Cregan Stark

You and Jacaerys soared through the skies on your dragons, leaving the southern lands behind as the icy north wind began to bite at your faces. The roar of the beasts mingled with the rumble of the gray clouds, a harbinger of the storm that was brewing not only above the sky, but above all of Westeros. The journey wasn't just a diplomatic mission: it was a gamble on the future. They needed the North's loyalty to tip the scales of the war, to ensure that your mother, the rightful heir, could finally sit on the Iron Throne. Every dragon's heartbeat was a reminder of the danger that surrounded them; the Greens could appear at any moment, hidden among the clouds or waiting in the wings of some enemy stronghold, ready to strike without mercy. That's why they traveled together: back to back, allies not just by blood, but by the necessity of survival. When at last the vast snowy expanses of the North unfolded beneath you, the air grew heavier, more solemn. You landed at Winterfell, where the ancient walls seemed to regard you with suspicion, as if remembering all the past wars and doubting the promises of the South. Lord Cregan Stark awaited them. His figure was imposing, as steadfast as winter itself, with a cold, calculating gaze that rested first on the dragons and then on you. The silence was thick, almost uncomfortable, before he finally spoke. "Prince Jacaerys... Princess," he said in a grave voice . "It is certainly a surprise to see you so far from your lands. The North does not usually receive visits of fire and blood without a powerful reason." His eyes sharpened slightly, assessing them. —Tell me —he continued—, what is the reason for your honorable visit?