Chapter eleven           𓃦           Run, little rabbit.

Blood dripped from the dagger. She watched it slip against the metal and fall on the muddy floor. The rabbit screamed out of agony when it cut its throat and the head fell off. Daenys didn't flinch away from the sound. Once she would - but no more.

She sat on one of the few stairs that lead up to the Keep. Margaret stood on the muddy floor, eyes trained on Benjen and Brandon that ran around the yard, hiding from their mother and giggling like boys. Bennard had his sleeves pulled up to his forearms as he pulled the rabbit's head off its body, discarding it in a small box while he pushed its body forward to Cregan. Cregan – with precise movements – cut the body open with his knife to remove the guts and the heart.

The Starks returned from the Wall earlier that day. They hunted while gone, hence the rabbits and a small deer laying dead in the yard. Theon tried to help with the animals but one look from Bennard and an apology from Cregan moved him away and he disappeared in the town. Robb sat a few meters away from Daenys, looking away from the blood and the dead, rather looking down at his fingers. His sister-in-law, however, couldn't look away from the blood, "it is a good omen."

Robb looked her way and Margaret swallowed harshly to prevent from puking, "how come? Blood and death? What is good about that?"

Daenys is leaning on her knees and she plays with her fingers – there's a new ring on her finger; no more wolf but a dragon. Cregan gifted it to her. She doesn't look away from her husband that cuts in the small animal again, "it's a sign of piety and devotion – that the Gods are taking care of their devotees. 'Tis what the Septas used to tell me when I studied with them. And a white hart is a symbol of royalty – it's extremely rare though."

"You and your Gods," Bennard muttered under his breath but all heard him.

"At least she believes in something, uncle," Cregan replied, the knife cutting off the fur on the rabbit's back, "what do you believe in? Death? Pity? Hunting?"

"I would watch your mouth if I were you, nephew," Bennard replied, the knife cutting through another rabbit's throat and Margaret looked to her sons again – they were the only constant feeling in her life.

"Or what?" Cregan looked up and at his uncle, "I am the Warden, am I not? I do have more power over you, uncle."

"'Tis something I have from my family, my lord," Daenys cuts in the conversation, trying to calm the situation before either of them does something they might regret, "I know you do not quite follow any Gods or anything but I do. I just . . .I just simply believe there is something bigger out there that looks after us."

Brandon reached his mother's side, fingers clinging onto her dress. Bennard looked at his son and offered the dagger, "go on, boy. The rabbit awaits."

Margaret didn't want Brandon to do it, neither did the young boy. Daenys watched how he pushed his head further in his mother's dress, fingers almost turning white at how he gripped the fabric in his hands. She slides off the steps when and brushes her sweaty palms against the dark grey dress she wore, "I can do it. If I may, my lord?"

Bennard looked at the girl then, the dagger still offered to his youngest son, "I doubt you'll ever need how to cut open a rabbit, princess. I believe you will be quite content living in the Keep."

Cregan didn't look up from the rabbit on the table in front, fingers digging in the open belly to pull out the liver, "let her do it, uncle."

"So will your son, no?" Daenys replied when neither of them listened to what Cregan said; Robb and Margaret looked at the girl when she finally bit back, "for as long as we live, your sons shall live within the walls of the Keep as much as I will. Therefore, them learning how to cut open a rabbit is as much needed as I need to know it. Or do tell me if I am mistaken in it, my lord."

Silence washed over them – the only sound were the busy servants and guards walking around the yard. Robb picked on his nails and refused to look up; he suddenly felt small, scared for her sake. If Bennard could, he'd strangle the girl with his bare hands – he'd let her neck snap and crack, falling back before he'd rip her open like the rabbit on the table. But he couldn't.

Instead, he offered the dagger to her. A sinister smile on his lips when he spoke, "then as you wish, princess."

Daenys' hand reached out for the dagger – it was decorated with wolves; a gift from his brother. It felt heavy in her hand, she realized. She stared at it for a moment, not moving from her spot. Bennard chuckled, "or mayhaps the princess is not ready for it."

"Uncle," Cregan cut him again, looking between him and Daenys' staring at the blood covered dagger in her hands.

Then, she stepped pass Bennard and stood in front of the long, wooden table. The rabbit was already laying lifeless on the board. All she had to do was cut his head off. She stared down at the white fur of the animal – he surely had some sort of family, no? Not even a few hours ago he'd run through the forest. He was alive and maybe happy even. Now he lays dead in front of her, ready to be cut open and allowing the family to eat him full.

"You don't have to do anything to prove a point, Dany," Cregan whispered, bringing her back from the staring at the animal.

She felt everyone's eyes on her. She then felt like the rabbit that laid in front – he surely was afraid when he saw Cregan and Bennard point the arrow its way and shot him before he could escape. But suddenly, Daenys felt no pity anymore. She looked down at the animal – it was dead already, why should she feel bad now?

Daenys grabbed the rabbit by its head and pulled the body closer to her. The dagger slithered across its small throat with an almost practiced ease. When she realized she only cut it, she pressed the dagger back against its neck and pressed against it on both sides, letting the sharp dagger to hit the table underneath, successfully removing the head from the body. She felt no pity, no sadness by her act like she once would. It was just a dead animal. It was just an animal.

She grabbed the head and threw it by the rest of the in the box before placing the lifeless body next to the rabbit Cregan worked on. There was silence again. Suddenly, no one saw Daenys anymore – she was there but the person that sliced the head off wasn't their Daenys.

There was some blood on her fingertips from when she pushed the head away from the body. She stared at it for a few moments, thinking about how it would taste – would it be sweet like Dornish red? Would it be bitter like the Hippocras that Aegon would sneak in her cup at family dinner?

Daenys snapped out of her thoughts and looked up at Cregan. Suddenly she felt more present than she had before, "I, uhm . . . I'll go wash up."

And then, Daenys disappeared inside the Keep of Winterfell. The walls seemed to come closer with every step she took and the eyes of the servants seemed downing on her. Suddenly, she felt the blood on her finger – she felt the chills against her skin, her mouth becoming dry and the room spinning. She heard nothing else but her rapid breaths. She turned until she reached the staircase, quickly hoisting her dress higher to walk to her chambers. Her fingers came to hold the necklace – a Seven-pointed star; a gift from her uncle Gwayne – around her throat that suddenly felt like it was choking her. She grabbed the edge of it and in one swift movement, she tore it off, taking quicker breaths.

When Daenys reached her chambers, she pushed the doors open and allowing the breeze from the balcony to shut them close behind. She slid down the bed's side, her fingers resting on her collarbones as she tried to calm herself down – for if she felt no pity when she cut through the rabbit's throat, would she feel anything if she did the same to a human?

Daenys didn't know how long she was gone from the world. All she knows is that she slipped inside the bath later that day – the water was hot, almost boiling to the point that would leave burns against anyone's skin. But she was the blood of the dragon nonetheless, therefore she was closer to the Gods than to men, as legends said. As her father said.

He must have felt afraid. He must have been cold. He must have thought of Rhaenyra and Aemma before he died. Maybe he prayed to his Gods. Maybe even for the Seven to bring him mercy. She pushed her head underneath the water as if it could wash away the sins, she committed in her previous life to make her suffer with a mind like this in this one. Lucerys must have been afraid as well. He was on his dragon, all alone, during a storm in the open. He must have been cold too. He probably thought of returning to his mother on Dragonstone. He must have been good that day for Rhaenyra to allow him to do this.

Then Vhagar flashes in front of her eyes with sharp and large teeth and Daenys pushes herself out of the water with a gasp. She was so in thought she forgot how long she spend underneath the water and almost drowned herself. She tried to regain breathing by coughing the water out – it must have been the same for Lucerys if he survived the fall or if her father had a last sip of drink before his death, choking on milk of poppy or Dornish red.

She tried to choke back her sobs by pressing the wet palm of her hand against her lips. Her thumbs dug deep in the skin of her face as if it would keep the sobs from ever entering the world. She must have been cursed; she thinks then – to live a life like this. She wasn't sure if she pitied herself or those around her.

Daenys isn't sure when Cregan walked inside or when he helped her out of the tub and in the safety of the bed. She's not sure of many things in her life. She's only ever been sure that Cregan holds nothing but love for her. She brought him joy in his life, he thinks – when she first talked to him; when she'd tell him about the Seven, about her Faith, what she believed in, when she talked about Meraxes with so much adoration in her eyes after barely being a year after bonding with her. Where Daenys saw her flaws, Cregan only saw perfection.

She remembers how her fingers curled around his wrist that was still stained with drops of rabbit blood and how she hoarsely whispered out a plead – please stay. Funnily enough, Cregan didn't intend on leaving either way. His hand hoovered by her body when he pushed himself upon the unmade bed and underneath the covers of fur given to them as a gift from his mother on the first day or their marriage years ago. His hands slipped underneath the covers and the dress Daenys wore for his fingers to find themselves against her stomach; cold flesh against her burning one. He wasn't sure it she was hot because of the bath or the fever spiking again.

His thumb ran across the scars across her abdomen with practiced ease – they remained from the difficult post miscarriage from Baelor. Maester Kennet said the undeveloped babe never fully came out of the princess and if his remains stay within her womb, it will start to rot and she'd die. He cut her after she drank a few cups of milk of poppy and cried herself silently to sleep before he even took a knife out of the box. Cregan was there earlier in the morning – underneath the Winterfell Keep and within the tombs of his ancestors and his children. He had six wooden toys – makeshift wolves with Meraxes' colours across – five for his children and one for his unborn sibling that took away his mother. He placed them near their tomb and prayed to the Gods to keep them safe and sound, far away from the world of pain and misery the family is about to walk upon.

Daenys' fingers slip across her dress and stop above where he holds her stomach. Her words come out as a whisper, "I have to go to King's Landing."

His brows furrow when he's brought back to reality and his fingers stop their movement for a moment, "to whatever possible end?"

"I must see my mother," she continues and she thinks she's already cursing herself by saying it out loud, "I must talk to her. About – about father and the crown. If anything, I need to have Meraxes here. I cannot let her stay in the pit, allowing her to be used for whichever act my family decides to take upon."

His lips graze the skin of her shoulder and hoover over it, "and what do you think it will happen? They will take you as a prisoner."

"They won't," she whispers back and turns around to look at him, his fingers slipping from underneath her dress, "not yet, at least. They have no usage of me if they do so. They can't force you to fight for them just because they hold me hostage within the Keep. My sister certainly also won't do anything about it, it does not hurt her."

Cregan searches her face for something, anything. His brows furrow a little, "do you hate her? Rhaenyra."

Daenys doesn't reply for a long beat. Her eyes are slightly wide like a deer caught by the hunter in the woods behind the castle. She shakes her head in her pillow, "no. No entirely, at least. She has her flaws, as do I. I do not agree with certain things she has done or said in the past but she is still my blood. I don't blame her for how my father treated the rest of us, that was him. I can't change how he divided us against her or how he treated Aemond the night Lucerys took his eye."

Then, she leaned impossibly closer to Cregan and whispered like it was a sin to even say these words out loud, "but she is the rightful Heir. Father made sure we know of it, that he would never name anyone else. Mother kept the division high all our youth. She'd tell us that Rhaenyra will have our heads on a silver plate if she ever becomes Queen. We learnt to hate her – to be scared of her. 'Tis why Aegon the Throne, I believe. He's an awful man but he did it for the family."

His eyes still move across her face when she speaks like he's been led to a long path of secrets that the Targaryen's hold and she repeats, "Rhaenyra is the true Heir to the Iron Throne. She was named Heir in front of the Great Houses – House Stark too. They all bend their knees to her in her youth."

"House Baratheon doesn't," he whispered back then, "nor does the Lannister's."

"Because they are unhonourable fools," Daenys whispered back and Cregan smiles at it, "oath breakers, to say."

"We are to raise an army," Cregan whispered back to her, "Jacaerys spoke about it the other day. It will take time – the North is big."

She doesn't reply when she senses he wants to say something more, "I will need your help."

Daenys' fingers reach out and hold his cheek, her thumb running across the cold skin, "you always have my help, Cregan. You need not ask for it."

Cregan smiles then and presses a kiss against her mouth. She hums against him, a smile creeping on her lips. He pushes himself off the bed then and moves to the desk by the closed balcony doors – wooden figures took from the council room and endless maps and letters scattered across; recently he took everything from that room to bring it here when Daenys became his most trusted advisor in the war – and lets his fingers wrap around the wooden dragon to let it hoover in the air above, "will you go to Barrowton?"

Daenys looks from the bed where she remains laying on her back, fingers mindlessly moving over her stomach as if to soothe the ache, "when I have Meraxes here, yes. Lady Barbrey, no?"

Her husband hummed and placed the dragon over where House Dustin laid, "yes. The family is loyal to us, as one say. But I still need a confirmation if they are ready to march with us."

She shifts and looks up at the ceiling, "what of the Boltons? They have men."

Cregan leans against the table and looks out of the balcony doors, "they cruel men."

Daenys twists her head to the side to look his way, "'tis why it's better we have them than anyone else. I think Rhaenyra will take all the men she can have."

He takes the wolf figure and places it over where it says House Bolton, "do you think Theon can pursue them?"

"I believe so," she responds before she pulls herself in a sitting position. She stays quiet for a moment before she speaks, "but . . . I believe you would be better to speak with them."

Cregan looks over his shoulder with furrowed brows, "why?"

"You know why," she whispers back a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"No," he shakes his head and looks back at the map, "I will not have my daughter wed a Bolton."

"Not now," she replies and pulls herself off the bed, "not in the near future either. But you must give them something to hold on as a promise. House Dustin needs nothing; you said it yourself – they are already loyal to the Starks. And we know the Boltons will rather turn to Aegon if they offer something. It's how they got the Baratheon's – Aemond is promised to Floris, to wed her when the war is over."

She reaches the side of the table then and speaks more gently, "I do not wish Daella to leave. She's a babe. But as was I when I was betrothed to you. You may not see it as such but women are always a subject to these types of things. She would be wed off one way or another, she cannot stay here forever. I couldn't stay in the Red Keep forever and I desperately wanted to. Rhaenyra could not stay in King's Landing forever. My mother couldn't stay in Oldtown nor could her mother. We live in such ways, Cregan and it is difficult to do it any other way."

"I will think about it," he says but that's his way of telling her off. He cares too much for her to straight up say no to her. His fingers wrap around another wolf figure and place it above House Blackwood, "I was thinking of going there. House Bracken is a lost cause says Robb. He received ravens to tell him they declared for Aegon."

She's not happy about the change of topics but she lets it, "then do it."

If she's bitter, he doesn't recognize it. Not right away at least because he takes another wolf figure and place it above House Manderly, "Robb is to go here. They are already loyal to use since my ancestors gave them land. All he needs is a confirmation from them."

"I can fly to Deepwood Motte too," she speaks and takes another wooden dragon from the edge of the desk to place it above House Glover, "if I'm already in sky with Meraxes, I can fly to many Houses. I can also go to House Umber in one flight."

Cregan is suddenly painfully aware she's still bitter of his reply earlier – he can tell by how she avoids his looks, how she stares at the desk and the maps and just how stiff her shoulders are. He sighs and pulls himself from a leaning position on the desk, "Dany . . ."

"Or I can also head to House Blackwood," she stopped him from speaking and finally looked up at him, sarcasm dripping from her tongue like poison from a snake, "but do not fret – I will not offer Jon to the Lord's daughter. To your luck, she is more our ages than Jon's."

He clenches his jaw and lets out a bitter sigh when she moves pass him to reach the other side of the bedroom, pouring the cup full of holy basil tea for her upsetting stomach that she still holds with her palm. Cregan turns and looks at her back, "I meant no offense with my words. I simply see no need in arranging a marriage for the children yet."

"Yet," she repeated his word and downed the hot tea, letting it burn against the inside of her mouth and throat before placing the cup back on the table, "but when is the right time? After the war? We do not know long it will last nor how many of us may live to see the end of it. We must give something to the Houses in order that we secure they will fight for us."

"But why Daella?" he asks then, the candle by the doors flicking.

"Do you think that I wish to see her off?" Daenys asks and turns around, one hand on the desk still, "it is the last thing I want for my children but it is the order of things. My mother made the mistake of not marrying Helaena to Jacaerys. It might have prevented this senseless war, if we were united. Marriages prevent wars, why would it not have a House fight in your name?"

Cregan stays quiet for a moment before speaking, "they do not do it all the time, do they? If it worked, as you say, I would be raising an army in Aegon's name, not Rhaenyra's."

She shook her head, "no. When you married me, you swore yourself to House Targaryen. Rhaenyra is just as much of a Targaryen than Aegon is, as I am. You are bounded to the House because you are bounded to me. The division was caused by others."

"By Aemond?" he asked then.

A lump formed in her throat and she tried to swallow it, "he too. But the war started brooming before. He just quickened the pace of it."

Cregan looked to the side and the floor – there were some toys by the foot of the bed tossed around, "if we swear that to the Bolton's now, and the war is finished and the wedding does not happen, we will be seen as oath breakers."

But they will not see the end of it, Daenys thinks silently in the back of her head – the dreams pleading her and Helaena since months ago tell other stories. It was engraved in stone by then; a fate none of them can escape no matter how much they scream or crawl.

Her hands rest on her hips and she moves around the chambers to ease the pain, "we have no choice. The Bolton's already tried to rise against the Stark's. If we have no plan for it, they will try to do it again. We are supposed to fight the war in the South not the North. And – and the Wall? And the Wildings spotted, trying to break within? There are graver situations on stake, Cregan. A marriage for alliance is not one of it."

Then there was a knock of the chamber's doors and it sounded more urgent than not. Cregan walked there and opened it only to see the face of Trevas. He nods his head with frantic eyes, "the lady Margaret wants the princess in the birthing chambers."

Daenys' head perks out at his words and she quickly moves to the door, opening it wider, "the birthing chambers? 'Tis two moons too early."

"She is in labour and she wants you," Trevas speaks again.

Daenys squeezes Cregan's arm before she pushes past both men and runs down the busied hallways, her dress in between her fingers and up to allow her feet to have more space. The birthing chambers – too well know and tragic painted for Daenys – were located on the other side of the castle. She pushed through the people awaiting outside in hopes of another babe, until she reached the doors.

There stood Bennard. She tried to reach for the doors, but them man wrapped his hand around her wrist, holding it up until she practically bumped in his body. With anger in his eyes and breath, he whispered out, "do not even think of going in there."

She could feel his fingers to her bones, "she requested for me. I will not leave her alone."

Bennard tried to say something again, the thought of pushing her against the wall and smashing her skull open was greater than ever before but the doors opened for Kennet to step out. She took the opportunity and slithered herself within the chambers. Margaret walked up and down the room – her hands on her lower back, hair down, face streaming with tears and sweat, blood on the white gown.

"Margaret," Daenys breathed out and rushed to her side, hands holding her upwards.

"I cannot lose them – it – it is too early," she almost chocked on tears when Daenys reached her side.

"You will not," she tried to calm her gently, shaking her head as she helped her around the chambers, "the Seven will not allow it."

Just then, Daenys noticed a pair of dark brown, almost black, heads of hair sticking from the second entrance to the chambers, next to the space reserved as a bathroom. Benjen and Brandon followed their mother like little ducklings everywhere she went. Feeling scared after hearing their mother yell, they followed behind. Daenys was suddenly aware of Cregan's voice outside – his yells for his uncle who, surely, had some words spoke about Daenys. For a brief moment, the Targaryen princess leaves Margaret's side and quickly moves to the two scared boys. She kneels down in front of them, fingers holding each one's forearm, "your mother will be alright but you have to go out, alright? Your father will be watching over your mother but Cregan will take you and show you Ice. Would you like that?"

Benjen, the older of the children, looked over the silver hair of Daenys and to where his mother struggled, helped by servants, "I would like mother to be alright."

Daenys squeezed his arm gently, "your mother will be alright. I have prayed for her safety and your siblings. By the mor, you will have a new sibling and your mother will be happy to show them to you. But we must go, alright?"

Brandon was holding a toy – a wooden wolf, surely carved by Cregan – and practically whispered over his mother's screams, "will you stay with her?"

Daenys looks at the boy and her heart aches, "if you want me to."

"I do," he whispered back with tears wide as a deer; red and cheeks puffy from crying.

"Then I will stay," she nods with the same tender whisper as before.

She finally stands up and takes both their hands. Thankfully enough, Margaret didn't see it happen, too focused and overwhelmed by pain and agony. Daenys shielded the two boys from seeing the blood dripping down their mother's leg, scarring the white gown in dark red colours. She pulled open the doors just slightly so she and the boys slipped out. Bennard was pacing up and down with bruises on his wrist. Cregan's cheek was tinted red.

Daenys looked at her husband and stepped pass the boys to hold her hands against his cheeks, Cregan hissing a bit, "what happened?"

"Do not ask," he whispered back, fingers curling gently around her wrists – a stark contrast to how his uncle held them earlier, "go back inside."

She wanted to ask, to know what happened but he stopped her again, "please."

A beat of silence passes before she whispers, "we will talk about it later."

Cregan pressed a gentle kiss against the skin of her palm before she tugs the boys closer to Cregan, "will you show them Ice?"

He nods quickly and offers the boys his hands, "come on."

Benjen and Brandon nod their heads though they hesitate when their mother screams out again. Cregan gently tugs them along and down the hallway, quickly passing their father without sparring a glance his way.

Daenys stays near the doors when they leave before Bennard looks at her. He takes few quick steps closer, his hand reaching for her throat but she stops him, her fingers curled around his palm, "if you dare touch me or do anything to Cregan again, I will burn you with my dragon. Your sons will never see you again and Margaret will be free. Do not tempt me."

Beforehe could argue again, Daenys slipped from his side and within the birthingchambers to help Margaret.