Ambers || Jacaerys Velaryon

30. Miara

Cregan leads them through Winterfell with the ease of someone who knows every brick and speck of dust in his castle. Though Jace and Miara have spent two days within its walls, this is their first proper tour, which Cregan conducts-- mainly for the prince. Miara trails a few steps behind, watchful but content enough in her role as an afterthought. Jace is the envoy here; his attention is needed on politics and building bonds, while hers is focused on ensuring he'll return to his mother unscathed.

Her position also gives her a chance to observe how naturally Cregan moves, blending with his castle as if it's part of him. He greets everyone--from highborns to kitchen scullions--by name, with genuine warmth. Miara, accustomed to lords feigning interest for appearances, finds herself reluctantly impressed. Cregan's care is sincere, and it's rare for a man of his standing to rule with such dignity.

Jace, in turn, follows Cregan's example, speaking easily with the people they meet, even beginning to learn their names. It sparks a touch of admiration within Miara, layered beneath her initial surprise. She knows Jace needs examples like this. He's seen little of the world and the people he's meant to rule one day. But now, he emulates Cregan's quiet respect, treating these northerners as his own.

As their tour takes them from the armory, its thick iron doors chained sensibly behind them, Cregan leads them north, toward the tallest watchtower on the castle grounds. They climb the spiral staircase within, its rough stone steps worn by the boots of long-dead men. At the top, the air is crisp, the sculpted windows without glass allowing the wind to pass through.

Jace moves toward one of the openings, drawn by the scene outside. Miara follows, her gaze sweeping over the view below. In the yard, archers practice with precision, arrows slicing through the air to thud against target bales. Beyond them, villagers from the winter town file in through the castle gates, here for work and trade within Winterfell's walls. Her eyes drift further, to the silver threads of streams winding through the dense wolfswood, the forest blanketed in early morning light. 

It's beautiful, almost peaceful-- a place fortified and secure. And yet, it stirs something bitter within Miara. For all of Cregan's humility, she resents him for having this-- for the protection and order, while the people she serves are left to suffer under the consequences of ambition and treachery down south.

"You can see all of Winterfell from here," Jace remarks, leaning against the stone ledge, his eyes wide as he takes in the sprawling castle grounds. Oblivious, he leans a bit too far, leaving Miara to edge closer, ready to steady him should the wind threaten to pull him toward the steep drop. A touch dramatic, maybe, but in her eyes, necessary.

Cregan joins them near the opening, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "Wait until you see the Wall, my prince. Winterfell is but a shadow of what lies beyond it."

Jace grins, his curiosity ignited. "I can only imagine."

The two share a quiet laugh, a moment that Miara watches with a touch of unease. They seem to take to each other effortlessly, aided by their closeness in age and the openness Cregan allows to break through his usual stoicism. But Miara's guard never wavers; the north may wear a friendly face, but they've learned the dangers of misplaced trust all too well. Never would she allow them to fall victim to it again. 

"What's that structure there?" Jace asks, pointing toward a nearby tower they'd yet to see. It was built of cracked stone with weather-beaten gargoyles clinging stubbornly to the roof. The barred windows give it a dark, foreboding air that no doubt caught his eye.

"That's the First Keep," Cregan replies. "Older than the rest of Winterfell. We used it to hold prisoners once, but it's fallen into such disrepair that it's practically useless. Now we just try to keep it from crumbling into the defensive walls and making a mess."