Targaryens are known to have queer costumes, an unusual tradition in which the brother and sister wed each other in order to secure the line of succession as pure as possible. Well, it is not always the Targaryens that have such habits, who says tha...
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~130 A.C~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
(No silent readers pls thx. English is not my first language so please forgive me for any mistakes.)
WINTERFELL Dawn had not yet broken through the frost-fogged windows of Winterfell.
The great keep still slumbered beneath the weight of snow and silence, the long night whispering at the stones.
The fire in the chamber had dwindled to glowing embers, casting faint, pulsing light across the furs tangled on the bed.
Jocelyn stirred.
Her breath came uneven. In the cradle of the bed, her body twitched, her dark curls damp against her pillow. A soft whimper escaped her parted lips then another, sharper, as though bitten from the edge of a sob. Her hand clutched the sheets over her belly, her face twisting in pain.
"No... no, please," she murmured, her voice breaking as her head tossed from side to side. "Mother—don't—Cregan—Rickon—"
Beside her, Cregan stirred from deep sleep. At first, it was the sound that reached him a breathy cry, strangled and low. He frowned, blinking through the haze of slumber, before his senses sharpened. Jocelyn was trembling, her breaths shallow and quick.
"Jocelyn," he whispered, shifting up onto one elbow. His voice was soft but urgent. "Jocelyn, wake up. You're dreaming, love."
But she didn't wake. Her body jerked, her lips shaping silent pleas. Cregan's heart twisted as he reached for her shoulder, shaking gently. "Jocelyn."
She only whimpered louder, sweat gleaming on her dark brow. "Jocelyn!"
Her name came rough this time his voice breaking through the nightmare.
Her eyes snapped open, wide and wild, her body lurching upright with a strangled scream. Her hand flew instinctively to her belly, trembling fingers pressing against the small swell beneath her nightgown.
Her breath came in gasps, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.
"Shh..." Cregan caught her shoulders, his rough palms warm against her cold skin. "It's alright. It's alright, my love it was just a dream."
She shook her head, sobbing. "It felt so real—"
Her words faltered, her gaze darting down to her belly again. "Mother—her body—at my feet—and father taken—and you—Rickon—gone..." She swallowed hard, pressing her hand tighter against herself as if to anchor the child within. "And the babe—gone, Cregan, gods, I felt it leave me—"
Cregan's heart clenched. He pulled her into his arms, gathering her trembling form against his bare chest. His hand found her belly, the other rubbing soothing circles over her back.
