129 AC
College of Winterhold
King's Landing felt a growing sense of unease, reflected in the deteriorating health of King Viserys I. The King, long prone to various ailments, was now suffering from an unknown disease that steadily eroded his strength and vitality. His once robust frame became increasingly frail, his skin mottled, and his mind, though still sharp, was often clouded by pain and weakness. The Maesters of the Citadel, for all their vast knowledge, were baffled, attributing his decline to a slow, wasting sickness, unable to properly diagnose or effectively treat it.
It was Rhaenyra Targaryen, however, who during the initial phase of the King's mysterious illness, made a startling and accurate diagnosis. From her years spent immersed in the comprehensive texts of Winterhold College, where the Northern scholars had meticulously documented various diseases and their treatments, she recognized the symptoms as those of leprosy. The knowledge, once a mere academic pursuit, now proved invaluable.
Alarmed by the revelation and the Maesters' inability to help, Rhaenyra immediately dispatched a desperate request to the North. Her plea was sent to King Antares Stark, who had recently taken up the mantle of King of Asgard after the passing of his father, King Artor Stark. Rhaenyra, remembering the groundbreaking medical advancements of Winterhold, specifically requested a Northern healer, one capable of tackling such a grave and complex disease.
The call was answered. A skilled Northern healer, accompanied by a small retinue of apprentices trained in the advanced medical practices of Asgard, made the long journey to King's Landing. Upon their arrival, they quickly confirmed Rhaenyra's diagnosis. The healer set about treating the King with precision and knowledge far beyond the conventional Maesters. Special poultices, carefully compounded elixirs, and specific regimens were administered. While a complete cure was impossible, the Northern medicine proved remarkably effective. It stabilized King Viserys's condition, alleviated his pain, and, crucially, gave him medicine which would prevent it from making long-term damage, essentially halting the insidious progression of the disease and buying the King precious time. The King's life was extended, though his health remained fragile.
Meanwhile, far to the North, in the innovative heart of Asgard, Cregan Stark and Visenya Targaryen were in their last year of studies at Winterhold College. They were no longer the green youths who had first arrived. Cregan, under the guise of rigorous personal training, had pushed his body to its limits, honing his physical prowess to match the awakened instincts of Sasaki Kojiro. Visenya, too, had matured into a highly intelligent and capable young woman, her mind sharp, her understanding of statecraft and strategy refined by the Northern curriculum but her true talent was in herbology and health treatments. They stood on the precipice of adulthood, prepared to return to their respective realms, unaware of how soon their skills might be tested in the escalating tensions of the South.
Cregan Stark POV
"Shit," I thought, A stark contrast to the quiet dignity expected of a Stark prince. "So life threw me a curveball, huh?"
I'd assumed my future would be a quiet one, honing my sword skills in Asgard, far removed from the messy political machinations of the South. But here we were, just like in the damned stories, with a dying king and a brewing storm. The Great Wolf had changed the canvas, but the core players were still there, and the stakes just as high. And now, the Crown Princess's daughter was back in Winterhold with me.
When I first saw Visenya arrive, that afternoon years ago, I didn't have any particular feelings for her. She was just another Targaryen princess, silver-haired and violet-eyed, a piece on the board. But as she came back to Winterhold every year, her beauty just increased. It was an undeniable, almost magnetic pull. I wanted to stay as far away from her as possible, to keep our two lives separate, to avoid any entanglement that would drag me into the Dance. But I couldn't.
Whenever we were in class, my head automatically turned in her direction. It wasn't just her looks; it was the way she absorbed the lessons, her sharp questions, the quiet determination in her eyes. She was Rhaenyra's daughter, yes, but she was also a product of Asgard, a blend of Northern pragmatism and Targaryen fire. And that, I realized with a groan, was the real curveball.
I also know she has feelings for me. I see the way she looks at me whenever she thinks I'm not looking at her – a quick, lingering glance, a softness in her violet eyes. It's in the way she always approaches me for every small thing, seeking out my opinion, my help, my mere presence. And then there's the way she asks, in that soft, almost hesitant, cute way of hers. Gods, how can you say no to that? It's a trap, I know it, but one I seem to be walking into, day by day, year by year. The more I try to distance myself, the closer she seems to get. And the harder it is to push her away.
The weight of the decision pressed on me, a heavy cloak woven from foresight and yearning. Two weeks. Two weeks until Winterhold released us, until the path diverged once more. I replayed the scenarios in my mind, the countless dangers, the political minefield I knew was coming. It was the sensible choice to step back, to remain aloof, to safeguard Asgard and my own quiet existence.
But then, the phantom chill of that past life, the dull, aching emptiness of a life unlived, washed over me. The 9-to-6, the endless, passionless days. The thought of deliberately choosing that kind of emotional barrenness again, even cloaked in the noble guise of prudence, made my stomach churn.
I looked at my hand, flexing the fingers that held the ghost of Kojiro's mastery. I had been given a gift, a chance for something extraordinary. And here was something extraordinary, right in front of me, in the form of a silver-haired princess with violet eyes and a disarmingly cute way of asking for things.
A slow, defiant grin spread across my face. Caution be damned. Calculations be damned. The future was coming whether I liked it or not, and I wouldn't spend this life hiding from it, or from a chance at something real.
"You know what?" I murmured to the empty room, a laugh bubbling up from deep within me. "Fuck it."
The decision, once so heavy, now felt liberating. I would go to her. I would confess my feelings. Whatever may happen in the future, whatever chaos the Dance of the Dragons might bring, it would happen. But I wouldn't face it with regrets about what I hadn't dared to do. I had a second chance at life, and by the gods, I was going to live it.
I squared my shoulders, a newfound resolve burning in my chest. "Fuck it." The words still echoed in my mind, a silent vow. The time for hesitation was over.
I started my search for Visenya. My instincts, or perhaps Kojiro's sharpened senses, led me to one of the College's quieter courtyards, bathed in the soft afternoon light. There she was, seated on a stone bench beneath a budding weirwood sapling, engaged in quiet conversation with her companions, Vaella Celtigar and Lysa Hayford.
I approached them, my footsteps light. "Princess Visenya," I began, my voice steady, "might I have a word with you? Just the two of us?"
Visenya's violet eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise, then something else – anticipation – dancing within them. She glanced at her companions, who exchanged subtle, knowing looks. "Of course, Cregan," she replied, her voice soft.
I offered her my hand, and she took it, her fingers surprisingly cool against mine. I led her away from the bench, not too far, but enough that our voices would be lost to the gentle breeze and the sounds of the College. Her companions watched us, their expressions a mix of curiosity and discreet amusement. They could see us clearly, but the distance and the faint rustle of the budding leaves ensured their ears would catch nothing. When we were alone, the soft murmur of the College fading behind us, I turned to face her, the beating of my heart suddenly loud in my ears.
I turned to face her, the beating of my heart suddenly loud in my ears. The words, so clear in my head moments ago, now felt thick and clumsy on my tongue. I swallowed, trying to find my voice.
"Visenya," I started, and then my throat seemed to seize. I cleared it, trying again. "Visenya, I... I know this is sudden, and... and perhaps foolish, but I... I have to say it." My gaze flickered to her face, then down to my fidgeting hands, then back to her eyes, which were wide with an unreadable mix of curiosity and something I hoped was akin to warmth.
"For... for a long time now," I stammered, feeling heat rise to my cheeks, "since you started coming back to Winterhold each year... I, ah... I've found myself watching you. In class, in the halls. And... and I've come to... to feel things for you." My voice trailed off, hoping she understood the unspoken weight of 'feelings.' "I... I think I've fallen for you, Visenya."
Her reaction was immediate. A delicate flush bloomed across her cheeks, a vivid contrast to her pale skin. Her violet eyes, usually so composed, darted nervously before settling on mine. She took a breath, her lips parting, but no sound came out. She bit her lip, then tried again, her own voice barely above a whisper.
"Cregan," she began, her own words catching. "I... I... I also..." She trailed off, blushing even deeper. Then, with a sudden surge of courage, she met my gaze directly. "I also... have feelings for you, Cregan. I thought... I thought perhaps I was imagining it."
A profound wave of relief washed over me, so strong I felt my shoulders sag slightly. I hadn't realized how tense I was until that moment. I let out a long, slow breath. "Thank the gods," I murmured, a genuine, unburdened smile spreading across my face.
"Listen, Visenya," I said, stepping a little closer. "This... this is big. And the world out there, it's... complicated. So, for now, let's keep this a secret between ourselves. When the time is right, when we're older, and the realm is... less volatile, I will ask my parents and your parents for permission to marry you." It was a bold promise, a stark departure from my earlier plans of avoiding the Dance, but one I now felt compelled to make.
She nodded, her eyes shining, a soft smile mirroring mine. We stood there for a while longer, talking quietly about our feelings, the shared glances, the unspoken moments, the blossoming affection that had grown between us in the quiet halls of Winterhold. It was a sweet, dizzying conversation, filled with a sense of boundless possibility.
Finally, a more practical thought occurred to me. "This is our last year at Winterhold," I said, a touch of sadness mingling with the joy. "What are your plans after this, Visenya?"
She thought for a moment, then brightened. "I'll be speaking with my mother for permission to stay four more years. I want to specialize in herbology and advanced health treatment here. There's so much more to learn beyond what the Maesters in the South know."
I nodded, impressed by her ambition and her dedication . "That's an excellent idea. The medical advancements here are truly unparalleled." I paused, a new path opening in my own mind. "And I think... I'll also take a specialization. Perhaps in advanced engineering. There's a lot to learn in the workshops, to understand the intricacies of our steam engines and new inventions. It will only strengthen Asgard."
We talked for a while longer, envisioning our continued studies, the years stretching out before us in the familiar comfort of Winterhold. Eventually, as the afternoon sun began to dip lower, we knew we had to return to our separate lives, our secret held tight between us. We shared a lingering look, a silent promise, and then, with a new lightness in my step, we went our separate ways, the future suddenly feeling far less uncertain, and far more exciting.