𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 || Cregan Stark

14 | The Last Speech

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T H E L A S T S P E E C H

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It took another day before Viserra returned to Winterfell.

Frost had marked her skin in crimson as she descended from the vigilant beast's back, the wind whipping the uneven braid trailing down her shoulder.

Her arrival was quiet, marked only by the muted thud of boots against the cobblestones, each step heavy with the weight of the night spent in the dragon's lair. She approached the gates of the keep without ceremony, her movements slow with fatigue.

Karnax looms behind her, his tail swaying across the frost-laden ground. The warmth of his skin melts the snow to slush.

Guards watched them, frozen at their posts. Their eyes— shrouded in unease— follow the winged giant. They must remember the unrest caused by him only last week and frighten what might happen, still.

Viserra pays them no mind.

She glances towards the dragon once more, her face stern, unmoving.

"Ēdrugon sir," she says, her voice hoarse. "Kesan māzigon arlī syt ao."

Rest now. I'll come back for you.

Karnax lingers for some time. As if taking her words in.

Then, his tail whips, coiling against the dirt, and he settles to the ground.

Her eyes wander over him for some time before she continues to walk towards the gates of the keep. The courtyard is deserted, save for a handful of onlookers—servants, stewards, and knights alike—who dawdle at a distance, keeping their murmurs hushed and their glances fleeting.

Viserra brushes away the faint layer of snow from her dress. The thick fabrics feel stiff beneath her fingers. Dulled by wear and weather.

She exhales feebly, watching the smoke as it forms before her face.

A certain calm returns to her senses. An unfamiliar thing. 

Perhaps it's relief.

She takes off her leather gloves, folding them together and stuffing them inside the satchel at her waist. She holds her hand there.

When she glances up, towards the entrance of the castle, she meets the eyes of another.

Cregan stands unmoving, his arms crossed over his chest.

He stares at her unabashedly– a stern dispassion evident in his heavy gaze. Part of her thinks his eyes have always seemed burdened with something unspeakable, something unable to manifest itself into words. Viserra never knew what to make of it. She still does not know.

She stops before him.

The calm in her dies.

"You found him," he says at last, wryly.

She has not heard him nor spoken to him in many days now.

"I did," she replies, her tone measured. Hearing her own voice feels strangely provocative.

Cregan's gaze remains fixed on her, his stern expression unchanging, yet his eyes flicker with something unreadable. He is silent before speaking.

"Did you sing to him?"

Viserra's lips part.

Such a strange thing to say, she thinks. So prideful and austere.

He must think her foolish. A girl with song and beast, chasing phantoms like hidden ghosts in the night.