Cregan POV
A month after the dragon prince left Winterfell, the young warden of the North had finally made it to King's Landing.
It took him about a fortnight to settle matters with his steward and he left his aunt Lyra and uncle Uhtred as castellans until his return. The seven year old twins Sara and Benjen had asked their parents to join him south but were refused. They still believed in fanciful tales of knightly heroics and glorious tourneys. He hoped they don't lose their light, children of summer that they are. But he doubted it.
He debated on whether or not to take his direwolf Ragnar with him. The crystal blue eyed beast with white fur had gotten larger than his horse. He had been hunting in the wilderness for weeks. Keeping his own council on when to return and leave. In the end he opted for going with his living house sigil to the Dragon's den. His loneliness triumphed over any guilt he felt.
He said goodbye to his household and took to the rode to White Harbor with Bran and Ned.
Lord Wyber Manderly welcomed their party with a seven course meal. He still apologized for not preparing an adequate banquet as he wasn't notified of their coming.
On the morrow, Lord Wyber's heir Wyman lead them to the Manderly flagship the Sea Wolf. Lord Stark must impress the royal family and come from a position of strength, the fat merman advised.
He graciously accepted and left in a hurry lest Manderly think to invite himself along and act as his personal herald in court.
The trip went smoothly thank the Gods. Every day spent south of the Neck he could feel his body literally melting. If he ever marches away from his home again he's a madman who deserves to be sacrificed to the weirwood trees.
When they arrived at the docks he met with a dozen armed men, Hightower knights and gold clocks. His honor guard.
Do all visiting lords get strapped with an armed escort? If it was a scare tactic it's a poor one. The heat is unbearable but he could kill those men before turning into a puddle. And Ragnar has felt anxious for live prey on board the ship.
Neither wolf acted on their base instincts.
Supplied with fresh horses, Cregan and his retinue followed their escort to the Red Keep at the zenith of Aegon's Hill.
Winterfell is bigger.
He climbed down his horse and entered the courtyard. The royals were expecting him.
He bathed and groomed himself a bit this morning when they saw that they were nearing land. But he had been riding for an hour under a merciless sun. So he can't have smelled that great.
He hoped to finish the introductions as quickly as possible without offending anyone. If he's done the curtesy of being provided ice cold water, he'll sing the Targaryens' praises for years to come.
"Lord Stark, it's good to see you again."
"Likewise my prince." The one-eyed prince had become a somewhat friend during his brief but memorable stay in Winterfell.
"May I intorduce her grace the Queen, Alicent Hightower. My sister the Princess Helaena. My brother the prince Aegon. And my grandsire the Lord Hand, Ser Otto Hightower."
Aemond had pointed at the person he was mentioning, with an nigh imperceptible shift in tone for each of them. He noticed all the same. The Hand with begrudging respect. The Queen and the Princess with love and high regard. The elder prince with resentment. Though the latter made no effort to help his case. His eyes a bit dilated and a disinterested demeanor. He's drunk. Wonderful.
He had heard of the supposedly otherworldly beauty of the scions of Old Valyria. Aemond was a handsome man for sure but nothing out of the realm of reason.
His intended was a different story. He hadn't once thought a man can fall in love on first sight. Such was only found in romantic maidens' tales. And even then tragedy was just around the corner. But as he felt his heart thumb loudly and his hands clench, he reconsidered this theory.
Afraid to make a fool of himself the longer he remains quiet, he lowered his head a little to the royals and addressed the Queen."It's a honor you grace. I hope our houses will have a long and fruitful alliance for generations to come."
He carefully took the hand of the princess and laid a chaste kiss. He couldn't care less he was acting like the love struck southern knights he derided as a child. He won't be doing anything to comprise this union.
Too bad his other half didn't have any quarrels about breaking court etiquette. Ragnar sprung out from the back of the riders' column and nearly tackled princess Helaena to the ground.
At once the armed escort, the Red Cloaks and two knights of the Kinsguard he just noticed took out their weapons.
Shit. Starks don't go south. It was a simple rule drilled into heirs from the moment of their birth. And now he's started a war against the Targaryens.
There was a faint sound coming from under Raganr's hulking form. He should've noticed it wasn't the loud shrieking of a terrified girl but his mind was on other matters. For example, how likely he could make it back to the ship before the entire city Watch descend like hounds . A pointless act as Dragonfire will rain from above the seas just as it does on land, he lamented.
"Stop, stop. Puppy."
When the princess got up smiling, covered not with mortal wounds but the signs of spit, he was awestruck.
He was licking her. The big oaf. Marking her before he can. He should've left him North. How dare he accost his betrothed like a mindless beast. It's not noteworthy that Cregan and Ragnar share a mind. He obviously would never do such a thing. Without her consent.
"I'm truly sorry my princess. Ragnar never behaves this way. It won't happen again. You have my word" He tried to quickly apologize. The armed men hadn't sheathed their blades yet. But they also haven't struck him down, so that's a plus.
Helaena showed no sign of discomfort. She actually massaged the back of Ragnar's head. Lucky bastard.
"No need to apologize my lord. He's a majestic creature." She turned to the prince Aemond with a slight frown on her face. It might've been the cutest expression he's ever seen but he would never tell another soul."Why didn't you tell me you saw a direwolf brother?"
"I didn't sister. He never introduced his furry companion". Aemond spoke with an accusing tone, quickly trying to absolve himself from any crime the princess thought him guilty of. Cregan completely understands. He'll never do anything to displease Helaena for as long as he lived.
"Ragnar is his own wolf. In the north, he likes to run free. He's less a pet and more like .."
"The other part of your soul". Heleana finished in a too knowing voice.
He never asked the prince about their connection to the dragons. Colossal weapons of destruction was all he saw. Why did one need to feel for his best tool for conquest and subjugation? Perhaps he was wrong. And the Targaryens are as bonded to their mounts as the Starks are to the wolves.
"Exactly". He really could drown in her amethyst eyes. It'd be a fine death.
"If it's not too forward, may I ask the princess to escort me on a scroll through the gardens? With a chaperone, of course". Bran and Ned would tear him to his pieces if they heard his attempt at courtship. He doesn't care. The Gods favor him clearly.
"That's .."
"Actually the princess has other duties. The maids will show you to your quarters. There's a feast scheduled for tonight. Do not be late, my lord". The Queen intervenes hastily to turn down his demand. Does she fear the northern barbarian will seduce her daughter with or without witness? He holds the scathing remark and bows as the royal party leave.
King's Landing is a cesspool of lie and deceit. And godsforsaken heat. But he'll brave it a thousand times just to be near Helaena.
**
Helaena POV
The dragon dreamer woke up earlier than usual. Today wasn't a normal day. For today was when she would finally meet her wolf.
She called for her handmaiden the lady Celia Tully. At seven and ten, the girl was four months her senior. She was blessed with vibrant red heir and sea blue eyes that resembled the banks of the Trident. The two had gotten closer since she came to court half a year ago.
She'll miss her when she leaves for Winterfell. Celia is set to marry her cousin Lyonal and go to Oldtown. She hopes she'll like it there. Celia's a gentle soul. And she brushes Helena's hair with such soft fingers. The Targaryen Princess rarely allows anyone but her family to touch her and even then at appropriate times, but Celia is an exception.
The Tully maiden deftly styles her curls. Having opened the wardrobe she picked two dresses to choose from. One the color of emerald, the other aquatic blue. Heleana went with the latter. Political unity is essentiel but today she doesn't care for thinly veiled threats and mock praises. Her and Cregan will start their relationship as if they were any other normal couple. Wishing to know one other not for potential gain or information but actual interest.
One may call her naive. It's a dynastic contract. An arrangement, simple as that. But what good is seeing the actual future if she doesn't enjoy the present? Why would some of her dreams be unattainable and others inevitable?
She looks herself over in the memory. She's not vain but it doesn't hurt to look her best. She and Celia head to the main hall in Maegor's Holdfast to break their fast.
Mother and Aemond are there as usual. Grandfather takes most his meals in his solar at the Tower of the Hand. No time to waste when one has to run a kingdom. Aegon is possibly in Fleabottom passed out drunk or reeling from a hangover upstairs in his room. He'll come out at noon if he deigns to show up.
"Mother, Aemond." She greets them both and sits at the table. Celia bows and takes the seat next to her.
She's been having more and more dreams of the North at late. The Wall more prominently and the lands beyond it. She thinks it's a warning. Her ghost let it slip that's where he's now. Or where he will be. Her talks with him left her confused at times. He had the voice of a child, but spoke with the melancholic tone of an old soldier whose seen a hundred battles. It was odd.
Some people call her odd. Never to her face or even within her hearing range but they say it all the same. The castle holds secrets. She woke up screaming one night after seeing the deaths of many stone masons by king Maegor. The books say he had hidden passages built then disposed of the workers. That's how she learned of what the servants called her; the strange daughter, half-mad. The nobility went so far to whisper she was simple. They dither around like gossiping chickens about the unfortunate man she'll be saddled with. An old lord with heirs of his own or a second son from a minor house that doesn't care she's a lackwit or insane.
She had some unlady like thoughts about what to do those who spread the rumors. But thankfully didn't act on any of them.
She sought Dreamfyre to ease her pains and flew for hours. The skies offered a reprieve from everything. Her life, her duties. Even her dreams. They were a part of her, but she'd lying if she claimed she never wanted to be rid of them. The violence she bore witness to often times haunted her.
Her beautiful dragon made her troubles go away today as well. She massaged her scales and circled to the Blackwater. She suddenly noticed the flag of the ship below. It was a merman. That must be her wolf's ship. He's here.
She raced back to the Dragon Pit. It wasn't necessary rationally speaking. They had about an hour or two until they made it to shore. Then they would be escorted to the castle before meeting Cregan. But she couldn't help herself. She was so excited. And the smell of dragon wasn't universally appealing. Sorry Dreamfyre.
She told a servant of the near arrival of the northern delegation to notify her mother and asked for a bath to be prepared quickly.
When she felt the scent was gone and replaced with honey and lavender perfume she stepped and dried herself. Celia helped her redress and the two made it to the courtyard where her mother and grandfather were already. She must've taken longer than she thought.
Aegon showed up unsurprisingly with Aemond at his back, possibly threatening bodily harm if he doesn't behave as befits a Targaryen prince and future king of Westeros. It seems unkind to say but it feels warranted. Aegon is as she thought still drunk.
15 minutes later, the riders arrive through the gates. She's dreamed of Cregan but the man who approaches puts her visions to shame. Aemond had described him as tall, black haired and long faced. But he failed to mention he's blessed with the grace of the Gods.
He's a rugged warrior. A northern heathen her Septa has warned of for being barbaric and bloodthirsty. But the way he bowed to kiss her hand made her think of a fairy tail prince.
She didn't think he could be anymore perfect until his direwolf jumped at her in a flash. She felt him give sloppy kisses and laughed in delight. She begrudgingly stood up from the snow white puppy's relentless attack to calm her family and the guards and stop them from overreacting.
She laughed at Cregan apologizing for Ragnar's attack. What a fierce name. She hopes he'll share its meaning soon.
The opportunity arrives moments later when her wolf asked for her company in the gardens. She never much cared for strolls but she'll go if it means being with him longer. His addition of chaperone was gentlemanly but unneeded.
Yet her mother turned down his request instantly and bid her to leave for some unnamed duties.
This wedding couldn't come sooner.