𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 || Cregan Stark

06 | Common-born

CHAPTER SIX
C O M M O N - B O R N

-

The night sky roams widely above. Stars sprinkle like gemstones, casting an eerie light upon the ground.

Despite it being late, the camp bustles with activity– men tending to fires and securing their gear for the night. Tents have been set up as well, hung by rope and wooden pillars. Her surroundings come alive with the symphony of nocturnal sounds: the murmur of hushed conversations, the clinking of metal as huntsmen sharpen their blades, and the occasional laughter that breaks through the veil of night like a bell.

Viserra sits alone, her knees drawn to her chest, in a secluded spot near one of the fires. Rugs laced with fur lay scattered around the hearth, creating a seat for her.

The flames before her dance merrily, casting flickering shadows that move like spectres across her face— a golden light, almost illuminating her.

She stretches one of her hands towards the flames, feeling the pleasant sting of heat seep into her cold fingers, softening her skin. She exhales gently, watching her breath merge with the tendrils of smoke spiralling upwards. The warmth looms closer to her— an imposing caress.

There is a slight ache in her body, a certain soreness from being on the move the whole day.

Nevertheless, it might be a good kind of ache. Some testament of effort.

She nears the fireplace furthermore, her hand soon hovering just above the flickering flames.

Part of her wants to stay like this forever.

"You'll burn yourself."

Her head turns towards the voice, meeting the gaze of a young woman, standing half-hidden in the dark. Her face, flushed and pale-eyed, grows more apparent when she steps forward, closer to the hearth.

Viserra brings her hand away from the heat quickly, allowing it to settle in her lap.

"Or perhaps you can't burn," the woman muses, a kindly smile forming on her lips. "It wouldn't surprise me."

"No?" Viserra murmurs, looking up at her.

"You Targaryens are born of fire, aren't you?" she says, stepping closer. She brings her arms behind her back swiftly. "That is what they say, at least."

"Well, they say a lot of things," Viserra tells her, somewhat amused.

A snicker surpasses the girl's lips.

"Yes they do, don't they?"

Soon, she sits down as well, beside her, straightening out the folds of her dress.

Her face, though plain-featured and soft, bears a delicate nature to it.

Despite being a stranger, a surge of familiarity seems to inhabit her bones, and Viserra cannot help but find some recognition in the freckles lining the girl's skin, the softness in her jaw, the bump of her nose. 

"I haven't seen many women here," she says at last.

"Not really, no," the young woman answers, her eyes flickering around them. "I suppose the men have their things, and we women have ours."

Viserra nods slightly, her eyes flickering away momentarily.

"Perhaps I should have stayed out of these woods," she murmurs, somewhat amused.

"I thought it was a good idea for you to join the hunt," the voice beside her ushers, her words inclining with earnestness. "Men are simple creatures. Kill a boar or two and they'll agree to most things you say."