𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋, cregan stark

019.

THE GRAND hall of Winterfell was filled with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and freshly baked bread. Torches lined the walls, casting a warm glow over the stone chamber, and the sounds of laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets filled the air. Tonight was a feast, held in honor of the departing—Cregan Stark, Maelys Targaryen, and their companions, who would soon ride south to the Vale.

Maelys sat near the high table, her gaze drifting over the crowd. She was keenly aware of the eyes on her, watching her every move. They all knew who she was—the daughter of King Viserys, the princess who was to wed the Lord of Winterfell. The expectations were heavy, as were the burdens of leadership that came with her title, but tonight, Maelys had no intention of drowning those thoughts in wine.

In the past, she might have indulged too freely in drink, losing herself in the haze of celebration, but not tonight. Tonight, her mind needed to be sharp, her senses clear. There was a war looming on the horizon, and while the others might indulge in frivolity, she had no such luxury.

Her goblet remained untouched as she observed the knights around her. Cregan, seated at her right, was his usual commanding self, engaged in conversation with the bannermen seated nearby. His laughter was deep, his presence one of assured authority. Across from him sat Ser Erryk Dayne, his eyes flickering toward Maelys more often than she could count. He'd been her companion and protector for weeks now, but tonight, something was different. He was quieter than usual, more reserved. She wondered if it was the weight of the coming departure or something more personal.

As Maelys tore a piece of bread from the loaf in front of her, a knight seated two places down caught her attention. He was speaking with Erryk, his voice rich with laughter as he teased his friend about something, and his smile was infectious. She recognized him as Ser Leiton Spruell, one of the knights of the North, and, if she recalled correctly, Erryk's closest companion.

Leiton must have felt her eyes on him because he looked up, meeting her gaze with a friendly grin. "Ah, Princess Maelys," he said, raising his goblet in a small toast. "It seems I've been caught laughing at my dear friend's expense."

Erryk rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "It's nothing new," he muttered, but there was an affection in his tone.

Maelys smiled, intrigued by Leiton's easy manner. "I don't mind a bit of laughter," she replied, leaning slightly toward the pair. "It's refreshing to hear something lighthearted amidst all this talk of war."

"Lightheartedness is my specialty, Princess," Leiton said with a wink. "It keeps the spirits high, even in the darkest of times. Something tells me you could use a bit of that, yourself."

Her smile grew, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're not wrong, Ser Leiton. There's been little room for joy these days."

"Then perhaps it's time to make room," he said, his tone both playful and sincere. "What's the point of living if we can't find a little pleasure in the midst of all this chaos?"

Erryk, who had been listening quietly, nudged Leiton. "You're going to get yourself in trouble with that philosophy one day, you know."

Leiton laughed, unfazed. "If trouble is what's in store for me, then I welcome it with open arms."

Maelys found herself laughing softly at his words, surprised by how quickly the tension in her chest began to ease. It wasn't often she met someone who could make her forget, even for a moment, the weight she carried. Leiton's demeanor was infectious—light, but not without depth. She could see why Erryk was so fond of him.

"So, Ser Leiton," Maelys said, shifting the conversation. "Tell me, how does a knight from the North keep his spirits so high? Surely, the winters here have a way of dampening even the brightest of souls."

Leiton's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Ah, Princess, you mistake me for a man who feels the cold," he said with a grin. "The secret, you see, is in good company and good drink. And when those are in short supply, well... a quick wit will do."

Maelys shook her head, amused. "I suppose wit is a fine substitute for warmth."

"Wit can get you through many things," Leiton replied, his voice turning more serious for a moment. "But it's the people we surround ourselves with who truly keep us going. Erryk here"—he gestured toward his friend—"has saved my hide more times than I care to admit. I wouldn't be half the man I am without him."

Erryk gave a faint smile but said nothing, his gaze shifting to Maelys. There was a brief silence between them, charged with something unspoken, but it passed as Leiton leaned in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

"And what about you, Princess?" he asked, his tone softer now. "What keeps you going? Surely, it's not all duty and destiny."

Maelys paused, the question catching her off guard. What did keep her going? She had always been driven by duty, by the expectations placed upon her as a Targaryen. But beyond that? Beyond the throne, the alliances, the bloodlines—what did she truly live for?

"I don't know," she admitted quietly, her voice barely audible over the noise of the feast. "I suppose I've never had much time to think about it."

Leiton's expression softened, and for a moment, the playful knight was gone, replaced by someone more thoughtful. "Then maybe it's time you did," he said, his voice gentle. "There's more to life than what's expected of us. You deserve to find something for yourself."

His words lingered in the air between them, and Maelys felt a pang of something she couldn't quite name. She had spent so long being what others needed her to be, she hadn't considered what she needed for herself.

The music in the hall grew louder, the merriment around them swelling as the feast continued. Cregan raised his goblet high, toasting to the safety of those who would ride with him, and the knights roared their approval. But Maelys found her attention returning to Leiton, who was watching her with a look that seemed to say he understood more than she'd expected.

"Thank you, Ser Leiton," she said after a moment, her voice sincere. "For the conversation. And the reminder."

Leiton smiled warmly, tipping his goblet toward her in acknowledgment. "Anytime, Princess. You've got more strength in you than you know. Don't let anyone take that from you."

As the night wore on, Maelys found herself returning to Leiton's words again and again. She had come to Winterfell as a bride, as a princess destined for a throne. But perhaps, just perhaps, there was room for something more—for friendship, for understanding, for a life beyond the crown.

And as she watched Leiton and Erryk exchange a few more lighthearted jests, she couldn't help but feel a little lighter herself, knowing that in this strange, uncertain world, there were still people worth trusting.

The feast raged on, but for the first time in a long while, Maelys felt something stir within her that wasn't fear or obligation. It was hope.