Visenya Targaryen knew many things to be true. She was Harwin Strong's daughter. She was a Targaryen Princess regardless. And she was not going to marry for love.
With a war looming, Rhaenyra Targaryen must do everything in her power to strengthen h...
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I am really, really sorry for such a delay in this - life has been completely manic and I was struggling to find time and inspiration. Hopefully, this will help me back into the flow of things! Thank you for the patience and kind messages / comments xxx
There had been no time. Cregan said it to himself over and over again on the journey to Sharp Point but he couldn't even force himself to believe it. There had been very little time that was true. Not enough time to go first to Moat Cailin or bed his wife one last time, but there had been time for him to tell her himself. And he hadn't.
Because he was a stupid, foolish man who had not thought with his head when he heard that Ser Criston Cole would be there and he had heard what the knight had had to say about his wife.
Daemon had been quite happy to tell Cregan.
To tell Lord Stark about what Ser Criston Cole thought of his lady-wife and what Cole wanted to happen to her.
What he had called her. The Bastard Princess who needs her wings clipped.
The words 'Wed and Bed' used in the same sentence as Visenya and Prince Aemond.
What would become of his beautiful, viciously clever and ferociously temperamental wife. Give her to his men and what was left of her to the dogs.
If Cregan had been thinking clearly, he would not have acted in such haste. But he hadn't thought the same as he once would have done since Visenya had first started letting him see that she was much more than just icey glares and burning tongues.
He should have seen Daemon's words for what they were, taunts. Daemon pulled strings for every seam and puppet in Dragonstone and beyond. Cregan should have sensed the lacing of his own strings when Daemon had seen how fond Cregan was for Visenya and chose to use it to his advantage.
But Cregan didn't think of any of that. He only thought of how good it would feel to put Ser Criston Cole down for good and get this infernal war that people sat on the edges of, started.
War was not a prospect to look forward to or want. But waiting on the knife's edge was worse. And Cregan could do nothing until the first sword was drawn.
And when it started, Cregan felt better than he had in weeks.
His sword sliced through men who pushed at him. His elbow knocked men straight on their asses and the pommel of his sword into the front of their foreheads knocked them out.
On and on and on.
But it didn't slow. It didn't fade or ebb. The enemy just kept coming. Man after man after man in green and armour. Cregan didn't know any of them and if he did, he didn't look at anyone long enough to recognise them. He didn't want to.
They weren't Cole. But he had to be here somewhere.
And Cregan and what little forces he had held their ground. For a while. But there weren't enough of them. And the Greens were trained and equipped for much more.
