Chapter Text
“Over the mountains and the vale, far away, there is a place they call Winterfell. It is a land of stark beauty and unforgiving cold. They say Winterfell is a grand castle, ancient and enduring, built by the First Men. Its walls are thick with the history of countless winters, standing tall and proud against one of the harshest of nature's elements.”
Young Jacaerys leaned in closer, his eyes wide with curiosity and wonder. "Is it true that direwolves roam the lands? That the Starks keep them as pets?"
Ser Harwin returned his gaze, then his expression softened. “As pets, I'm not sure. But the Starks of Winterfell are said to be as fierce and loyal as the direwolves that accompany them.”
“Can they turn into wolves!?” Jacaerys gasped as the idea crossed his childish mind.
The commander chuckled then, a surprising reaction to the little kid. “While the bond they share with the creatures is legendary, I'm sure that's as far as their bond goes. The North shapes its people, and the Starks embody the spirit of their land—resilient, steadfast, and unyielding."
Jacaerys' eyes sparkled with fascination. "Have you ever met a Stark, Ser? Are they truly as fearsome as they say?"
Ser Harwin paused, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "I have crossed paths with a Stark or two in my time, but only few times, as they are very reluctant to leave their homes.”
“Really?” He marvelled, “Do they not have a summer castle for the warmest season?”
A hand ruffled his hair, playful “I'm afraid it is quite difficult for them my s—my prince.” He cleared his throat, Princess Rhaenyra watched from afar.
A smile formed in his lips, it seemed quite sad now “They are a noble and honourable family, but there is a certain burden that surrounds them, a duty they must carry out. They are guardians of the North, protectors of their people, 'Winter is Coming,' they often say. It is both a warning and a promise to them."
Jacaerys sighed, a mixture of awe and longing in his expression. "I wish I could go there myself, I wish to see the snowfall. And meet a real wolf!"
Harwin placed a reassuring hand on the young prince's cheek. "Perhaps one day you will, prince Jacaerys. Until then, picture the towering walls, the ice-covered grounds, and the snow falling, and sleep." he said as the young prince felt his eyes grow heavy, his world swirling to darkness.
As the wind became colder, turning the night darker and gloomier, Jacaerys closed his eyes just as he had done that distant night before. He remembered Ser Harwins words as he glimpsed the Castle of Winterfell amongst the clouds.
“Iksi kesīr Vermax” He chortled, a hand patting at the scales “Rȳ mōrī!”
(We are here Vermax. Finally!)
Vermax roared then, likely sweet on the thought of rest after their three-day long trip.
The direwolves howled as mighty as the wind, their shrill whines distinguishable to Jacaerys even with the great height. As he began his descent, the wind lapped at his skin and cracked his lips. The landing was heavy and hard on his body, already aching from the ruthless exercise of keeping the reins of his Vermax, who would turn south immediately should his rider allow it. He circled the castle swiftly until he caught sight of the main door, two men stationed there and a few more standing back.
Vermax screeched and howled as his legs met the ground, the cold was displeasing and ruthless to them both. He saw the northmen crowd mumble and shift uncomfortably, some drew their swords casually.
Jacaerys stirred and dismounted “Lykiri Vermax, iksi kesīr. Ilinītsos” (calm Vermax, we are here. Rest) he pressed his forehead to his mount's warm side, who shook unpleasantly but relented and ceased his complaints.
He stalked forward, noticing the grimace of the lords at the entrance. The hour was quite late, he noticed, gripping his mothers scroll tighter.
You see, time flies when you ride a dragon, quite literally. Jacaerys often loses all sense of time while soaring through the skies, realising the passage of hours only when the ache in his joints creeps up on him the next day. He made haste to reach Winterfell as swiftly as possible, which is why he arrived at such a strange hour.
As he approached, none of the men spoke. Their eyes darted from the green beast back to the prince. Jacaerys relented.
“I am Prince Jacaerys Velaryon” he called “Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne.”
Some men shook out their stupor, they bowed appropriately. Others kept gawking.
Jacaerys paid them no mind, the two men on the entrance were bent at the waist. That was all he needed.
“I come bearing message from Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.” he pressed “I seek an audience with Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell”
“My prince,” the red haired man spoke at last, “Welcome to Winterfell. We did not know when to expect you, you see we are not used to our visitors arriving on dragonback” he jested.
Jacaerys smiled warmly, despite the cold “My apologies, I flew for days to reach the castle in the shortest time possible. I now realise how I must have disturbed your rest. Are you Lord Stark, then? My pleasure to make your acquaintance” he said charmingly.
“I am not, Ser Robb Rivers, your grace” he bowed again.
Jacaerys looked at the other man, taller and long bearded. Strange, he believed Cregan Stark would be younger ”Then that must be you, my lord”
“No, your grace,” he said in a gruff voice, “Lord Garibald Grey, at your service.”
Jacaerys looked between them, and then behind them. No men held their stead as a lord would, all stewards and servants. There was no suited, formidable warrior amongst them and no person could be seen approaching from the furthest door to enter the castle.
“Oh,” He said lamely.
“I am sorry, my prince. We are afraid Lord Stark is quite indisposed, he sent us to fetch you instead. Hope that is alright…” the lad who called himself robb said awkwardly.
“indisposed? Is he alright?” He probed.
“Yes!— Yes, my prince. Do not worry about it,” Garibald said quickly “He'll be ready to greet you at first light, I'm certain.
Jacaerys looked uncertainly at them. He managed to control his face to remain serious, but his mind was at disarray. There was a suspicious tilt in their voices, in the way they could jest openly but hid lord Stark's whereabouts so vehemently. They really were his loyal servants, he supposed.
“Come along, I'll show you to your chambers my prince” Robb pressed, “You must be tired after the long journey.”
He grimaced as the wind shook his frame and his feet sank in the snow. Jacaerys had recently learned his light cloak and leather riding boots were no good for the weather. His muscles were begging for a soft place to rest and his stomach churned with hunger.
It was better than nothing, he supposed.
“Well, best lead the way then my lords.”
――――――――――
He was taken to an appropriate room, where there was a large fire at the centre. A home big like he had never seen was the first thing he approached, he warmed his hands by the big hearth as he took in what his accommodations would be for the following weeks.
The bed was big and nicely presented, not as big as his own but it certainly looked pleasing after spending nights sleeping in the woods. There were pelts of animal fur laying over his bed and also over the windows, a witty way of keeping the chill outside. A fur lined armchair rested in a corner with brass accents on the armrests and a small desk to match. There was a silver tray there, holding a slice of crusty bread still warm from the oven, cheese, and a small bowl of hearty stew, steaming entrancingly. Jacaerys felt his stomach churn again as he approached the food like a moth to a flame.
As he tasted the stew —marvellous— and took a sip of the goblet of wine —strong— he noticed intricate decorations on the flooring, and knelt down to appreciate them. Rugged carpets surrounded the room, displaying figures fighting and wolves hunting. Jacaerys awed at the great detail, and wondered what stories they meant to tell as he traced the detailed embroidery.
A lone mirror stood near a dresser. He stared back at his figure, wild hair and dishevelled clothing. He was now glad he had not met Lord Stark, he did not look the part of a prince— he lamented as he tried to fix his wild hair. His hands went to his cheek, as they usually did whenever he faced a looking glass. He traced the mark there.
His soulmark.
As the ancient tales told, soulmarks were as old as time. Only seen to the bearer, they would remain a different shade of the person's skin, like a birthmark, until their soulmate touched them there. It was said that as your soulmate touched you, the mark would begin to glow. Your soul would bind then, and you would be permanently complete by their side. Different on each person was the colour, and so was the mark. It showcased the first place your other half would first lay their hands on you.
Jacaerys mark was on his right cheek, a brown, palm looking shape marring his features. While assured nobody could see it, he could. The mark looked enormous on his slight cheekbone, and extended though his jaw almost to his chin. He despised it as a child, hating the way it looked. Fearing the touch that would come.
“Tis probably a good slap,” Daemon had said, when he found out “Definitely will have it coming the way you keep running your mouth” he chuckled.
He startled as a loud noise interrupted his thinking.
Like things clattering from a desk, a loud clang echoed. He looked around the room and found it all to be in place. Groans and rustle followed, Jacaerys moved to the source of the sound. It seemed to be coming from the wall where his headboard rested across, he put his ear to the stone wall.
For seconds, he heard nothing but the whistling of the wind and indistinguishable mumbling. When he was to part from his place and finally rest on the soft looking bed, a sharp sound was heard. His bed shook slightly.
Jacaerys peeled back immediately, His brows rising and senses alert and the noises kept and kept coming. What the hell was going on there?
He could not take a rest like this, he decided. Especially when he saw his bed frame tremble again. What if the castle was collapsing? Or a fight was being carried out at this late hour? He would find out what was going on, he ought to see Lord Stark about this. Indisposed as he was, he ought to be made aware of a possible altercade.
He grabbed his fine cloak again and stepped out. After turning the dimly lit corridor twice, he found two lackeys meandering down the halls, speaking in between hushed tones and furred brows.
He stopped them with a pleasant greeting, then asked “I… am sorry for causing such a disturbance at this late hour. Could you tell me where I might find Lord Stark?”
“During the hour of the wolf, aye?” The short one bemoaned “Impossible, Lord Stark is—”
“I'll tell you where he is!” the taller, greasy haired one blurted.
“Perfect, then I would—”
“Tom” The short one said gravely, “Did you freeze off your head?”
“No I did not, in fact. My head is quite warm, aye?”
Jacaerys stared, baffled “Don't you boys know who i am? It's Prince Jacaerys Velaryon you're speaking like children in front of. I Would have expected some manners from the inhabitants of Winterfell Castle.”
“Prince Jacaerys!” the short one gasped, he and the taller one bowed down in a hurried way, unused.
“Now, as your prince you'll take my orders as law, take me to the Lord of Winterfell. I sense there is something strange you lot are hiding.”
“M´prince, I'm afraid we can't!” The short one wailed again.
The other shushed him, “No, no that's okay. The prince is right” a grin split his face cruelly “i'll take you to Lord Stark.”
“Oh, is he able to see visitors?” Jacaerys wondered sarcastically “I was made aware he was indisposed.”
“I wouldn't say he's indisposed right now m´prince” he said in a funny way.
“Tom,” the other interrupted severely again “You know what might happen if he finds out, we are not allowed to tell any—”
“Oh but this isn't just anyone, this is the Prince of Dragonstone, right?”
Jacaerys agreed, confused.
“Is this because he wouldn't allow you in Tom? You're so immature!” the short one whispered.
“None of the sort Genn!” Bit the one seemingly named Tom.
Their petulant back and forth went on for a while, Jacaerys was quite tired of them already. How insolent, bickering in front of a prince— he grumbled.
“If it may please you gentlemen,” he stopped them in their tracks “I would rather get directions by myself than a spectacle of a tour” he said as a false pleasantry.
The boys took no offence, quite the contrary “Oh yes m'prince!” The short one quipped, “You'll turn left, then go right down the hallway, that's where you'll find lord stark. But don't let anyone know we told you, please my prince!” He begged quietly.
What in the seven kingdoms was going on?
“You have my word.” he said slowly, unsure.
The two young boys gave their thanks, bowed hastily, and scrambled back to whence they came from. Leaving the prince once more, alone.
Jacaerys took a deep, reassuring breath and walked to the end of the foyer.
He finds that the same door leading to Lord Cregan Stark's rooms was the same from which the strange noises originated from. It appears the stone wall of his rooms was made opposite the room of whose door he stood in front of now.
As he neared, the noises, groans and moans of hardship, grew. He held back from knocking or making his presence known. Maybe Lord Stark was really sick, the noises made it seem as though he was suffering, but they were high pitched sometimes, and low and gruff others.
As the possibilities swirled his mind, he reached for the door. His curiosity got the better of him, he pressed his ear to the door.
The noises continued, each one further from his first idea of an altercation. No, the noises were unmistakably those of pleasure.
Of pleasure?
Could it be that a lady resided there? As far as he knew, lord stark did not take a new wife after the death of his first one. Could he have been misinformed? Could it be that he had lain with a lover?
That must be it, he realised. That would be the reason why his loyal lords and servants seemed so adamant on keeping his whereabouts hidden. Lord Stark kept a secret lover, an unmarried woman who tended to his needs.
But why? He could marry freely, and as much as he wanted. He had heard northmen would take multiple women as wives sometimes. Could the warden of the north not do the same thing?
His hand went to the door and his fingertips pushed in the slightest. The door gave away a slit, leaving it slightly ajar for his one dark eye to peek inside the mysterious room. He would just look to confirm his theory, nothing else.
But the sight that bestowed upon him left him reeling. A gasp escaped his mouth
Through the crack in the door, he saw a scene of pure debauchery. A man, bare-chested and glistening with sweat, lay on a plush fur rug. His strong hands were on a man’s hips, guiding his movements with a mixture of dominance and tenderness. To his side, a woman knelt, her back arched as she kissed another man, her fingers tangled in Cregan's auburn hair. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls and highlighting the intertwined bodies.
There were multiple people in the room; the women were draped in sheer fabrics that clung to their forms, their hair cascading down in waves. The men were equally undressed, their muscled bodies glistening in the candlelight. The man in the middle seemed to be the centre of attention to all, and with good reason. His deep, rumbling voice mixed with the higher-pitched moans, His well honed body resembled the one of a true warrior, marred with scars and protruding veins as he quickened his movements.
The body of a warrior, Cregan Stark.
When he finished taking his pleasure on the boy, he let go of him and beckoned another with a finger. A woman approached, seductively swaying her hips. The man extended his left hand and placed it on her shoulder. The woman denied him with her head sadly, but approached his mouth begging for a tender kiss. The strong man compiled for a second, before turning her around and mounting her like an animal.
Jacaerys felt a heat rising within him, a mixture of arousal and utter confusion. The raw, unfiltered display of pleasure was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched what-must-be Cregan Stark's strong, sure hands explore the bodies around him, his touch both commanding and gentle. Jacaerys had never had a strong sense of smell, as a beta that was only natural. But he discerned several mixing scents in the rooms. He was sure enough there were multiple omegas in the bedroom, their sweet scents clogging his senses.
But there was a scent there that stood out from them, made him weak in the knees with its intensity. The smell of cedarwood, strong and scaly, made his body shiver, a certain spiciness found there, maybe clove? He wondered as his nostrils flared unintentionally. A hint of mint, like eucalyptus seeped into his mind and numbed his tongue with its strength.
He did not notice he had closed his eyes when he almost stumbled forward, his grip on the door so strong it had left his knuckles white. A gust of wind shifted his cloak around him, bringing him back. He should leave at once—he thought, and took a step backwards. The voice inside was quicker, stopping him right in his tracks.
“Who's there?”
Jacaerys remained frozen. He hadn't made a sound, how could he have been perceived?
“Come along now, are you going to keep me waiting?”
I'm the prince! Jacaerys wanted to scream at the door. I'll make you show some respect! But he said nothing, nothing.
Instead a seed of doubt planted itself in Jacaerys head, unwanted. Should he go along? Step into the room, and into the mellowing voice calling for him? Uncertainty kept him rooted in his spot, his hand stayed at the door, strained with tension.
“Hmm, you're a tease aren't you? With that sweet scent, you have every right.”
Sweet scent? Jacaerys breathed in shakily again, but only found notes of that mysterious, commanding scent in the air. The smell the speaker was talking about likely wasn't his. He was a beta, his scent was of no true notice. Not like his mothers strong but pleasing alpha scent, which left every room smelling of steam and dragonlilies, or Luke's novelty of sweet lemongrass and sea foam, young and newly presented after the Driftmark fiasco. He probably smelled of dragon and sweat at the moment.
"Are you going to make me come get you?" the voice purred from behind the door.
Get him… the thought sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't deny the surge of excitement that coursed through him at the idea. There was a tantalising allure to the thought of being pursued, of feeling strong hands gripping his arms, pulling him close. His breath quickened, his body responding to the mere notion of being desired and dominated. The idea of yielding to that power, of being vulnerable yet cherished, sent waves of heat through him. Yes, maybe that sounded good, maybe he wanted to be caught and—
Wait. Get him!?
The absurdity and the implied threat in those words jolted Jacaerys from his daze. His heart pounded wildly as he scrambled backward, the urgency of his movements betraying his fear. He ran, feet pounding the corridor as the voice continued to call out. But his ears were deaf to the words as he raced down to his room, breathless and disoriented.
Reaching his room, he shut the door with a bang, the sound reverberating in the silence that followed. Leaning back against the solid wood, he strained to listen for any sign of pursuit, his pulse hammering in his ears. His hands shook uncontrollably as they went to his mouth, covering the whimper threatening to escape. It was then he noticed he was hard, a confusing mixture of fear and arousal coursing through him.
Get it together Jace!
He crossed the room in a few unsteady steps and collapsed onto the bed, his body still trembling. He slowly reached for the clasp of his cape, pulling it off carefully over the chair. He took slow breaths as he unlaced his boots and undid his vest. He downed the rest of the goblet in one long gulp, his mind immediately going hazy. Well, hazier than it already was. He peeled the covers off and drowned in the warmth.
The memory of the voice lingered, its seductive tone intertwining with the threat it carried. His mind was playing games with him, mixing his need for warmth with a need for lust, the strange allure of danger and unfound desire were haunting his consciousness. He felt an overwhelming need to understand, to make sense of the inexplicable attraction that had gripped him so suddenly and fiercely. But there was naught he would do now.
He laid on the bed, still shaking and stiff all the same, willing his heart to go steady, wondering if it had all been a fantasy of his restless mind.
In the most unexpected way, he had met Lord Stark.