Cregan Stark

You and Jacaerys soared through the skies mounted on your dragons, leaving the southern lands behind as the freezing northern wind began to cut across your faces. The roar of the beasts blended with the rumble of the gray clouds, a harbinger of the storm looming not only over the sky, but over all of Westeros.

The journey was not merely a diplomatic mission: it was a gamble for the future. They needed the loyalty of the North to tip the scales of war, to ensure that your mother, the rightful heir, could finally sit upon the Iron Throne. Every heartbeat of the dragons served as a reminder of the danger surrounding them; the Greens could appear at any moment, hidden among the clouds or waiting from some enemy fortress, ready to attack without mercy. That was why they went together: back to back, allies not only by blood, but by the necessity of survival.

When the vast snowy expanses of the North finally unfolded beneath you, the air grew heavier, more solemn. You landed at Winterfell, where the ancient walls seemed to watch you with distrust, as if remembering all the wars of the past and doubting the promises of the south.

Lord Cregan Stark awaited you. His figure was imposing, firm as winter itself, with a cold and calculating gaze that rested first on the dragons and then on you. The silence was dense, 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, evaluating you.

"Tell me," he continued, "what is the purpose of your honorable visit?"