𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 || Cregan Stark

09 | Greybeards

CHAPTER NINE
G R E Y B E A R D S

-

Delicate fingers thread through her hair, braiding her dark brown locks.

Marra, her handmaiden, stands behind her— her eyes neatly focused on the task at hand. The warmth of the hearth reflects onto her face and the small slivers of golden hair frame her slight face.

The touch feels tender. Almost comforting.

Outside, the evening sun has begun to settle, and the last of the visitors have already trickled through the castle gates.

Though large and formidable, Winterfell had grown rather crowded the last few days— and Viserra feels glad to be relieved from it all.

She had done the best she could, as was expected of her. Still, she felt like a character of some sort. A performer, an entertainer, pretending before the large crowd.

Viserra allows a shallow breath to surpass her lips.

Perhaps she is pretending still.

The young handmaiden continues her gentle tugging, humming slightly. She moves with practised ease, as though she knows of nothing else.

Viserra's eyes remain fixed on the window, almost transfixed.

"Marra?" she asks, somewhat absentmindedly.

The threading stops. "Yes, m'lady?"

"What do you know of the godswood?"

Viserra glances over her shoulder and meets the young girl's gaze. A look of surprise graces Marra's pale, freckled face, and for a moment, she seems to contemplate the question.

"Well, there are many tales," she begins, resuming her work with a near rhythmic precision. "But they say it's where the Old Gods dwell, within the weirwood trees."

Viserra knows this.

Nameless, faceless gods, born from earth and snow and soil. Always watching. Always listening.

Beings who rule where the seven cannot reach. Who foresees the lands where no things can grow and no snow can melt.

"Like the one here?" she says, glancing towards the window.

Marra nods.

"The godswood of Winterfell is ever ancient. It was here when the first men laid down the stone bricks which make up this castle," she says, her tone calm and sweet. "Perhaps even before that."

"There is one in the Red Keep."

The young girl chuckles. "One of few, I would venture. Most were cut down with the coming of the Andals, and now any memories of the Old Gods have been long forgotten."

Viserra hums in return, pursing her lips and glancing away.

"Not here," she says.

Marra tilts her head, her cheeks roundening as she smiles.

"No, Princess. Not here."

-

"And if they turn their eyes north? We would be defenceless against a Hightower host if all our soldiers were to march south."

Cregan grits his jaw, leaning his palms onto the heavy wooden table.

The familiar rumble of Lord Dustin's laughter overlaps the dramatic predictions. "I would hardly call our lands defenceless—"