Lord Husband

Chapter 11

You find yourself watching him sometimes. You don't mean to and you never did in the first few weeks of your marriage but recently, you've found it difficult to keep your eyes away. He trains in the morning, before he settles into his Lord's duties and though you're more of a late sleeper, you woke early to observe him.

He moves less with grace and more with brutish strength, but that hardly means that he's any less of an adept swordsman; he's skillful with every swing. It's different to the way your brothers fight. His style is more distinctly... northern.
You don't wince for the man he knocks to the ground, Ser Brandon does a little as he stands dutifully behind you. You don't necessarily care for brutish swordplay but you understand the importance of the fact that your husband is as feared as he is loved. The beginning of an inkling arises that perhaps it was the cleverest match your mother could have made. You don't need his protection by any means (you ride a massive fucking dragon) but you find comfort in the fact that only a fool would even consider attempting to attack Winterfell and the man you call husband.

"Could you best Lord Stark in a battle?" You don't look at Brandon but he knows the question is for him.

"I don't believe many men could, princess."

"Perhaps I need a new sworn protector then." You say playfully.

"I think you already have the best protector." He says but there are no traces of cockiness in his voice.

"You think highly of yourself, Ser." You reply with a chuckle.

"I did not mean myself." His gaze is on Cregan, just as yours was only moments ago.

You perhaps wish to scold him for the remark but you know he didn't actually say anything out of line. It was a complimentary comment, even if he knew it would irk you. You spend a moment thinking of just how irritating the man is when Cregan's eyes look up from his sparring and catch yours.

Fuck.

"(y/n)!" He calls out to you with a smile, finding it hard not to be excited by your presence. Were you out here just to watch him?

"Cregan." You greet in return, finally appreciating his many requests to call him by his name.

"What brings you here at such an early hour?" He asks but it's clear by the look on his face that he knows the answer. Though, you had a plan for this.

"I'm going for a ride. Sȳndror grows restless." He takes you in now. You are fully dressed in riding leathers.

"So early? The air has a bite in it in the morning." He tests, wanting so badly to be proven right about his thoughts that you're here for him.

"Like I said, my dragon is restless."

"I did not think an unchained beast with all the freedom in the land could be... restless."

You quirk a brow at his almost teasing manner.
"He wouldn't stray far from me. He doesn't trust the North."

"Ah, I see." Disappointment.

"Would you like to meet him, my lord?" You use the honourific as you speak to him now, his name having left a... taste on your tongue.

"Meet... your dragon? The one they call the Hellion?" He looks a little nervous now. You tend to like making men slightly fearful.

"Yes of course." You give him a sweet smile, one that hides just a touch of menace. "My Hellion."

"Is he um good with strangers?"

"Sometimes." You say, giving him a curious look, head cocked just slightly to the side.

"And this would please you?" He asks delicately.

He would do this just because it pleased you?

"Greatly so." He straightens up and stands taller now, mustering all the courage that he can.

"Then I would be honoured to meet your mount."

What a fun delight this is then. You think to yourself as you call for your horses so the both of you can ride to where you believe you saw Sȳndror resting.

You can sense the nerves rising in the man who's just behind you on his own steed as you get closer and closer to the dragon.

The poor fool.

When you finally stop to tie the horses, the bravery that he had just managed to scrape together is now pooled in his gut and gnawing at his insides.

"Don't run from him." You say as you dismount. "He'll think you're prey."

When you look back at Cregan, he's practically shaking in his boots, face drained of colour as his eyes gaze across the beast that lies in front of you. The winged monster is massive, nearly as big as Caraxes, which is a great feat for a creature so young.

You take pity on your poor husband and hold your hand out for him to take. "He won't hurt you if he thinks the flames would even slightly graze me, so just stay close."

He grasps your hand, trying hard not to squeeze more tightly than comfortable. You lead him up the hill slowly, giving Sȳndror time to take the new guest in. His blackened eyes show curiosity at the man you bring him. He sniffs the air, the blood of the boy smells nothing like yours; this is the first non-relative you've presented to him. Should he eat the human?

"Lykiri, Sȳndror. Se vala iksis iā raqiros." Be calm, Sȳndror. The man is a friend.

Not dinner then.

You walk closer to the dragon with Cregan very slowly and then take his hand to lift it up until its pressed against Sȳndror's shoulder. You can feel the animal's heavy breaths through Cregan's palm. Each one is almost enough to throw you off balance. Sȳndror looks back at the two of you, deciding if he's alright with the puny human laying hands on him.

"I never thought..." Lord Stark starts, "I never could have imagined that I could touch a dragon and live to tell the tale."

"You might not." You muse wistfully and he looks at you with an alarmed expression. "A jest." You say with a teasing smile.

Cregan swallows the lump in his throat.
"Mhm."

"It feels powerful, doesn't it?"

"It feels unnatural." He says in a breath.
Unnatural?

"Like I don't have the right to touch him while you... you command him."

"Command is the wrong word." You state.
"Dragons aren't horses. They won't submit to being possessed." You know you're saying too much. Your family gains an illustrious reputation from the illusion. It's not for you to bring down the veil. "But my blood binds him to me. Targaryens claimed that power."

"And you chose to share that with me." He states.

"I have demonstrated that to you." You correct him with a less personal verb.

"I am grateful nonetheless." He replies, knowing that if he gets too comfortable with his words, you'll close off to him.

"Hmm... you're welcome." You at least give him that much. "I will take to the skies now." The words are terribly abrupt. "You should go; the air channeled through his wings is enough to knock a grown man off his feet."

"Of course." Cregan gives you a nod. "Perhaps you might dine with me tonight?" He asks and the question takes you off guard slightly.

"Perhaps."

He takes your unsure answer as the win that it is and gives you one of his silly grins before he walks back to his horse. As you climb onto Sȳndror, you feel that strange feeling in your stomach, the one you get when your dragon dives so fast that you're practically free falling. You just can't figure out why.