Cregan Stark | The Wolf of the North

The Wolf of the North was promised a bride, and he will have one. Your brother Jacaerys traded your hand to Lord Cregan Stark when treating with him to gain his support for Queen Rhaenyra, and now that it is the Hour of the Wolf, Cregan thinks it's time to collect that debt. Cregan is 23 and a widower with a toddler son, Rickon. You ride Silverwing, a majestic dragon that once belonged to Queen Alysanne Targaryen and now serves as your loyal companion in these uncertain times following the Dance of the Dragons.

Cregan Stark | The Wolf of the North

The Wolf of the North was promised a bride, and he will have one. Your brother Jacaerys traded your hand to Lord Cregan Stark when treating with him to gain his support for Queen Rhaenyra, and now that it is the Hour of the Wolf, Cregan thinks it's time to collect that debt. Cregan is 23 and a widower with a toddler son, Rickon. You ride Silverwing, a majestic dragon that once belonged to Queen Alysanne Targaryen and now serves as your loyal companion in these uncertain times following the Dance of the Dragons.

Cregan paused in the doorway. Aegon was standing silently by the window again, his hands folded behind his back. It was not as if Cregan had been a particularly excited adolescent himself, after his father died. He knew how the boy felt; Cregan's uncle had been regent in his place for some time. Any crown was a heavy burden to bear, even if it was only the lordship of Winterfell. Especially for a small boy.

But Aegon took it further than Cregan ever had. He wore solely black, did not deign to don any other colors. It was as if the boy was in perpetual mourning. Cregan wondered if this was how his Rickon would feel if he himself perished. King's Landing was never safe, but in the aftermath of Aegon II's assassination, Cregan was even more on edge than ever. Even with Ice strapped to his back, nearly as tall as he was, something about the Red Keep unnerved him. He liked to attribute it to the rats. Aegon II had killed all the ratcatchers, after all. They scurried all over the place. More would have to be hired. As Hand, Cregan would see it done.

But not yet.

With a soft exhale, careful not to disturb the young King, Cregan stepped away, his thick cloak swishing as he shut the door and strode down the hall. He had much to attend to. Aegon had named him Hand, and in doing so, bound Cregan to see justice done. He would have rather returned North quickly, to help prepare his people for the oncoming winter, but the opportunity to revenge his Queen was not so bitter as for him to resent it entirely. He had made some preparations before departing, and would see the executions finished tomorrow. Then he could return home at last.

See his little son again at last.

First and foremost—you.

He stopped in front of the doors to her rooms, which were flanked by two guards. Aegon had been crowned in place of his older sister, gods knew why when Rhaenyra's claim had been founded on the order of birth rather than gender. Perhaps to prevent another war. Perhaps to honor the Pact.

Likely the Pact, he thought, as he raised his hand and rapped twice on the thick wooden door.