The Dragon-Tamer

24

Rickon Stark had the same sour look on his face all night. He couldn't believe the nerve that whore of a niece of his had; to speak to him like that. He was a lord of the Seven Kingdoms; a fucking Stark! What power did she have?

"Lord Stark?" He turned around to see a maid standing there, a bottle in her hands, "I am glad to have caught you before you left."

Rickon huffed, "What do you want?"

The maid held the bottle out to him, "A gift
from Prince Daemon; an apology for the...incident that occurred tonight."

"Well, at least he has some fucking decorum," Rickon smirked, "Not like that fucking wife of his."

He could've sworn he saw her jaw clench, "It's a nice whiskey; from the castle cellar. It should have a nice...kick."

"Very well," He used his teeth to pop the top off, "My best regards to the Prince."

The maid watched him take a huge gulp, "Safe travels, Lord Stark."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours into the carriage ride, Rickon managed to down the whole bottle by himself. It had its consequences; his stomach felt like it was being dragged through all Seven Hells.

"I told you not to drink all of that whiskey, dear husband," Gilliane shook her head at her husband in disgust, "You're going to be in pain all the way home."

Rickon glared at his wife, "Do shut up, woman."

Cregan, who was under his mother's arm, gave his father a hard look.

This captured Rickon's attention, "What are you gawking at, boy?"

Gilliane pulled her son close, "Leave him be, Ric."

"I told you to shut up!" Rickon shouted at her before pointing his finger to Cregan, "Now you listen here...."

Rickon groaned and clutched his heart, feeling a searing pain spread throughout his body. His wife and son looked on in fear at the man's stance.

"Ric?" Gilliane's eyes widened, "What is wrong?"

"Father?"

Desperate for any kind of relief, Rickon opened the carriage door. He tried to stick his head out to get some fresh air, but he was knocked off balance by the swaying of the moving carriage. Gilliane and Cregan watched in horror as he fell from the carriage and onto the Kingsroad.

"Stop!" Gilliane banged her fist on the wall, "Stop the carriage!"

The driver quickly halted the horses, making the carriage behind them stop as well. Edward stepped out of the second one to see what was happening.

He gasped once he saw his brother lying still on the dirt road, his wife crying over him, "Rickon!"

Edward rushed towards them, ignoring Saoirse's screams. He knelt by his brother's side and saw that his face was pale and tinged purple, like he lost all the air in his body. Edward held his fingers to Rickon's wrist; no pulse.

"What happened?" Edward looked to Gilliane.

"I don't truly know," Her voice was quivering as she stroked her husband's greying hair, "I think it was his h-heart; it just gave out."

Edward let out a breath of disbelief. He knew his brother was old, but he figured Rickon had a few good years ahead. Edward looked back to see Cregan staring at his father's body, frozen from shock.

"Gilliane," He called out to the now-widow, "Go to your son; he needs you."

The woman sniffed back her tears and stood to attend to her child. Gilliane pulled Cregan into a tight embrace, crying into his hair.

"You're poor father," She cried.

Cregan let tears spill from his eyes, but it wasn't from sadness. He would grieve; Rickon was his father after all, but he mourned for one thing over all.

He was the Lord of Winterfell now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*TWO DAYS LATER*
*Dragonstone*

Rhaenyra rushed through the halls of the castle, a letter clutched in her hand. Many servants bowed as their Princess passed through, but none met her eyes, for they held such a fire that they were afraid that they would be burned by just a glance.

The Princess pushed the doors to her chambers open and saw Feyre sitting by the fireplace, cradling a sleeping Alyssa.

"There you are," Feyre smiled at her lover, "Are you ready for bed."

Rhaenyra sighed, "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

"I stole the last piece of lemon cake at dinner," Feyre chuckled softly.

Rhaenyra's jaw clenched and she held up the letter, "Rickon Stark is dead."

"How dreadful," Feyre deadpanned, "I am so heartbroken."

"Feyre," Rhaenyra said through gritted teeth, "What did you do?"

Feyre tilted her head, "I did nothing."

Do not lie to me!" Rhaenyra threw the parchment down.

"Quiet down," Feyre whispered, bouncing Alyssa, "Lest you wish to deal with a night full of crying."

Rhaenyra huffed in frustration and pinched the bridge of her nose, "I have supported you in everything, Feyre, and you have never lied to me. Do not start now."

"I saw a threat, and I had it taken care of," Feyre stood and placed her daughter in her cradle, "That is all you need to know."

Feyre placed a kiss on Rhaenyra's cheek and moved to ready herself for bed. Rhaenyra stood still, processing everything. Rickon was no saint; everyone knew that. But Feyre definitely had something to do with his untimely demise. What frightened Rhaenyra the most was the fact that killing didn't phase Feyre anymore.