Chapter three         𓃦          Winterfell's dragons

Winter washed away, allowing the flowers to bloom in the ever-cold weather of Winterfell. The absence of lady Gilliane was almost chocking the residence of the Keep – their beloved lady who has done more for them in the years she was here than the lord Rickon ever did. They, however, didn't feel the same about their new lady. Daenys remained a stranger to them – they were never welcoming to the Targaryens ever since their ancestors bend their knees to Aegon the Conquer nor did they like the meek and reserved girl. Not even when the master Kennet announced the happy news to the Keep – Daenys Targaryen was a moon in her pregnancy.

When the news reached Cregan, he was deep in the forest with his uncle and father. His eyes darted to the man on the horse – only to identify the man as Trevas – and he already feared the worst. But Trevas smiled once he reached them, "you look like you just saw a ghost, lord."

"I think I might have," Cregan replied, knowing he ordered Trevas to come to him in a case of an emergency, "what happened? Is Daenys alright?"

Bennard rolled his eyes – the Gods forsaken Targaryen girl. Trevas replied, "the more marrier news, really."

Cregan's brows pinched, "marrier news?"

Trevas tapped his fingers against his wrist, "the princess is with child."

Daenys was Cregan's contrast. Always was, always will be. Even know, when she should have been celebrating the happy news, she stood within the silence of the chambers, nails picking and pulling on the skin around them, cheeks wet with tears as the history of her ancestors rolled over her mind – Daella Targaryen died after giving birth to her only child at the age of one and eight, three years her senior. Alyssa Targaryen died a year after giving birth to her son at the age of two and four. Not too long-ago Laena Velaryon died when she was two and seven at the hands of the long labour. Even the late Queen Aemma Arryn passed in the childbirth at the age of two and three.

Her fingers curled, teeth sinking in her lower lip so harshly that blood started to drip down her chin. She wasn't aware but Meraxes roared back in King's Landing. She just flew back to the Dragonpit – happy for her rider – only to roar in pain, suddenly aware of Daenys' anxiety in Winterfell. The doors of the chambers opened. Cregan was smiling – though nervous – until it faded when Daenys turned around.

Before he could speak, Daenys asked meekly and softly, as if scared she'll be in the wrong for asking, "can you request for my mother?"

Cregan nodded, closing the doors behind, "of course. I cannot promise you anything, she is the Queen-"

"- she is my mother," she stopped him mid-sentence with tears spilling from her eyes.

"And she is the Queen," he replied, sticking his tongue in his cheek when she turned around to look outside once more.

Silence washed over them – only sounds heard were her quiet sobs she tried to keep down – and Cregan cursed himself for even speaking these things. He moved closer, one hesitated step after another, fingers extending to touch her but faltering a few inches before her skin, "Daenys. I apologize for my words."

"No, you..." she whispered with a shake of her head, "you are right. I'm sorry."

He waited for a moment. He knew she'd turn and hug him, sob in his chest. She did.

The Queen Alicent didn't show up. Not in the right time, at least, because two moons in her pregnancy, the princess Daenys lost her child. Maester Kennet spoke to Cregan in hushed tones that stress might've caused his wife's miscarriage. Daenys named the child Baelor. The Starks held a ceremony in the crypts under Winterfell's Keep. They buried whatever was left of the babe near Cregan's mother.

Then the Queen Alicent didn't show up in time after the second letter. Rhaella was born in five moons time. Maester Kennet repeated the same words to Cregan as he did the first time. She was buried next to her brother.

The Queen didn't show in the right time even after the third letter. Alys – a name designed after the Good Queen Alysanne, Daenys' favourite ancestor – lived for six moons. When Daenys went in the harsh and early labour, Maester Kennet wrote the babe was deformed with dragon like scales and something that looked like the start of a tail. With horrified eyes, the smallfolk watched the funeral of the babe that looked like a monster.

Not even after the fourth letter and the birth and death of Rickon – a name in honour of the, now, late Lord Rickon Stark. Cregan just turned one and seven when his father died, four moons after Maester Kennet broke the news of his wife's pregnancy. He was named Warden of the North an eve before Daenys went in labour again. She called the babe a monster. A monster burning her insides, crawling out with its nails. She wasn't far off either, noted Maester Kennet, as Rickon – just like his sister Alys – came out with dragon like scales and a hole where his heart was to be. Daenys requested a dragon rider's funeral but reminded herself Meraxes despises the cold and refused to let her go through that. The princess couldn't attend the funeral, bedridden with postpartum fever.

She has hoped that the fifth letter was a charm. She wrote it neatly on a paper, tied it together with a bow and placed it with the raven that had it delivered to King's Landing swiftly. Cregan – though always busy with the new title – found moments of peace for Daenys. So, he laid on the bed, her head pressed against his stomach, her legs hanging off the edge. His fingers curled the silver hair, "have you thought of a name?"

"Rhaenys," she replied without missing a beat, her fingers twisting the wolf ring on her finger, "like the Queen Rhaenys. The one that rode Meraxes."

Cregan hummed in response, his free right-hand sneaking to hold her fidgeting fingers, "I like it. And if it is a boy?"

"She is not," she replied with a smile tugging on her lips, turning her head to look up at him, "I can tell."

"You can?" he mused back with the same smile, fingers clasping her closed, pulling them to his lips, planting a quick kiss.

"Mhm," she hummed before becoming more serious. Her brows pinched together, "do you... do you not want a Starks name?"

"Whatever you want," he replied softly, squishing his cheek against the pillow.

She mirrored his movements – squishing her cheek against his stomach, "we can name the next one with a Stark's name."

Cregan closed his eyes – thoughts of two little children roaming the castle – and smiled, "the next one?"

"I was made for this, remember?" she almost whispered, making Cregan open his eyes to look at her, "you were made for battles and I was made for this. I promise to give you more children," she smiled, jesting, "an army of your own."

Cregan smiled, squeezing her fingers, "it would not matter, you know? I love you with or without children."

She hummed solemnly, closing her eyes, "you may, the rest do not."

"Does it matter what other think?" Cregan asked quietly, matching her tone.

"It does to me," she replied without opening her eyes, Cregan's hand gently placed across her belly, his thumb running circles.

"And what matters to me is that you are well," he whispered back, thumb across the gown she wore, "we can name the next one with a Stark name, if that is your wish."

Daenys nodded, knowing he only said it to chance the topic. Still, she replied with a smile, "Jon?"

A smile tugged on his lips, eyes closed, "Jon?"

"You know," she replied, moving to lay on her side, looking up at Cregan, "like Jon Stark – the King in the North before the War of Conquest."

He slowly opened his eyes, peering down at Daenys, "seriously, how much history do you know?"

She smiled, scrunching her nose, "too much. In my defence, I have nothing else to do but read. And Robb keeps bringing me books, so."

He hummed at the mention of his half-brother. She poked his cheek with her pointer, "he's a good child. Really good. Do not be so tough on him."

"Am not," he replied almost in a defence, looking down at her.

"You are," she replied, shifting her head on his chest, "he is not to blame for your father's ways. Nor is Theon."

"Ah, Theon," Cregan clicked his tongue, looking at the ceiling.

"Theon, yes," she replied, fingers curled together. Cregan held them again.

A roar was heard outside. Both their heads shot to the closed balcony doors. Daenys pulled herself off the bed and to the doors, swinging them open. The summer breeze washed over her as she padded across the stone floor, Cregan calling her name. The dragon flew over the Keep - bronze with greenish blue highlights and bright green eyes. Behind her Meraxes roared happily, turning her flight to roam over Daenys where she stood on the balcony. Her lips twitched in a smile, a hand over her belly, Cregan walking out after her, "Meraxes."

"And Vhagar," Cregan replied, eyes darting to the two dragons flying outside the Keep to land, "what does your brother want?"

"That's a big beast!" Theon called from under the balcony, a sword in his hand – stopped in the middle of practice with Trevas.

"They're not beasts," Daenys replied, brows pinched, "they're our children."

"Children," Theon almost chuckled, "they're hundreds of years old!"

"It does not matter to us," she replied, almost mesmerized by Meraxes landing.

In a matter of moments, Daenys was dressed in layers of clothing – though a summer day, the coldness of Winterfell never seemed to amaze her. Her twin brother Aemond was already greeted in the yard of Winterfell's Keep. A smile tugged on her lips at the sight of him, "Lēkia!" (brother)

Aemond opened his arms just a moment before she collapsed in his chest, arms holding him tightly as if she was afraid this was all a dream, "ao emagon grown, mandia." (you have grown, sister)

Daenys pulled back to place her hands on his cheeks. Her right thumb gently caressed the scar close to the eye patch, "Sīr emagon ao. Skoros issi ao doing kesīr?" (so have you. What are you doing here?)

He leaned his cheek in her touch, "Visiting. Rijes nykeāōt va se rūs." (visiting. Congratulations on the babe.)

Daenys smiled, nodding her head, "Kirimvose. Yn nyke aōha idañnykeā se nyke gīmigon skori ao pirtir." (thank you. But I am your twin and I know when you lie)

She could read him like an open book, he knew it all too well. Aemond nodded, "Nyke visiting. Yn... Muñnykeā also wants ao arlī isse King's Landing." (I am visiting. But . . . mother also wants you back in King's Landing)

Her brows pinch, hands leaving his cheeks, "Skoro syt?" (why?)

Cregan soon arrived in the yard, standing a few steps behind his wife, "prince Aemond."

"Lord Stark," Aemond replied, a tone in contrast with what he used with Daenys, "it is good to see you again."

"As it is to see you," Cregan replied and before he had a chance to continue, Daenys spoke again, tone nervous, "Skoro syt līs nyke return naejot King's Landing?" (why must I return to King's Landing?)

Aemond looked back down at Daenys, "Kepa emagon grown sick. Muña wishes ao naejot sagon konīr isse case mirros happens." (father has grown sick. Mother wishes you to be there in case something happens)

It felt like her stomach twisted at the news. Her hand reached backwards and Cregan quickly held it, "what? What's wrong?"

She squeezed his fingers and her eyes shut. Something ran down the inside of her thighs and landed by her shoes as did the chills down her spine. Her mouth went dry at the sensation, lower lip wobbling. Cregan moved from behind her and to her side, saying something she didn't hear. Aemond's brows pinched together as he moved to her other side. She knew they were both calling her name but all she heard was ringing and high pitch frequency. She was only brought back when Meraxes let out a roar in pain – she didn't know if the dragon saw her in pain or if she felt it with her.

"Trevas!" Cregan called and he came running from the outline of the Keep, "get Kennet!"

"Lord?" he asked once he stopped near the three. Colour drained from his face when he saw Cregan whisper soothing words to the pale and sweat covered face of his wife. Trevas nodded before turning around and running inside the Keep, yelling for the Maester.

Daenys wasn't much aware of her surroundings when Cregan brought her back inside the castle. She knew of the people whispering harsh words when they passed in a frenzy state. She knew of what was to happen if she lost yet another child. She cursed the Gods under her breath for making her be this way, for making it go through this again. She made a mess – a bloody mess for the servants to clean down the hallways. She remembers holding the edge of the bed within the birthing chambers, crying tears that seemed all too familiar to her.

Her lady in waiting – Aranna Sand – peeled the layers of clothing over her head as she sobbed, unable to fully stand on her own. But she didn't want any other lady to help, she wanted Aranna. As if she knew, Aranna quickly grabbed the bucket from beside the feet of some lady and placed it before Daenys just in time as the princess emptied her guts. The vomit – mixed with blood – left her mouth as quickly as Meraxes flew across the castle. Daenys shook her head, weak hands supporting her by the side of the bed.

"It is alright, princess," Aranna soothed the girl, her hand going up and down the back that was now only covered in one layer, "we can get through this, alright?"

"I cannot lose her," Daenys sobbed with closed eyes and a shake of her head, "I cannot lose my girl."

"You will not," Aranna responded softly though everyone knew the cold truth, "you will not, princess. Come on, let us walk, alright?"

Daenys, though weaker than ever before, nodded. She didn't want to disappoint Aranna and refusing to walk. She allowed the girl to wrap her arms under hers, helping her walk around the dimly lit chambers as the rest busied themselves. Outside, in the hallway, Maester Kennet spoke to Cregan in hushed tones, "Lord-"

"If you ask me the same fucking question as you did the last time, Maester, I will punch you," his lord cut him off, emotions running high.

"Apologies, my Lord," Kennet replied, eyes flickering from Cregan to the anxious Aemond behind, "though the babe has been in the princess' womb for nearly nine moons. It may live."

A scream left the chambers. Cregan's fingers ached to wrap themselves around the knob and push the doors open but the men from his council stood around him like wasps, preventing him from doing so. His uncle, Bennard Stark – still angry for not being his brother's Heir as the Warden of the North, spoke as if he was the only sane person in the hallway, "nephew. Choose the child. You may always remarry."

"I do not wish to remarry!" Cregan shouted back, too loud. He shut his eyes, scared Daenys heard it from inside the chambers. He opened his eyes, "I do not wish to remarry, uncle. I want Daenys."

"You are allowing your emotions to make decisions," Bennard responded calmly, moving pass the council and closer to his nephew, "you are the Warden of the North if I must remind you. You need Heirs to continue our bloodline. If she is a barren-"

"Do not call her that," Cregan interrupted him, not looking from the doors.

"If it is the truth, nephew," Bennard continued, "four of your children lay under our castle. The last two were monster."

"Do not speak of my children like that," Cregan spoke again, looking at his uncle with blood red eyes from crying.

"It is the truth," his uncle replied before looking at Maester Kennet, "is it not, Maester? Dragon scales instead of skin. A hole where the heart was supposed to be. A tail! Is that not a monster?"

Kennet remained quiet. Aemond finally glanced up from where he was walking up and down the hallway, his ears and mind filled with Daenys' screams in agony. Bennard looked from Kennet to Aemond over Cregan's shoulder, "is that a Targaryen feature, my prince? To have children born as monsters?"

"Do not speak of my sister like that," came out of Aemond's mouth the same time as Cregan spoke, "do not speak of my wife like that."

"This is with all due respect," Bennard spoke through Daenys' screams, "I like the Targaryen girl. But I do not like the fact that after five labours, there is still no living Stark Heir."

Daenys screamed Cregan's name. Without a second thought, he walked to the doors but was stopped by one of the lord's his father placed within the council years ago, "my Lord – it is not proper."

"If this is the last time I see my wife, I wish to be with her," Cregan replied and the lord removed his hand from him. For he lost his wife in labour too.

The doors opened and closed once both Cregan and Kennet were inside the busy chambers. Daenys stood by the table, holding both hands on the wall with gritted teeth once a shot of pain entered her system again. Aranna held her silver hair back, washing sweat off the back of her neck. While Kennet went swiftly to the ladies, Cregan moved to the two. Aranna bowed her head, face pale as a ghost as she stepped away.

Daenys let out a shaky breath and threw her head backwards in pain. Cregan's hand placed itself on her lower back to keep her steady. Realizing this wasn't Aranna no more, Daenys opened her eyes. Lilac eyes that were once bright now turned darker, Cregan noted. It always happened when she was in pain. Her lower lip wobbled as she whispered, "you came."

"You called," he responded in the same hushed tone before he was given a cold wet cloth from Aranna. He gently traced it across the sweat on her forehead.

"I'm sorry," she whispered with closed eyes, "I am so very sorry, Cregan."

His brows furrowed and he dropped the cloth to help her stand, "what are you sorry for? Do not apologize."

"I am a barren," she sobbed, shaking her head, "I cannot bare you a child."

"Do not speak like this," he whispered back, his hand pressed against her hot cheek, "stop this."

"I know what they whisper," she replied, sucking a breath once the pain returned, "I know what they speak of me and I fear – I fear they are correct. I cannot bare you a child, I cannot be a wife, I cannot be-"

"Stop this, Daenys," he interrupted her, both hands supporting her now once again, "breathe with me, alright? Deep breaths, love, please."

She could only nod through dizzying pain that was to break in little pieces once more. She didn't hear it when Kennet walked to her to tell her she was to go in bed and start pushing. She only became aware of it when Cregan helped her to the bed's side and onto the all too familiar bed.

"Do not leave – do not leave me, please," she sobbed when she placed her head on the pillow behind. Aranna was on the other side of the bed once more.

"I'm not going anywhere," he responded, lowering himself to kneel by the bed's side, fingers curling around her cold ones.

Daenys didn't know how long it took. How much she pushed or how many times Cregan and Aranna encouraged her. All she knew was that she expected more blood and no cries from a babe Kennet was to pull from her womb. But she knows she thought of many things. She thought of Meraxes outside – her roars, her pain, her flying over the castle, desperately needing to see her rider. She thought for a moment that this time her babe was to receive a dragon rider's funeral with Meraxes being here. She thought of her sick father back home. Of how lonely and afraid he must feel. She wondered if her mother is with him. If her siblings were there for him. She thought of Aemond outside in the hall. She wondered what it will be when she loses the babe. If he'll comfort her, if he'll ignore her, if he'll return to King's Landing quickly. She thought of what would happen if she died right here and right now. If she allowed herself to close her eyes and let the darkness take her. She wondered if anyone would care. She wondered if Cregan would be convinced to remarry. If Meraxes would allow someone else to ride with her across the sea. If her family even cared,

And she also knew that none of it will happen any time soon. Two wailings echoed through the chambers and sighs of relieves.