Red Keep – Small Council Chambers

The chamber smelled faintly of parchment, sweetened wine, and sea breeze drifting in through high-arched windows. Yet the tension in the air was heavier than smoke from a battlefield. Lord Eddard Stark, the new Hand of the King, sat at the head of the table, already wearied by the weight of the crown's troubles—and they had only just begun.

The small council had assembled: Renly Baratheon, young and ever confident; Grand Maester Pycelle, ancient and slow; Lord Varys, quiet and smiling in his silk robes; and Petyr Baelish, with that familiar smirk that never reached his eyes.

Then the doors slammed open.

King Robert Baratheon entered like a storm given form, fury etched across his ruddy face.

"She's taken Meereen!" he roared. "The Targaryen girl! She's conquered a city!"

All heads turned. Ned stood.

"Your Grace—"

Robert slammed his goblet on the table. Wine sloshed over the rim and stained the documents spread before him. "I told you! I warned you all! That silver-haired witch should've been dealt with years ago. And now? She plays queen across the Narrow Sea!"

"She freed slaves, Robert," Ned said evenly. "Not conquered kingdoms."

"Don't speak to me of mercy," Robert snapped. "A Targaryen is a Targaryen. The last one who sat the throne burned your brother and father alive. I will not wait until this girl does the same to my son."

He turned, glaring at Ned with bloodshot eyes. "I want her dead, Ned. Before she grows bolder."

Ned was silent.

"I made you my Hand. I gave you my trust. Do what must be done."

Before Ned could answer, Varys cleared his throat delicately.

"If I may, Your Grace... there is another matter that demands your attention."

Robert waved his hand impatiently. "Spit it out."

Varys folded his hands. "Our whispers in Volantis and Lys confirm that Lord Cregan Stark remains in Essos—and has yet to inform the Crown of his movements or return. Nor he has been notified of any formal terms of his recent... marriage arrangement."

The room went quiet.

Robert's brow furrowed. "Why is he still in Essos? Shouldn't he be in the North? I told Myrcella to stay at Winterfell—risking the lion's fury—to bind the North to the Crown. And the wolf hasn't even shown his face?"

Baelish leaned forward with a knowing smirk. "It is said he commands a sizable private army. The Essosi port masters whisper about warships flying no known banner—and gold changing hands in volumes."

Pycelle added with growing concern, "Your Grace... the Crown is not in a position to tolerate powerful, unsanctioned forces beyond its control. Not with Targaryens stirring in Meereen."

Renly, reclining with his cup, offered, "Perhaps it's time the Crown asked Lord Cregan what exactly he intends."

Robert turned, eyes narrowing. "Well, Ned? What game is your son playing across the sea?"

Ned stood tall. The weight of his title sat heavy on his shoulders, but his voice was steady.

"Cregan plays no game. He is loyal—to me, to his brother Robb, and to the North. He's no courtly schemer."

Littlefinger chuckled softly. "That's what all men say—until the ambition takes root. A large army, Dornish lovers, secret movements, I'd say those are signs of... maneuvering."

Ned didn't blink. "If he wanted power, you'd already know. You'd know by the blood spilled in his path. But Cregan is not a man of empty boasts. He acts."

Robert frowned deeply. "Then summon him. I won't have rogue wolves running wild while dragons fly. Tell him to return. He will marry Myrcella, I want him here. "

"I'll write to him myself," Ned said.

The rest of the council murmured—about debt, about Dorne, about Daenerys, and now... Cregan Stark.

But for Ned, one thing was clear:

The realm was no longer just cracking—it was shifting. And the balance, so carefully maintained since Robert's Rebellion, was beginning to tilt.

Winter was coming.

---

Winterfell – Godswood

The air was crisp in the godswood, and the ancient weirwood loomed above Princess Myrcella Baratheon like a ghost of a different world. She stood beneath its red leaves, watching the pale face carved into the bark, its solemn eyes bleeding sap like tears.

It was so different from the gardens of the Red Keep.

"Lady Myrcella?" a voice called softly.

She turned. Sansa Stark tilted her head at the princess.

"I thought you worship the seven."

"I like it here," Myrcella replied with a gentle smile. "It feels... honest and peaceful."

Sansa narrowed her eyes." Cregan will like you more just for it.Cregan believe in old gods and doesn't quite like The seven."

Myrcella smiled sadly. "Will he be disappointed if I worship the seven. Should I adopt the old gods?"

Sansa shrugged. "That would help. But you don't necessarily need to . He just hate the seven because of its views on bastards and our brother Jon is one and Jon was somewhat discriminated by our mother due to seven influence on her.So you can worship the seven but just don't do too much like our mother."

---

Later – Great Hall

At supper, Myrcella sat beside Lady Catelyn.

"How do you find Winterfell, child?" Catelyn asked.

"It's colder than King's Landing," Myrcella replied, "but warmer in ways that matter."

Catelyn studied her carefully. "And the marriage proposal?"

Myrcella set down her cup. "Is it truly a proposal if the other party hasn't spoken a word of it?"

Catelyn blinked. "I can understand. I was also married like that . But you will it like it here. It's not bad as it seems not with the trade in north blooming."

"I am not here by my own wish. But if I must be a bride, I'd like to know who I might be wed to."

"My son is easy yet complicated" Catelyn warned. "Cregan is loyal, fierce, and entirely uninterested in courtly games. He has no patience for false smiles."

"I've heard," Myrcella said, glancing toward Jon Snow, seated across the hall. "They say he trained mewling pups into soldiers and frightens lords twice his age."

Jon raised an eyebrow as if sensing her gaze.

"Who told you that?" Catelyn asked.

"Lady Lyanna," Myrcella replied, sipping her wine. "She also told me Cregan broke someone's jaw once for calling Jon a bastard."

Catelyn smiled thinly. "Yes. That happened. He was eight."

Jon smiled "Aye he loves animals and animals love him . You would see many wolf ,hounds , dogs , horses openly roaming in Frosthall."

Mrycella a bit shocked now but yet excited

---

Later – Winterfell Courtyard

Myrcella stood at the practice yard, watching Robb Stark spar with Jon Snow. The clash of steel echoed against the stone walls.

She turned to Lady Lyanna Stark, who leaned against the fence, arms crossed, looking every bit her uncle's niece.

"Tell me the truth," Myrcella asked. "Would Cregan make a good husband?"

Lyanna tilted her head, thoughtful. "He's nice but leave me alone when he should serve me, he is good does everything for me, loves his wolves more than most people."

Myrcella smiled faintly. "That sounds... handful"

"Maybe," Lyanna said. "But not boring."

---

Later That Night – Myrcella's Chambers

Myrcella sat by the window, wrapped in furs, writing a letter to her mother.

Mother,

Winterfell is cold but fair. The Starks are not polished but they are honest. Lord Cregan is not yet here, and I do not know if he'll ever agree to this match. But if he does, I believe he will not treat me poorly.

Do not fear for me. I do not feel like a hostage. I quite like it here.

And I am learning how to stand among them.

---

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