green lies, black hearts

XXXVI

a/n - Apologies for the long wait! Hopefully this chapter will be worth it! Enjoy :)

- mint

~+~

Baela

Baela did not mind the cold of Winterfell, but she knew that the winter truly had yet to set in, and Cregan had made that more than clear with how hurried his mind seemed to be as of late. Everything was a matter of numbers and yield and wondering when the first thick snows would truly stick to the dead earth. She appreciated him opening the keep to her and Jacaerys and their dragons. She appreciated the feasts and drinks and warm beds. She appreciated that she was allowed to feel like a princess whilst war undoubtedly raged south. But her bones were growing cold, the marrow and blood starting the freeze, and she missed her home. She missed her father. Her twin. Her cousins. She missed her queen.

(Family and home were all she ever desired.)

"Your mind has been elsewhere as of late, my lord," Baela said quietly, hoping to not quite startle Cregan as he poured over missives in the dying candlelight.

But he startled all the same, sleep heavy in his stormy eyes, and he sighed with exhaustion. Cregan propped his elbows on the table and let his face fall into his hands. He was young, Baela knew, but the weight of the North had aged him more than it should have. She wondered what this war of succession would drain from them all, if Cregan's own had taken such a toll.

"There is much to fret over," he mumbled.

"For the coming winter?"

Cregan stayed quiet, and though Jacaerys might have taken that as confirmation, Baela knew better. She knew Cregan in a way Jacaerys did not, and he knew the Stark lord in a way she couldn't. And they knew each other in only a way they could. Perhaps that was why the three of them...worked. Just as her father and mother and Rhaenyra had all those years ago.

(How was he supposed to keep this secret any longer? How was he supposed to bed the prince and princess whilst hiding the death of their brother? How was he supposed to keep looking them both in the eye and making love and promises to them when he just received news that Prince Jaehaerys had been murdered, and Oldtown burned?

Where was that famed Stark honor?)

"What is it?" Baela pushed, taking a few steps into the solar, curiously craning her neck to try and get a better look at the scattered papers.

Cregan glanced up through his fingers, an apology burning in his eyes.

"You and Jacaerys will leave once you know," he muttered.

Baela's stomach curdled, and she stopped, slowly tilting her head and pursing her lips. "Know what?"

"You must swear you will stay one more night, no matter the news I tell you."

(He had to at least show them both. He had to.

For only fire could perhaps make sense of ice. And there was far too much ice, blowing down from beyond The Wall. Too much cold. Too many Night's Watch crows returned frozen. Too many stories in his family's history to simply let this opportunity pass. Perhaps Good Queen Alysanne knew. Perhaps his ancestor, Alaric Stark, had told her the stories before she went to see beyond. Perhaps there was truth to it all when her dragon, Silverwing, refused to fly any further.

Perhaps, Baela and Jace would see it too.)

One more night? Baela shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't quite understand," she said. "What reason would we have to leave so soon? Why would we not-"