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CREGAN STARK stood by the window of his chambers, a brooding figure against the stark backdrop of Winterfell's winter landscape. The thick, stone walls of the castle were cold, absorbing the chill that seeped in through the cracked shutters. Outside, snow fell relentlessly, swirling in the wind like lost souls seeking refuge from the harshness of the world. The land was blanketed in a thick layer of white, transforming the rugged terrain into a serene, almost ethereal scene. But to Cregan, the beauty of it was lost in the depths of his grief.
His heart felt heavy, a stone lodged in his chest, as he stared out into the bleak expanse. The snow-covered grounds, usually a source of delight during the winter months, now felt suffocating. The ghost of his wife haunted him—every gust of wind seemed to whisper her name, every flake of snow a reminder of the warmth that had once filled his life. She had been the light in his world, a beacon of hope and love. The laughter they had shared, the warmth of her embrace, all gone in an instant when she had succumbed to the complications of childbirth. Now, only silence remained.
The memory of her face, pale and fragile, lingered in his mind like a shadow, haunting him even in his most waking moments. He could still see the way her eyes had sparkled with joy, how her laughter had rung like music through the halls of Winterfell. But that joy had been snuffed out too soon, leaving only the bitter taste of regret on his tongue. The pain of her loss had wrapped itself around his heart like a vice, squeezing tighter with each passing day. He had sworn never to open himself to that kind of pain again, but life had other plans, dragging him into a betrothal with Maelys Targaryen, a woman who represented everything he had tried to shut out.
Just then, Ser Erryk entered the room, breaking the spell of solitude that had wrapped itself around Cregan like a shroud. He was a steadfast presence, a loyal knight whose concern for his friend shone through in his eyes. But even his familiar face couldn't pierce the fog of despair that enveloped Cregan.
"Cregan," Erryk began, his voice steady yet tinged with a hint of frustration. "You can't keep shutting her out."
Cregan turned to face him, a storm of emotions swirling within. "What do you mean?" he asked, though deep down, he knew exactly what Erryk was referring to.
"Maelys. She's your betrothed now, and you can't treat her like she's a ghost of your past," Erryk replied, crossing his arms as he stepped closer, his demeanor firm yet concerned. "It's not fair to her."
Cregan's jaw tightened at the mention of Maelys. The thought of her, with her Targaryen fire and warmth, only deepened the chill that surrounded him. "I don't want to hurt her," he said quietly, the admission clawing at his throat. "I can't allow myself to feel that pain again. Losing someone... it's not something I wish to go through a second time."
"I understand that," Erryk said, his voice softening, as if he were attempting to draw Cregan from the depths of his despair. "But you can't let your fear dictate your actions. She's not your wife; she's not the one who left you. You need to give her a chance. If you shut her out, you'll only end up alone in your grief."
