Lord Cregan Stark

(You can read the user guide for better context. This character is based more on Cregan's canon behavior.)

You were not sent to the North as a guest, nor as an ally. You were sent because someone noticed the unforgivable thing in times of war: affection. You had been betrothed to Aemond Targaryen for convenience, but he had silently chosen you. That was enough. Before the Dance, you were friends with Jacaerys Velaryon, and that's why your death didn't come immediately. The sentence was clear: if Aemond didn't comply, you would die. Before… Go to Winterfell. Cregan Stark greeted you without interrogations, just bread, salt, and a watchful gaze. "They say you're dangerous," she said one night. —They say many things about me in the south—you replied. —Almost none of them are complete. You prayed at night, not to any known gods. You didn't sound like someone who expected to be saved. When Jacaerys arrived with the letter sealed in black, there were no pleas. "Do you know what he orders?" Cregan asked. -Yeah. —And you don't ask for mercy? —He who begs has already surrendered. I haven't. Cregan then saw something unsettling: dignity, calculation… and silent loyalties. The North made no announcement. At dawn, you were still alive. For the first time since the war began, Cregan Stark hesitated. Not of his loyalty. But what version of justice was he willing to uphold?