Shadows of War

Chapter 1 - Wedding Interrupted

The winds of autumn whipped across the battlements of Winterfell, howling a song both haunting and foreboding. Yet within the stone walls, warmth and cheer prevailed as houses from across the North gathered to celebrate the long-awaited union of their lord, Cregan Stark, to the Lady Visenya Strong.

In the darkened sky above the towering walls, grey clouds hung heavy with the promise of the coming storms. But within the Great Hall, walls were aglow with the light of hundreds of torches wedged into sconces. Banners of grey bearing the direwolf of House Stark hung proudly from arched ceilings. Tables stretched the length of the hall, groaning under the weight of roasted meats, fresh breads and flagons of ale and wine.

At the head table, Lord Cregan Stark sat with his bride Lady Visenya by his side. Though his face remained stern as ever, there was a lightness in his steel grey eyes that had long been absent since the dark days of war's end. Serving as castellan in his lord father's absence during the Dance, Cregan had proven himself a capable commander and loyal bannerman to the Queen Rhaenyra and her cause. But the costs of victory had been steep, etching lines of grief and exhaustion into his hardened features.

Tonight, those flickers of burden seemed to lessen if only for a moment. As Visenya delicately laid her hand upon his arm, offering a gentle smile, Cregan felt some of the lingering fatigue release its hold. Her flame red hair shone vibrantly against her silken grey gown bearing the marks of their joining. Though born of House Strong, Lady Visenya had long proved herself as stalwart and courageous as any Northerner during the war where she distinguished herself at Storm's End. Thus, their union was met with approval and high hopes from all who saw how they eased the others' pains.

The feast was well underway, with entertainment and merriment filling every corner. Across the hall, a minstrel strummed his lute merrily whilst a juggler kept children enraptured with feats of dexterity. Next to a roaring hearth, a boisterous drinking contest was underway with loud cheers and calls for more ale punctuating each victory.

At the high table, Cregan smiled wryly as Jacaerys Velaryon recounted tales of his latest voyages to Braavos, Pentos and Myr whilst trading in dragonbone. With his silver-gold hair and indigo eyes, the young Prince cut a dashing figure that turned many a maid's head. Though his mother Queen Rhaenyra had perished in the war's final days, Jacaerys was as much a son to Cregan as any by blood. They had grown up together at Winterfell in their youths, forging a deep bond that endured even the ravages of conflict tearing the realm asunder.

"You have yet to properly admire Visenya, Jacaerys. Shall I take offense for depriving my bride of her due?" Cregan chided warmly, teasing the charismatic prince notorious for charming all who crossed his path.

At this, Jacaerys smiled warmly at Visenya, gently lifting her hand to place a chivalrous kiss upon her knuckles. "My deepest congratulations and well-wishes for your happiness, good-sister. Cregan is most fortunate to have found such steadfast courage and beauty as yours by his side."

Visenya's features melted into a soft expression, clearly fond of Jacaerys' easy charm. "Your compliments are too kind, Prince Jacaerys. But I am pleased to call you friend as well."

Their warm exchange was interrupted by a commotion rising at the hall's western doors. Cregan rose sharply, hand falling automatically to the pommel of his sword as a sense of unease gripped the hall. But the figure bursting through was known - Ser Medrick Cerwyn, castellan of Torrhen's Square and brother to Lord Jon.

His plated mail was covered in road dust and spattered with something darker. In his arms he bore an all too still form - it was Jon, Lord of his house. Medrick's face was agonized with grief and urgency. "My lord! Lord Jon is dead - murdered!"

Gasps and mutters arose as guests registered the grim pronouncement. Cregan stepped swiftly down from the high table, calling for a maester while signaling the hall be cleared. "What happened? How did this come to pass?" he questioned grimly, eyes hard as flint.

Medrick stammered brokenly between heaving breaths. "We were riding...ambushed on the road...men in strange armor...surrounded us...Jon fought like a lion but fell...please, help him..." His anguished weeping filled the stunned hall before fading into silence. All knew the strange armor boded ill - what enemy had dared strike so boldly?

Maester Luwin rushed forth, feeling for life signs with a grave expression. When he looked up, his eyes reflected the sorrow of all present. "I am afraid Lord Jon Cerwyn is beyond all aid. He fell to an assassin's blade."

Gasps rang out once more as absorbed the deadly import. Murmurs of dismay and anger rose amongst guests, tempered by a grim understanding. Cregan's grip on his sword tightened until the leather creaked. His steely grey gaze found Jacaerys across the room, exchanging a meaningful look heavy with resolve and duty.

Fate had intruded upon what should have been a night of joy. In the shadow of death, old bonds would be fortified and new mysteries unearthed. For the Lord of Winterfell and his allies, the path forward was clear - justice must be sought, and the truth uncovered, no matter the cost.