected coldness. Distance. A woman who would see her as nothing more than Daemon's daughter, another complication. But instead, Rhaenyra had smiled. A warmth that Aestra did not expect.

"You are family now," she had said. "If you wish it."

She had wished it.

And then there were the boys. Jace, with his quiet intensity and the weight of duty pressing heavy on his shoulders. Luke, with his soft heart, his desperation to prove himself. Joffrey, still young, still full of laughter, too innocent for the war that loomed over them.

Then little Aegon and Viserys—Daemon and Rhaenyra's sons. Aegon had clung to her skirts at times, looking up at her with wide, adoring eyes. Viserys, too small to understand anything yet, had simply known the comfort of her arms when she held him.

They had become her family in a way she never expected. A year ago, she had walked into Dragonstone alone, wary, uncertain of her place. Now, she could not think of them without her chest aching.

And Jace...

A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, rolling down her temple into her hair.

She turned her head, gazing at the moon outside the window. Somewhere, under that same sky, Jace was holding their daughter.

And she was here. Alone.

Aestra swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the sheets.

She had never been afraid of loneliness before. But tonight, it swallowed her whole.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The morning meal was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional clinking of spoons against wooden bowls. The hall was filled with the scent of fresh bread, roasted meats, and warm cider, yet Aestra barely touched her food. She sat still, her fingers lightly curled around the edge of her cup, her blue eyes lowered. The sleepless night weighed on her, pressing down like an unseen force.

Lady Glover, seated beside her son, sipped her tea before turning to him. "I received word from House Blackwood," she began, her tone casual, though her eyes watched him carefully. "Lady Alysanne is of good stock, well-bred and sharp-minded. You should consider her, Cregan."

Cregan exhaled sharply, setting his cup down with more force than necessary. "Must we speak of this now?"

Lady Glover gave him a pointed look. "You are Lord of Winterfell, and you cannot remain alone forever."

"I am not alone," Cregan said firmly, his gaze steady. "I have my son."

Lady Glover pursed her lips. "Rickon needs a mother."

"I will raise him myself," Cregan replied, his voice as cold as the winds outside.

The tension at the table thickened. Sara Snow, silent as ever, watched the exchange with her sharp eyes, though she said nothing. She merely glanced between them, then flicked her gaze toward Aestra, whose presence had not gone unnoticed.

Aestra swallowed, shifting slightly in her seat. When she dared glance up, her eyes met Cregan's. He was already looking at her, his dark gaze unreadable, though something flickered in them—something she could not name.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Aestra looked away, her fingers tightening around her cup.

Lady Glover sighed. "I will not press you, but you must think on it."

Cregan said nothing, merely nodding once before returning to his meal.

Aestra took a slow breath, staring at her untouched food.

She did not know why her stomach twisted so uncomfortably at the thought of Cregan Stark wedding another.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The library of Winterfell was vastly different from the one on Dragonstone. It smelled of aged parchment, pinewood, and lingering smoke from the torches that burned steadily along the stone walls. The ceiling arched high above, wooden beams stretching like the ribs of some ancient beast. There was something grounding about it, something steady and immovable, much like the North itself.

Aestra trailed her fingers along the spines of the books, their leather bindings worn but sturdy. She had hoped to find something to pass the time, something to quiet the thoughts that plagued her. But nothing seemed to call to her, nothing that could silence the weight in her chest.

A quiet shift of footsteps made her turn sharply.

Cregan Stark stood in the doorway, watching her.

Aestra exhaled slowly, regaining her composure. "You walk too quietly for a man your size."

Cregan tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his grey eyes. "And you startle too easily for a dragon's daughter."

Aestra huffed, turning back to the bookshelves. "I am not easily startled."

Cregan stepped forward, his boots barely making a sound against the stone floor. "What are you searching for?"

"A book," she replied vaguely.

His brow quirked. "Clearly."

Aestra glanced at him, narrowing her eyes. "You mock me."

"Never," Cregan said smoothly, though there was the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She let out a breath, returning to the books. "I do not know what I seek. I only wish to be... distracted."

A pause. Then, "Do you find solace in words?"

Aestra hesitated before answering. "I used to."

Cregan was silent for a moment before he stepped beside her, his presence grounding, steady. "If you wish for distraction, come with me."

Aestra blinked, caught off guard. She turned to look at him fully, searching his face. "Where?"

His expression was unreadable, though there was something in his gaze—something weighted, something certain. "You'll see."

She hesitated.

Then, slowly, she lifted her hand.

Cregan did not hesitate. He took it, his grip warm and firm, his calloused fingers brushing against her palm as he led her from the library.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The stables of Winterfell were dimly lit, the scent of hay and leather thick in the air. Horses stirred in their stalls as Cregan led Aestra inside, the sounds of hooves shifting and quiet snorts echoing through the space.

He stopped before a large, dark-coated stallion with a white blaze running down its nose. The horse lifted its head at their approach, ears twitching forward attentively.

"This is Ironheart," Cregan said, running a gloved hand over the horse's strong neck.

Aestra raised a brow. "You named him?"

Cregan gave her a sidelong look. "Of course. Do dragons not have names?"

Aestra huffed. "That is different."

Cregan only smirked, then, without warning, he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her onto the horse's back.

Aestra let out a sharp breath, hands gripping the saddle. "I could have climbed up myself."

Cregan chuckled, the deep rumble of it making her scowl. "I know."

She narrowed her eyes, about to retort, but Cregan swung himself up behind her before she could. The warmth of him was immediate, his broad frame solid against her back.

Aestra stiffened slightly as his arms moved around her, his hands finding the harness. His closeness was... unfamiliar. Distracting.

Cregan's voice was low near her ear. "Have you ever ridden a horse?"

Aestra swallowed before answering. "I prefer my dragons."

He laughed again, the sound rich, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

Aestra forced herself to focus as Cregan clicked his tongue, nudging Ironheart forward. The stable doors opened, revealing the yard bathed in morning light.

The gates of Winterfell groaned as they were pulled open, and with a firm command, Cregan urged the horse into a steady gallop.

The cold northern air rushed past them as they rode beyond the walls of Winterfell.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The forest stretched around them, tall evergreens dusted in snow, their branches swaying in the soft northern wind. The crunch of Ironheart's hooves against the frozen earth echoed as they veered away from the King's Road.

Aestra furrowed her brows, glancing back at the path disappearing behind them. "Where are we going?"

Cregan merely hummed, keeping his eyes ahead. "You'll see."

She scoffed, but curiosity tugged at her. She had known the North to be vast and treacherous, but there was something about the way Cregan led her—steady, confident—that made her hold her tongue.

The trees eventually parted, revealing a large open field blanketed in white. At the center, a frozen lake gleamed under the pale winter sun, its surface smooth and untouched.

Cregan pulled the reins, bringing Ironheart to a halt before swinging down from the saddle. Aestra watched as he reached into the bag secured to the horse's side and pulled something out.

She blinked as he turned, holding up a pair of strange-looking boots with blades attached to them.

"I used to come here often," he said, voice quieter than before. His gray eyes swept over the lake, his expression unreadable. "I brought my wife here once... before she passed."

Aestra's fingers curled slightly around the saddle. She said nothing, only observing him as he dropped the ice skates to the ground.

Then, before she could respond, Cregan reached up, hands firm at her waist as he helped her down. His touch lingered just for a moment before he stepped back and handed her a pair of skates.

Aestra turned them over in her hands, baffled. "What in the seven hells are these?"

Cregan smirked as he walked to the lake's edge, lowering himself to sit on a flat stone. "Skates." He pulled off his boots and began lacing them up with practiced ease.

Aestra followed hesitantly, sitting beside him. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, trying to mimic his movements. But no matter how much she pulled at the laces, the knots wouldn't hold.

Cregan snorted, shaking his head. "You're hopeless."

Aestra glared at him. "My flats are much easier."

His smirk widened as he turned to face her, his large hands brushing hers away. "You wear slippers on Dragonstone. This is the North, Princess."

Aestra huffed but didn't pull back as he redid the knots, his fingers deft and sure.

She exhaled, watching the lake stretch before them. Despite the cold, there was something peaceful about the place. And though she would never admit it, she liked hearing Cregan laugh.

Cregan finished tying the last knot and smirked as he sat back. "There. Now try standing."

Aestra narrowed her eyes at him before carefully shifting her weight forward, planting her hands on the rock for support. As soon as she pushed herself up, her legs wobbled, and she nearly toppled over.

Cregan grabbed her waist instantly, steadying her. "Easy," he said, his voice rich with amusement.

Aestra scowled. "This is foolish."

Cregan only grinned. "Foolish? Or are you just afraid?"

She shot him a glare, but her pride wouldn't allow her to back down. Gritting her teeth, she straightened herself with his help, wobbling slightly as she adjusted to the strange sensation of the skates beneath her.

"Now," he said, taking her hands in his, "we step onto the ice."

Aestra swallowed, glancing at the frozen lake. She could hear the wind whistling softly over the surface.

"Don't let go," she warned, her voice edged with nervousness.

Cregan chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

With slow, careful steps, he led her onto the ice. The moment her skates touched the surface, her feet slid apart wildly.

Aestra let out a sharp gasp. "Cregan!" Not even caring that she used his name without being the polite princess she was raised to.

He laughed, gripping her arms tightly to keep her upright. "Relax," he said, his voice warm with amusement. "You're as tense as a battle line."

"I feel like I'm walking on glass," she muttered through gritted teeth.

Cregan smirked and began moving backward, still holding her hands. "Just follow my lead."

Aestra tried to copy his movements, but every small shift sent her off balance. She clenched her jaw, trying to focus as he slowly guided her, his strong hands steadying her each time she faltered.

"That's it," he murmured. "See? You're already improving."

Aestra scoffed, still gripping his hands like a lifeline. "If you let go, I will have your head."

Cregan only laughed again.

They moved in slow circles around the lake, Cregan keeping his grip firm as Aestra hesitantly slid her feet along the ice. After a few minutes, she found herself growing steadier, the movements coming easier.

But just as she was beginning to feel a shred of confidence, her skate caught a rough patch of ice.

She yelped, arms flailing as she lost her balance—and dragged Cregan down with her.

With a surprised grunt, Cregan landed flat on his back, and Aestra fell directly on top of him.

There was a heartbeat of silence before Cregan let out a deep, rumbling laugh.

Aestra, sprawled across his chest, groaned. "This is not funny."

Cregan grinned, eyes alight with amusement. "It's a little funny."

She smacked his chest in protest, but the corner of her lips twitched. Despite herself, a chuckle bubbled past her lips.

Cregan's laughter softened as he gazed up at her, their faces close, the cold air between them turning warm.

"You did well, Princess," he murmured.

"He wants me... like a man yearns for a woman" Aestra's thought echoed in her mind so loud she was afraid Lord Stark would hear them.

Aestra met his gaze, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. But instead of answering, she smirked.

"Better than you, apparently."

Aestra attempted to push herself up, bracing her hands against the ice. But the moment she shifted her weight, her skates betrayed her, and she slipped backward—landing unceremoniously on her butt with a sharp gasp.

Cregan's laughter echoed across the frozen lake, deep and full of mirth. "Gods, you are hopeless," he teased, grinning down at her.

Aestra glared up at him, cheeks burning from both embarrassment and the cold. "I'd like to see you master dragon-riding in an afternoon," she shot back.

Cregan smirked, shaking his head as he extended his hand. "Come on, Princess."

She huffed but took his hand nonetheless. With a strong pull, he lifted her to sit upright.

But as she adjusted her weight, the ice betrayed her once more—this time sending her sliding forward straight into Cregan's chest.

He caught her effortlessly, arms firm around her as they steadied against one another.

Aestra's breath hitched. She could feel the warmth of him despite the layers of furs and leather. The scent of pine and frost clung to him, mixed with something deeper—something inherently him.

Cregan's lips twitched into a faint grin as he gazed down at her. "Comfortable?" he murmured.

Aestra swallowed, unable to form words for a moment.

Then, a sudden whine from Ironheart shattered the moment.

The great black stallion stomped his hooves impatiently near the treeline, as if urging them to return.

Cregan cleared his throat, the tension snapping like a bowstring. He loosened his grip and gestured toward the shore. "Come, before you freeze solid out here."

Aestra exhaled sharply and nodded, carefully following him back onto firm ground.

Once seated on the rock again, she set to work untying her skates, only to find the knots impossible to loosen with her chilled fingers.

She cursed under her breath.

Cregan crouched beside her, shaking his head with an amused smirk. "Give them here," he said.

She scowled but extended her foot slightly. Cregan made quick work of the knots, his fingers deft and practiced, removing the skates with ease.

Aestra huffed, slipping her boots back on. "You must take pride in making me look incompetent."

Cregan chuckled, shaking his head. "Not incompetent. Just... inexperienced."

She shot him a glare, but he only grinned as he rose to his feet.

Without warning, he reached for her waist, lifting her up and setting her onto Ironheart's back before she could protest.

"I can mount a horse myself," she muttered, adjusting her seat.

Cregan merely smirked, climbing up behind her. "And yet, here we are."

Aestra rolled her eyes but said nothing as he took the harness, his arms once again bracketing around her. The warmth of his presence behind her was impossible to ignore.

As Ironheart started forward, she hesitated before murmuring, "Thank you."

Cregan glanced down at her, his expression softer now. Without a word, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before returning it to the reins.

They rode back to Winterfell together in silence, the wind crisp and cold, but the space between them warmer than either had expected.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As they reached the gates of Winterfell, the wind howled through the yard, lifting the snow in wisps around them. Cregan dismounted first, his boots crunching against the frozen ground. Without hesitation, he turned and reached for Aestra's waist, his hands firm yet careful as he helped her down from Ironheart's back.

Aestra exhaled softly as her feet met the ground, but before she could step away, a gust of wind blew through her silver hair, sending loose strands dancing across her face.

Cregan reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against her chilled skin as he tucked the strand behind her ear. His touch was warm despite the cold, and when she glanced up at him, he was smiling down at her—soft, unguarded.

For a fleeting moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind and the quiet beat of their breaths.

Then—

"Cregan!"

Lady Glover's voice rang across the yard.

Both Aestra and Cregan snapped apart, though the warmth of his touch still lingered on her skin.

Lady Glover descended the steps, wrapped in heavy furs, her eyes sharp yet warm as she regarded them. She offered Aestra a polite smile before turning her full attention to her son.

"I have spoken with Lord Blackwood," she announced, her voice carrying despite the wind. "He and Lady Alysanne will arrive in the morrow."

A silence stretched between them.

Cregan went still. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, but he held his composure.

Aestra's soft blue eyes flickered between them, watching the tension unfold. She said nothing, yet neither of them could see the pain she carefully masked behind her gaze.

Cregan's voice, when it finally came, was measured. "That was not necessary, Mother."

Lady Glover gave him a knowing look. "It is. You need a wife, Cregan. You cannot be alone forever."

"I have my son."

His mother sighed, as if they had already had this conversation too many times.

Aestra stood quietly, the cold biting at her skin, but the ache in her chest was far deeper.

Ironheart nudged her shoulder, his warm breath misting in the air.

Aestra exhaled slowly, then offered a faint smile. "I'll take him to the stables."

Cregan turned to her, his expression unreadable. He wanted to say something—but what?

Instead, he gave a slight nod, his dark eyes lingering on her for a moment longer.

Aestra took Ironheart's reins and walked toward the stables, leaving mother and son to their conversation.

But as she went, she clenched her jaw, forcing herself to push aside the strange weight settling in her chest.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

DRAGONSTONE
Lucerys wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped into Dragonstone's library, the scent of aged parchment and candle wax filling his senses. He hadn't meant to linger here—his mind was restless after training, his body still thrumming with the energy of it—but the moment he stepped inside, he froze.

Rhaena was there.

She sat by the tall arched window, bathed in the dim glow of the afternoon light. A book rested in her delicate hands, her silver hair cascading down her back in soft waves. The deep red of her gown clung to her figure, a striking contrast against her warm brown skin.

Lucerys swallowed. They hadn't spoken much since he returned from Storm's End. Since that day when Aestra gave birth and lost her son.

He should have spoken to her sooner, he knew that. But he hadn't known how. Hadn't known what to say.

Rhaena must have sensed him, because she glanced up from her book, her violet eyes meeting his brown ones. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, softly, she said, "Luke."

Lucerys shifted on his feet, suddenly aware of how disheveled he must have looked—his tunic damp with sweat, his curls mussed from training. He cleared his throat, awkwardly stepping further into the room.

"Rhaena." He hesitated, then added, "I didn't mean to interrupt you."

"You're not." She closed her book gently, resting it in her lap. "I was only reading."

He nodded, glancing at the book in her hands. "What is it?"

Rhaena studied him for a moment before answering, "The Tales of Valyria."

A small, wistful smile ghosted across her lips. "My mother used to read it to me when I was a child."

Lucerys exhaled softly, stepping closer. "Lady Laena was a great woman." He hadn't met Laena but heard stories from his father Laenor about her.

Rhaena looked down at the book for a moment, her fingers tracing the golden lettering on the cover. When she looked back up at him, her expression was unreadable.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" she asked.

Lucerys inhaled sharply. He had expected her to dance around it, to pretend things were the same. But of course, Rhaena had never been one for pretenses.

"I—I haven't been—" He stopped himself, knowing the lie would be pointless.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know how to talk to you after..." His voice faltered.

"After Aestra's son died," Rhaena finished for him.

Lucerys flinched.

Rhaena's expression softened, and she reached forward, taking his hand in hers. Her touch was warm. Grounding.

"I still mourn him too, Luke," she murmured.

Lucerys looked down at their hands, then back up at her. His throat tightened, but he forced himself to nod.

For the first time since he returned, he felt like he could breathe.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Jacaerys rocked Daena gently in his arms, his fingers brushing over the wisps of dark brown hair on her small head. The little girl had already begun to drift into sleep, her tiny fingers clutching onto the fabric of his tunic. He exhaled softly, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before laying her down in the cradle. The candlelight flickered over her peaceful face, and for a moment, Jace allowed himself to feel warmth in his chest.

Then the door creaked open.

Baela stepped inside, her silver hair cascading down her back, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she looked between her stepbrother and his daughter. "She looks just like you."

Jace glanced over his shoulder, scoffing lightly. "She looks like Aestra."

Baela chuckled, stepping closer. "A little. But she has your eyes." Her expression softened as she gazed at Daena, then flicked back to Jace. "How are you holding up?"

Jace tensed. "I'm fine."

Baela hummed knowingly. "That's a lie."

Jace exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's complicated."

Baela leaned against the nearby table, arms crossed. "I gathered that much." She studied him closely. "Does this have to do with Aestra?"

Jace scoffed again, shaking his head. "It always has to do with Aestra."

Baela arched a brow. "And yet, I have the feeling that there's more to it."

Jace swallowed. He shouldn't say it. He shouldn't even think it. But Baela had always seen right through him, and the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

"I don't know what to feel," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Something... unexpected happened, and I—" He shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. "I think I'm going insane."

Baela frowned. "Why?"

Jace inhaled deeply. "I read something a few days ago. That people can romantically love more than one person."

Baela's brows furrowed as she studied him. "Jace." Her voice was careful, measured. "Are you saying you love someone beside Aestra?"

His throat tightened.

He didn't answer.

He couldn't answer.

Instead, he turned away, his hands gripping the edge of the cradle. "Forget it."

But his mind lingered on it.

On him.

On the cold northern wind. On a firm hand gripping his. On the taste of something unexpected, something that never should have happened.

Baela watched him carefully, but didn't push further.

And Jace—Jace wasn't sure if he wanted her to.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

WINTERFELL
The Great Hall of Winterfell was dimly lit with flickering torches, the long wooden tables set with steaming dishes of venison, roasted root vegetables, and warm bread. The scent of the meal filled the air, but Aestra barely tasted anything. Her mind was elsewhere—on the man seated across from her.

Lady Glover sat at the head of the table, beaming with barely restrained excitement. "Lord Blackwood and his daughter will arrive by midday," she announced, practically glowing with anticipation. "Alysanne is a fine young woman. Strong, well-mannered, and of good stock. She will make a perfect wife for my son."

Cregan's jaw tensed as he stabbed his fork into his venison with far more force than necessary. "I have a son," he said curtly. "I have no need for a wife."

Lady Glover let out a disapproving sigh, waving a hand. "Rickon needs a mother. You need a wife. Alysanne will be good for you."

Cregan's grip on his knife tightened, his knuckles white. "I do not need a stranger in my home," he muttered darkly, eyes fixed on his plate.

Sara watched the exchange with something between amusement and pity, her lips twitching as she glanced between her half-brother and Aestra. Unlike the others at the table, Sara did not miss the way Cregan's eyes flickered to the silver-haired princess every so often—the silent glances, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his anger seemed restrained, barely contained, but not only because of their mother's words.

Aestra, however, kept her gaze firmly on her plate, acting as if she were indifferent to the entire conversation. But she felt his gaze. Every time.

It burned.

Lady Glover, seemingly oblivious, turned to Aestra with a bright smile. "And what of you, Princess? How do you find Winterfell?"

Aestra lifted her head, offering a polite smile, though the weight of Cregan's eyes on her made it difficult to meet Lady Glover's gaze. "It is... unlike any place I have ever known," she said carefully. "But it is strong and ancient, as a home should be."

Lady Glover beamed at the compliment. "We are honored to have you here. I do hope you will come to see it as a second home in time."

Aestra merely inclined her head, though she knew better than to believe such a thing. Winterfell was not her home. Dragonstone was.

But the way Cregan Stark looked at her across the firelit hall made her wonder if, perhaps, she was not so much a stranger to this place as she thought.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

BLACK ALY COMING AND WITH THAT AESTRA'S BI AWAKING 😏🙈