𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 | 𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧.

𝐗𝐈𝐗. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍

«I was the first to notice the tension between Lord Stark and my brother, though, I must admit, I already suspected something when Augustus spent all our travelling time on explaining how amazing this man is. But Augustus was prone to falling in love with almost every man he had met—his standards were quite low, consisting only of getting some attention from so-called love; the bare minimum—and lord Stark didn't seem to me the one to be in idiots, like Augustus. But then there were longing gazes from both of the side, and lingering touches, mixed with warm smiles. An act that was hard to watch, if you ask me. When Cregan finally told me that he loves my brother, I sighed in relief. Fucking finally.»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's diaries.

•

'Are you worrying yourself over Drusilla again?'

Augustus shifts on the chair uncomfortably—window wide open, letting inside the chill air and snowflakes—and sighs.

'Why would I ever worry about someone like her?'

Cregan chuckles behind him. Before Augustus knows, there is a heavy coat thrown on his shoulders, smelling with smouldering fire and forest.

The weather in the North is awful, absolutely nothing compared to the Highgardens, always caressing your skin with rays of sun, and, sometimes, cooling you with winter winds. Augustus has a long way to getting used to this.

'Whatever helps you to keep this thin face of yours.'

Augustus is so busy with gripping the fabric of the coat, cursing all Starks and their indifference to cold weather, that he doesn't even hear the last remark. Gods, just look at this prick, walking around in a single unlaced shirt as if the is summer.

And, by the way, he is not worried about Drusilla. This bitch would probably outlive all of them, anyway. What he worries about is the King's Landings and what is going on here. In the end of the day, dragons are still dragons, they are not to be tamed. Augustus really hopes that Drusilla's bravado comes true, and meanwhile they are all very invested in kneeling his sister.

But, truly, Augustus wished only for one thing: stopping Drusilla from entering this house, even for once.

But his sister is stubborn, and in this quality, she is merciless. And, surprisingly, loyal.

People like her—cold, heartless to some extent, attracted to spilling the blood of others and her own, charmed by chaos, even—rarely love someone so... So sincere. With sacrifices and exceptions.

Augustus tried to keep her away from Aemond Targaryen for so long, yet, Drusilla never faltered. Each time they spoke about him—Augustus hissing on Targaryens, reminding that Aemond is one of them, while she laughed—ended up with his failure.

"I am asking you this question," he meant about changing her interest in this boy, "for five years, yet you give me the same answer."

And Drusilla would lean over the balcony and huff.

"Make it fifty, then. Answer would stay the same anyway."

This tenderness was never something Augustus understand.

Well, until Cregan Stark, at least.

This irresistible, handsome and absolutely clueless man.

They first had met when Augustus was just fifteen, and he was sent to the North for political matters by his father, hoping that it would help his son to mature faster; little did he knew that it wasn't possible.

Cregan was around his age, yet, more independent than Augustus, probably, ever could. He was the son that Lord Tyrell always wanted Augustus to be: strong, determined, isolated from women and people in general, being too invested in becoming a better version of himself. Usually, Augustus would be envious of the person, who made his father proud.