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The wind is cold and biting, seeping through all your layers of clothes, and sending a chill across your skin. The sun will only light your way for a few hours longer, and already it’s dulled by heavy clouds. You’re going somewhere you’ve seen more than the castle as of late. Snow or shine, it’s a place your legs carry you instinctively when you're lost in thought. Despite your worries, seeing the leaves shudder in the wind's shadows beneath your feet, and the ripple on the surface of the black pool manages to calm you.
Initially, you’d taken to walking the halls. The castle is large, and wandering endlessly through each corridor could take up the better part of a day. And you’d been doing just that a moon ago when you overheard a group of serving girls huddled together, talking in hushed tones. “Have you heard whether or not our lady is expecting? All I hear from the septas is that she ought to be with child by the end of the year, but I never heard any real news on the matter.” A younger girl asked.
“I thought she was halfway through her first moon, is she not? When I walk near her, she is glowing. I thought for certain she was with child?” Another questioned.
“If not now, then soon, Lord Stark must be anxious in wait for–” the younger girl trailed off the moment she noticed you hovering around a corner. “My lady, I–” she started with a bow; you don’t stay long enough to let her exhaust all her courtesies. All their talk was harmless anyway, but it only worsened the doubts swimming in the back of your mind. You know there is an expectation for you to produce an heir, and yet it weighs on you all the same.
There were scarcely any rumors to reach your ears when you went to the Godswood. The sounds of the bustling castle are muted underneath the weirwood tree. You are almost guaranteed a peaceful, quiet here, only accompanied by the calls of crow or leaves scattering in the wind. Sometimes you stare up into the thick canopy of the tree as you sit beneath the trunk, or ponder the reflection in the seemingly endless black pool below.
No matter where you are, though, the anxiety settled deep in your stomach bubbles up every so often. Not only because you’re not yet with child, but because you’re not even sure it is what you want. Countless women die in the childbed, suffering needlessly until they reach their end. And many lose themselves after birth, becoming a husk of the woman they were in a deep depression. You did not want to yield to the same fate, but what choice did you have?
You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear your husband approach. You only notice when his heavy cloak falls atop your shoulders. “You’ve picked a very inconvenient time to venture into the Godswood all on your own, my love.” You don’t answer, pulling his cloak tighter around you. “Come.” Cregan pulls you up gently by your arms, guiding you back to the keep. “It’s much too cold for you to be out here for so long,” He tries to read your face, but you remain expressionless, “praying, were you?” he asks. You shake your head, eyes still fixed on the ground, which is beginning to speckle white with snow.
“Not praying, just thinking.” Cregan tugs you closer to him as you walk, wrapping an arm around your waist.
“You’ve been spending more time ‘thinking’ in the Godswood as of late. Many a time, my guards tell me they've escorted you back from the woods late in the night..” He stops both of you in your tracks. “Are you alright, my lady?”
“I am fine, I only come to be alone with my thoughts, that's all.” you admit.
“Of course, but you need not be alone with them all the time. I am here to listen, always, as you have done for me.”
“Yes, and I thank you for the invitation. Some things, however, are better left unsaid.” You turn away from him and continue walking. Cregan was patient with you, kind, and understanding, more so than most men would be. But if he knew what you were thinking, you doubt he could understand. You're not sure you could stop the onslaught of shame from overtaking you at the thought of confessing such a thing.
–
The hours pass by in a blur. You can’t even remember sitting for supper, bathing, changing your clothes, or watching the sun fall away into night. Before you know it, you’re staring up at the ceiling next to Cregan, who’s fast asleep. The slow and steady sounds of his breathing should be a comfort to you. On any other night, it could lull you to rest; tonight it keeps you awake.
You slip out of the bed as quietly and gently as you can. You take a candle for light and travel through empty halls, something you’ve found is good for your restlessness. You watch the windows as you walk. What was once a gentle sprinkling of snow has turned into a thick cover of white over the yard. It covers every patch of land and roof, patchy in spots warmed by the chimneys.
You walk, and walk, and walk, in large circles through the keep until your feet begin to ache. As you round the next corner, your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. Cregan is waiting for you by the door to your chamber, his own candle in hand. The light reveals his worn expression, etched with concern, his eyebrows pulled tight together. A fresh wave of guilt washes over you for making him worry. It takes him two long strides to reach you; his free hand takes hold of yours. “Come now, love,” he whispers, “come back to bed.” You let him guide you, and only until you sit do you realize how exhausted you are.
“Now you must feel compelled to give me some peace of mind. Clearly, something is troubling you.” Cregan hovers over you, smoothing a warm hand over your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.
“I was only lost in thought, my mind ceases to quiet, at night especially. I could not find sleep.” You confess, hoping your answer is enough to satisfy him. Your husband knows you better than that, though.
“Yes,” he says, sitting next to you on the bed, “but if they plague you so persistently that you cannot sleep, surely it cannot hurt to share the burden.”
“It is nothing of great concern, I assure you.”
“You assure me? Did I not find you roaming the halls in the middle of the night, looking as if you were in a trance? I should have you know it is of great concern to me, and to my guards, for that matter.” He exclaims. You curl into yourself as his words ring true in your ears. There’s no way you can refute that; you don't even have the energy.
At your silence, Cregan speaks again, now holding both your cold hands in his. “I urge you, share your worries with me as we vowed to do when we were wed.”
You swallow down the lump in your throat at your husband's words. Every bit of worry in his voice sends your resolve crumbling to pieces. “I am so anxious. I have this– this heaviness,” you press down on your chest, “I feel like everyone waits on me to bear you a son. But I am afraid.” Your voice starts to waver and crack, and all the emotion you’ve kept quietly concealed rises to the surface.
“Afraid of what, my love?”
“Of–of not being able to give you one! Of having only girls, of being barren; dying in the childbed, just as leagues of other women have before me. Just as Aemma,” It’s chilling just to speak her name, the memory of her death still weighs heavily on your mind. “I do not want to become the sort of woman who exhausts herself, year after year, trying and failing to give her husband an heir. Nor do I wish to be discarded should I prove incapable of doing so.” You’re nearly whispering by the time you finish the sentence; you don’t want to imagine how it could feel.
“Discarded? You dishonor me. I could never look down on you or cast you aside for anything in the world.” The tears welling up in your eyes threaten to fall. “You are my wife, the Gods have blessed our union for all to see, and I will not forsake it.” One of his hands leaves yours to brush away stray tears. The other squeezes your fingers tighter.
“I know you would not. I am sorry.” Your voice is so quiet, you barely hear the words come out.
“There is nothing to be sorry for, my love. But where have these fears even begun? Who would claim that you could not?” He rests a heavy palm over your stomach in question.
“Well, it is not for lack of good effort. It has been months, and–”
“And who is counting the days? I am not. If we are blessed with a child–”
“If!” your eyes are blurry with tears that you cannot stop.
‘Yes, if. You are not a broodmare to be sold and bred. I love you, and my love does not rely on whether you produce an heir.” At his words, you finally feel like you can take a much-needed breath. Your whole body sags with the realization that your love can truly be unconditional. “And as for your other concerns, if the gods would give us the honor of having a girl, I’d love her just as I would our son. Who is to claim that she could not be my heir?” The suggestion was so effortlessly casual, as if he’d been asking what to eat for supper.
“A girl?” His words hold weight, but you cannot be convinced of his resolution.
“Why not? King Viserys names Rhaenyra heir to the throne, and I readily support her claim.” That much was true, you just never assumed he’d apply the rule to his own children. Most men could never let another woman succeed them, but then, your husband is not most men.
“You say this now, but,”
“My feelings on the matter will not change; they never will when it concerns you.” The unfailing sureness in his voice is enough to put the majority of your fears to rest. Or maybe you’re too drained to stress yourself any further. Cregan can see it too; the candlelight is faint now, but he can trace the beginnings of dark circles under your eyes with his thumbs. He lifts the furs for you, a silent invitation for you to finally rest. You crawl under several layers of warmth, and your husband follows, holding you close to him.
“I beg you not to worry any longer, I had not known your fears ran so deep. Though I suppose I have been somewhat unaware of your situation.” He admits. You only hum and move closer, seeking to steal all the heat you possibly can from him, curling into his chest.
“For certain, my secrecy had not helped. And most of my worries could have been put to rest if only I’d been open with you.” Something in his chest rumbles low and deep at your words.
“But you know this now: I will love you regardless of whether you give me twenty children, or none at all. What I feel for you is not based on any condition.” He squeezes you with the arm he has around you, kissing you with the same reverence his words reflect. It only makes you melt into him further.
“I think you may find sleep yet, my lady. Rest, my love, I will be with you when you wake.”