Chapter nine          𓃦           The death of a King

Lord Bennard Stark was the first to know. The raven arrived in the early morning when he reached his chambers, a letter tight to his foot when it landed on the window shelf. His lady wife – the lady Margaret of House Karstark – opened her eyes slowly when the babe in her womb kicked and when her husband ripped the paper open, revealing the inside. She groaned out, tired of another sleepless night, "what is it?"

His jaw was clenched, "the King is dead."

"Daenys' father?" Margaret whispers out like it was some sort of a secret though the great Houses already heard the news. She pulls herself in a sitting position, a hand resting on her growing belly – her second child rests inside, "what? How?"

Whenever Bennard hears the name of the Targaryen girl that bewitched his nephew, he wishes to strangle the person who spoke it. Thankfully for Margaret, he needs his heirs. He throws the paper on the table and shooshes the raven off the window, closing it shut, "we must act now. War is coming."

"War?" she asks when she watched Bennard move to the dresser to grab his doublet, "did the king not name his heir? Does he not have children?"

"He named his daughter his heir years ago," her husband replied, pulling on his fur covered doublet, "but from what my nephew tells me, the Queen will put her son on the Iron Throne. We pledged alliance to Rhaenyra when she was named heir. We do not forget our oaths."

Margaret nods slowly but then the realization hits, "but Daenys is . . . she is the queen's daughter, is she not? The sister of the one they will wish to put on the throne."

Bennard sighs when Margaret only slowly realizes what he's saying. He turns to look at her where she sits on the bed, "yes, yes, she is the sister of Aegon. But she is also Rhaenyra's blood. It doesn't matter who she wishes to stand with, the Starks remain loyal to Rhaenyra."

Before he leaves, Margaret speaks, making him stop in tracks, "Cregan has the word in it."

He turns and if he could, he'd kill her, smutter her with the pillow he slept on, "he will do as I say. He wants to be like his father and his father pledged alliance to Rhaenyra."

"If Daenys wants to stand with Aegon, so will Cregan," Margaret speaks but she doesn't mean it in a mean way. She's scared of Bennard and his fury, scared of what he'll do.

"Because she bewitched my nephew, yes," he responded, "do you not know what they say about the Targaryen's? They practice blood magic, why do you think she lost so many babes, why they had scales, no heart and dragon-like features?"

Because you put poison in her tea, Margaret thinks but doesn't reply. She looks down on the bedsheets she twists in her hands and Bennard walks out, leaving her alone in the coldness of the chambers and her life.

Robb Snow knew next. Bennard hasn't spoken to Cregan nor any of the council members yet but his bastard nephew had ways of finding the deepest secrets of any court. He rushed out to the training yard where Theon trained with Trevas. They laughed like two school boys when Trevas slipped in the fresh mud when Robb reached them, fingers curled around the back of Theon's doublet. His half-brother chuckled, "what? Don't tell me you want to train?"

When Theon saw the expression on his face, his grin fell and so did his sword. His hands reached out for Robb's forearms, keeping him up and on his feet, "what? What is it? Did something happen?" to Daenys, he meant.

"Her father is dead," he whispers when he realizes Theon already means Daenys. It's like a curse, Robb thinks, to crave something the other one already has.

Theon knew he couldn't comfort Daenys in any sort of way he'd wish. Instead, he comforted Robb – his arms slung around the back of his younger brother's shoulders, allowing his cheeks to squeeze against his chest, breathing out the cold air.

"Since when do you like hugging, Snow?" Cregan jested when he walked outside, a sword by his side, ready to train with either Theon or Trevas who walked to the sword station.

Robb pulls away and looks at Cregan. When he shakes his head slightly, it's almost like Cregan can read his mind. His smile drops and he whispers, "Dany?"

"He's dead," he chokes out, nervous and scared of what's to come, "I got the news earlier from the Keep."

Cregan breaths out, "she doesn't know. Where did you find out?"

"It doesn't matter," Robb shakes his head, nails digging in the soft skin around them, "what matters is that he's dead and I'm sure our uncle will have his saying in it."

"His saying?" Cregan repeated his brother's words with furrow brows, "what would he say? If there is a war to come, we stand by those who we swore oaths to."

"But you swore no oaths but your marriage ones," Theon spoke and for once in his life, he was right, "and your marriage is to one of theirs."

One of theirs – the greens, he means. Cregan is wed to someone who's the sister of the pretender king that will sit the Iron Throne. He remembers the oath his father swore when Rhaenyra was named heir by the late king though he is now unsure of what Daenys will say or do. But it didn't matter, at the end of the day. A Stark does not forget an oath.

Daenys was inside the garden, unaware of the news that arrived in Winterfell. There must be a part of her that knows her father is dead; he was as weak as she was when she was a mere babe. Jon rests in a cradleboard next to the old Weirwood. He babbles something when Cregan's direwolf approaches, sniffing the boy. Daenys smiles gently, fingers tracing on the back of the animal's spine, "it is only Cregan's boy."

The wolf turns and gently pushes her snout in Daenys' shoulder that was covered in thick fur – a promise she had to make Kennet to wear. Daella's fingers reached out for her mother, her other hand pushes between her lips, sucking on it. She wasn't hungry because she ate before they went outside but it was a habit she picked then. Daenys and Robb had their nail picking and pulling, Daella then had her sucking on fingers.

"I do wish to give you a good life, my sweetlings," Daenys sighs in a whisper, her free hand gently tracing Daella's exposed skin and pulling her hand from her mouth, "I fear I can only give you my pain. But as long as I'm here, no one will hurt you."

She knows her time is running out. There will be war, no doubt of it. And she'll fight it – she's a Targaryen nonetheless. Daella frowns at her mother but she smiles down at her daughter, "because Jon will be the North's son. But you, issa byka zaldrīzes, shall forever be mine." (my little dragon)

"My princess?" a call comes from behind them, by the gates of the garden.

She doesn't need to turn around to know who it is, "I told you before, Margaret, you don't need to be formal with me, we are family."

"Apologies," she breaths out when she moves towards the three (four, if you count Dot), "you missed breakfast."

"I wasn't feeling hungry," she shook her head, not looking up from how Daella holds her finger, "I thought it would be good if the children saw the mor by the Weirwood. They were only inside the Keep while in King's Landing. How are you?"

"Good, good," Margaret nods her head when she reaches them, fingers tracing patters on her belly – two moons left until she gives birth again. By Bennard's hopes, it will be a boy again, "how are you feeling?"

Like dreadful news will approach, she thinks but instead speaks, "good. I think Kennet might actually allow me to do more things."

"That's good to hear," Margaret hums, fingers tracing a patter – the moon, the stars and the sun, "how was King's Landing?"

She came to the realization what her brothers are like, she said her possible final goodbye to her sister, her uncle still terrifies her, she didn't know how to speak to her mother, her little brother probably despises her and her father is dying. She looked from Daella and to Margaret, "good. I missed it lately. I think a change of scenery is a good thing."

Cregan's direwolf moved around Margaret and she froze. Daenys smiled gently at the girl before cooing to the animal, "Dot, come here, be a good girl."

The direwolf tilted her head to the side before padding back to the family and laying down next to Jon's cradleboard. The princess tilts her head up to Margaret, offering her a soothing smile, "don't fret, she does not bite."

"Only scratch, I take," she nudges to the scar above Daenys' left eyebrow.

She smiles and gently shakes her head, "I think I got too close too fast. Cregan has the same and it's his direwolf."

Speaking of the wolf – Cregan's voice echoed from the gates, "Dae?"

When Daenys turned her head to the figure – covered in fur, large boots and a solemn face, she already knew the harsh truth. Her father is dead.

The council chamber was dimly lit. It was late afternoon when the lords entered, Bennard already sitting almost by the main chair reserved for the Lord of Winterfell, his nephew. Daenys had a permanent place in the council much to Bennard's demise. The other lords didn't enjoy it either but it was the word of the Warden against theirs.

Daenys was sat on the opposite side of the table. Her eyes were casted down, trained on the map on the wood but she didn't acknowledge it. She simply stared at it with solemn, dead like eyes. She didn't hear much of the men's words, only rings in her ears. She wondered if every other lord of the Stark's vessel Houses knew of her father's death before her.

The doors were pushed open with a creak and Trevas walked in, "my lords. A dragon was spotted."

Cregan looked at Daenys before she spoke, "Vhagar?"

"No," he replied with a shake of his head, "it's not the same green."

Daenys finally looked up yet felt smaller by the glances of the lords, "it's Jace."

"Jace?" Cregan's brow furrowed, a wooden wolf in between his fingers he used to calm down, "why would he be here?"

They couldn't escape it. Bennard was the first to realize, "Rhaenyra is searching for supporters."

Daenys tried to fight back the tears but couldn't help when one escaped down her cheek. She looked away again, "they crowned my brother."

"We must remember our oath," Bennard continued but Cregan could barely listen, too concerned by Daenys, "your father swore that House Stark will remain true to the King's heir and that was Rhaenyra. And by those means your brother is a usurper, princess."

She felt the gazes on her again – hateful, confused alike. Her fingers were clasped together like she wanted to pray. For what and for who she didn't know. She looked up, "I never said anything. I do – I do not know what is happening in King's Landing, I have no contact with my family ever since we left."

"The late Warden and I were here when the ravens arrived," Bennard continued as if he already made the decision for everyone, "that the Queen Aemma is dead and so is the King's son. Rumours were said he wanted to name the prince Daemon for his heir but he was reckless. He named his only living child his heir then. But then the Hightower's came."

Her leg bounced underneath the table and her stomach ached. There must be blood on her seat by then. She shook her head, "again, my lord, I do not know what they did in King's Landing; if they named Aegon the king or if they declared for Rhaenyra. All I know is that outside my nephew came on his dragon. If the green dragon is not Vhagar – which Trevas says it's not – then it's Vermax."

"And what would you do, princess?" he presses again, the title like a mockery, "let us bend the knee to a usurper?"

She can hear the roar of the dragon outside when she shakes her head, "first of all, I am not the head of the House therefore I have no saying in it. Second of all, I know my father named Rhaenyra his heir. But . . . but perhaps he changed his mind. My mother has the inside of that, I did not speak of it when I saw him last."

Even if Daenys wanted to support her brother, Cregan would not, "there is no matter to discuss. We must welcome the prince Jacaerys and see what he has to say. Either way, our House declared for Rhaenyra and swore the oath for her when the king asked."

Daenys watched Cregan speak and she can't tell what she feels – happiness, grief, pain or relief. Trevas walked out once more when the conversation continued before returning back with Daenys' nephew, "the prince Jacaerys Velaryon, my lord."

"Iksos issa kepa drējī morghe?" Daenys asks, her back facing Jacaerys where she sits, her nails digging in the skin around. (Is my father truly dead?)

"Kessa," Jacaerys replied, playing with the edge of his riding shirt, "issa condolences, sodjisto." (Yes. My condolences, aunt.)

She knew no one would lie about it, especially not to her. But hearing those words leave her nephew's mouth in their mother tongue hurt her more than ever before.

Daenys didn't see much of Jacaerys during his stay in Winterfell. She was like a ghost pacing among the hallways – he'd see her slip through the cracks of the dinning chambers in the early mornings, he'd see the back of her gown whenever she went in the garden, he'd hear her voice murmuring a quiet lullaby to her children. But he didn't speak to her. Cregan took him to the Wall, showed him what the men do and he'd ask for support in the upcoming war – both were aware they couldn't escape it.

"I know Daenys is Aegon's sister and all," Jacaerys spoke one day when they walked pass the men on the Wall, "but we must remember who my grandsire named his her. My mother will welcome any men you could muster."

"My men will fight hard. Like Northerners," Cregan replied when he glanced over his shoulder at the prince before taking the few steps until they reached the edge of the Wall, having a clear view across the land, "I don't believe she'd want to fight for Aegon."

"She wouldn't?" Jace asks with furrowed brows when she steps to Cregan's side.

"No," Cregan shakes his head and looks beyond the Wall, "I think she wants to believe in something good. And Aegon is far from that. But she's scared that maybe her father told her mother something – that he changed his mind. The Realm would rather see a king on the Iron Throne than your mother, I assume you know that."

"My grandsire didn't change his mind," he replied, looking beyond the Wall as well, "he barely knew he had other children than my mother, why would he change his mind?"

"I'm not saying he did, my prince," Cregan replies and looks at him, "it's what my Daenys fears. She fears for her family. I think she saw some things she can't explain and it scares her."

Jace's brows furrow, "seen things?"

"She has a gift. Or a curse," he speaks, "she has this sense of doom, I think. She can see the future happening sometimes."

"My lord," Trevas walks to the two men with a solemn expression, "my prince. A raven arrived. Your uncle is not too pleased with it."

Cregantakes the parchment paper from in between Trevas' fingers: The princeLucerys of House Velaryon was killed by Aemond of House Targaryen.