The First Dragon Of Winterfell

Chapter 6: Middle of The Night

The great hall of Winterfell was alive with the sounds of crackling fire and murmured conversations as the small council convened. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, the weight of the civil war pressing down on everyone present. At the head of the table sat Cregan Stark, his expression stern and contemplative as he scanned the faces of his most trusted advisors.

Y/N Targaryen stood at his right, a position of respect that had not gone unnoticed by the northern lords assembled there. She was dressed in a dark, fur-lined cloak, a subtle nod to the North's traditions, but her silver hair and Targaryen blood made her stand out among the men in the room. She felt their eyes on her, a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and perhaps even resentment.

As the meeting began, the discussion quickly turned to matters of strategy. The war in the South was intensifying, and with each passing day, the need for decisive action grew more urgent. Maps were unfurled on the long table, and the lords leaned in, their voices low as they debated the best course of action.

Lord Harrold Manderly, a stout man with a thick grey beard, was the first to voice what many in the room were thinking. "Lord Stark," he began, his tone respectful but firm, "we appreciate Lady Targaryen's presence here, but some of us are concerned about the wisdom of involving a Targaryen in our council. This is a northern war, and we have our own ways."

A few others nodded in agreement, their gazes flickering to Y/N as if she were an outsider who had yet to prove herself.

Cregan's eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could respond, Y/N spoke, her voice calm and steady. "I understand your concerns, my lords," she said, her tone measured. "But I am not here to lead you. The North has its own leaders, its own traditions. I am here to fight beside you, to lend my strength to your cause. That is all I ask—no more, no less."

Her words hung in the air, met with a moment of silence as the men considered them. The way she held herself, with quiet confidence and dignity, seemed to give pause to even the most skeptical among them. She wasn't demanding anything, only offering her sword and her loyalty.

Lord Manderly, after a moment, nodded slowly. "It's not about questioning your intentions, Lady Targaryen. It's about trust. The North has long memories, and our history with the Targaryens...well, you understand."

"I do," Y/N replied, her gaze unwavering. "And I know that trust must be earned. I only ask for the chance to do so."

The room remained silent, the lords exchanging glances, but none raised further objections. Cregan watched the exchange carefully, his expression unreadable, but there was a glimmer of approval in his eyes as he looked at Y/N.

After the council had concluded, the lords began to file out of the room, their conversations resuming in hushed tones. Y/N lingered for a moment, offering a respectful nod to Cregan before turning to leave.

As she exited the hall, she couldn't help but overhear the murmurs that followed in her wake. The northern lords were still divided in their opinions of her, but at least now they knew where she stood.

Inside the room, Cregan remained at the head of the table, his hands resting on the wooden surface as he observed his departing councilmen. Lord Umber, a tall and grizzled warrior with a face like weathered stone, approached him, his expression serious.

"That Targaryen girl," Umber began, his voice low. "She speaks well, but words are just that—words. We've seen what her kind can do, the destruction they can bring. Are you sure it's wise to give her a seat at this table?"

Cregan's gaze hardened. "Y/N Targaryen has proven herself more than once, both in battle and in loyalty. She is here to help us, not to divide us. She deserves our respect, and she has earned mine."