Chapter One          𓃦          Indigo Nights.

By the age of one and three, Daenys Targaryen never stepped a foot outside King's Landing. Outside the Red Keep, really. Hiding under her mother's gown, the princess never had a chance to see more than prayers in the Sept in the mor, the little black cat (that she innocently named Balerion after her father's dragon) that made its residence on one of her open window's edges, the early spring in the Godswood and the watchful eyes of Maester Orwylle whenever she grew sick once more. But she knew more than her siblings did at that age – she was already an expert in the history of House Targaryen, despite being held inside the Keep, she bonded with the dragon Meraxes, she was practically fluent in High Valyrian. And, above all, Daenys Targaryen knew it was only a matter of time that her father – the King Viserys – would find a match for her and married her off just like he did with her older half-sister Rhaenyra and her older siblings Aegon and Helaena.

By the traditions of Old Valyria, it was highly speculated the King would eventually wed his third daughter to her twin brother Aemond, to keep their bloodline closer than ever, but when Daenys turned ten and she stumbled across the halls of the Keep in search of her mother's kiss for good night, she heard her mother beg her husband not to allow the same fate crash down on her youngest daughter as he did for her eldest one. It was a strange thing for the Targaryen siblings – how they never had a chance to explore a sibling bond when they grew up knowing they will eventually marry one of them.

Sometimes, Daenys hoped she'd marry Aemond. Not because she would want so but because it was the only way she would be allowed to stay in the Red Keep with her family. She'd, even at the young age of one and three, sacrifice her happiness in order to remain in the familiar place. Instead of that, she sat inside the large, wooden carriage that moved through the bumpy roads of the North, her hand clasped around a wooden dragon, her small head pressed against her mother's forearm. Aemond was seated next to her, head pressed against the window, watching the outside. On the other side, Aegon mimicked his younger brother while Helaena by his side held Jaehaerys in her arms, the babe babbling something unknown to everyone. Near her, a lady in waiting held the babe's twin Jaehaera. The Queen's youngest – Daeron – sat on the floor between his eldest siblings, too focused on the wooden toys between his own legs.

"Do you think he's nice?" Daenys mumbled against her mother's forearm, fingers clasping around the green edges of her mother's gown that wrapped around her wrist.

Alicent looked away from the sight of her children to press the side of her cheek down on the top of her youngest daughter's head, "they say he is."

"But what if he is not?" the girl asked, pushing her cheek further in her mother's gown, "what if he is mean like Aegon?"

Aemond snorted by her side while Aegon glanced across the carriage, sarcasm dripping from his lips like Dornish red usually does, "thank you, sister dearest, I appreciate your words."

Alicent clicked her tongue, looking at Aegon, "show some compassion, Aegon."

"She started it!" the eldest sibling bickered back.

His mother tilted her head, warning him, "Aegon."

Her eldest son slumped back in his seat to cross his arms over his chest and looking out on the bumpy road, Winterfell seen in the distance. Alicent leaned her cheek back down on her daughter's head, her fingers finding hers, squeezing them gently, "I hope he is nice; you know. They say he is an honourable boy. And he is only a year older which is a blessing in marriage."

"Do you think so?" Daenys mumbled against her mother's gown.

"I know so," Alicent mumbled back, pressing a kiss on the top of her daughter's head before the carriage slowly came to a stop, the arrival of the Targaryen family echoing through the yard of Winterfell's Keep.

First introduction of the Stark's family for Daenys was the wild brown hair of Lady Gilliane Glover and her dark gown, the fur thrown over her shoulders, concealing the baby bump from the harsh cold of the North. How her kind eyes and warm smiled apologised to the Queen for her husband – the Warden of the North Rickon Stark – was caught in the hunt longer than he expected and was not able to greet them properly. How she'd rush them inside the Keep and offered fur and warmer clothing for the family, fully aware the blood of the dragon doesn't like the cold.

Lady Gilliane asked for Cregan to be brought from the yard where, as she spoke proudly, he was taught to fight with his sword by one of their finest men. Daenys' fingers nervously twisted the stuffy dark green gown her mother placed her in as she stood near the fireplace in the open space, keeping herself warm. Cregan Stark – age one and four – practically ran inside the Keep and by his mother's side. He smiled widely, showing a small tooth gap between his front teeth, "hi! My name is Cregan."

Alicent gently pressed her hand on the back of Daenys' head, her thumb soothing her nerves, "I'm Daenys."

Cregan was never shy. A complete and total difference from Daenys. But she never mind it. Sure, it was terrifying at first – how much a little boy could say in a matter of a single breath but she was glad someone was filling the gaps of silence between the two children whenever he'd (or his mother) invited Daenys to walk with him in the Godswood. It was far different from the one she was used to back home – clasped behind large iron gates, it was covered in snow, even covering the chestnut and elm that grew within.

"It is a weirwood," spoke Cregan that mor, his hands clasped together under his cloak to prevent his fingers from freezing. He hoped Daenys would shield them as well, "it is important for us because we believe in the Old Gods and this is pretty much like the Sept is important for you. You do believe in the Seven, no? At least it is what my mother told me."

Daenys nodded her head, struggling through the snow she saw for the first time in her life, "I do, yes."

"What is it like?" asked Cregan, wishing to know everything about the girl he promised to marry, his eyes lingering on the red turning fingers she kept in the harsh cold, "the Faith of the Seven, I mean."

Daenys almost slipped on a piece of ice, making Cregan wrap his hand around her left arm to keep her on her feet. She quietly thanked him and tried to move on but Cregan tugged the cloak around her arms, gently pushing her hands underneath it, "I do not exactly want you to freeze. You seem nice."

She looked at him – bright lilac eyes staring at the boy as if he told her the secret of the world. She was called many things in her short-lived youth, nice was never one of them. Daenys nodded quickly, looking away, nails digging in the sides of her fingers that were now secured under her cloak, "the Seven are based on the Seven faces – the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Smith, the Maiden, the Crone and the Stranger. We pray to all of them except for the Stranger. They are the face of death and said they wandered away from the rest of the Seven and that they are less and more than human."

"How can something be less and more than human?" Cregan asked. He wasn't sure if he was actually interested in the Faith or he just wanted to hear her speak more.

"Well, they are more like human because they are outcasts. That they do not belong with the rest of the Faith where they are celebrated and prayed upon. Like we pray to the Mother asking for mercy and for her to keep our loved ones safe. Or how we pray to the Maiden to keep our women safe. My mother especially. She prays to the Maiden for her daughters a lot," Daenys rambled, still struggling to get through the snow, "but the Stranger is less than human because they are the face of death. That, if they come to collect you, all you can is mayhaps say your farewells and leave this world behind."

Cregan offered his hand for her to take and to help her through the snow. Daenys excepted it with shaky fingers, around which Cregan wrapped his own, helping her further in the Godswood, "but why does no one pray for them? If they are more human because they are the outcast of their family?"

"Some do," Daenys nodded slowly, "the ones that feel like an outcast in this world. They sometimes light a candle, even in the Sept back home. Though there are little. Mostly for the other faces."

"Do Targaryens not believe in the Old Valyrian Gods?" asked Cregan once more soon after they reached the weirwood though he left his fingers wrapped around hers.

"Some do," Daenys replied, tilting her head to look at him, "but my mother is a Hightower and she was always close with the Faith because her mother was. So, I was raised in that. I do know about the Old Valyrian Gods, I just . . . never really believed in them, I think."

"Oh," he breathed out and Daenys quickly pulled her hand out of his, fearing she might have overstepped which made Cregan puff out a small chuckle, "it is alright."

She looked at the tree, eyes following the outlines of a melancholy face carved in it. Cregan wasn't fully sure how to say it, ending with blurring it out, "we shall be wed here. By the tree, I mean."

He cracked his fingers – a sign of nervousness as Daenys nodded, unable to look away from the tree, "my father says it is a tradition dated back to the Age of Heroes."

Another nod from Daenys, her fingers twisting the ring on her thumb – too big to place on her other fingers. Cregan looked away from the side of her face that wasn't covered by the silver hair that waved in the cold winter breeze and back at the tree. His brows furrowed, "how do the Targaryens marry?"

"Depends," she replied, quieter than she expected. She cleared her throat, "if they are a follower of the Faith, in a Sept by a Septon. If they believe in the Old Gods, it is usually a Valyrian wedding with, wed by blood and fire."

"Blood and fire?" he asked, voice lingering with confusion, looking down on his right and at her, "do you get burn?"

Daenys' lips curl in a smile, unaware he was truly asking that. Her smile faded quickly once she realized he was serious, scared she might offend him, "no – no. I have never seen one before but I have read about it in the books. You cut each other's lips with dragonglass. And you rub that blood on each other's foreheads. And some also cut their palms so their blood mixes together."

He watched her explain it with eyes as big as the universe itself, making Daenys shrink under his gaze. She looked away, shaking her head lightly, "it is quite gruesome for a wedding. But it is the Old Valyrian way."

Cregan nodded, looking away and down at his feet crunched in the high snow, "well, you will not need to cut me here. All you have to practically do is to kneel in front of the tree and swear an oath."

Just as Daenys wanted to ask something, the voice of Ser Criston Cole echoed through the Godswood, "princess! Your mother is requesting you back!"

She turned her head to nod towards the Kingsguard, "thank you, Ser Cole."

Cregan's head followed suit, her brows furrowing, "who is that?"

"Ser Criston Cole," Daenys replied, fully turning away from the tree, "a Kingsguard of my father. But, a long time ago, he became my mother's guard. He trains with my brother."

"Ah," Cregan clicked his tongue before offering his hand back to her, "let me help you back."

The wedding of Cregan Stark – Heir to House Stark and a boy to become the Warden of the North – and Daenys Targaryen – a princess of the Iron Throne – happened in the early spring, just a moon after the girl turned one and four. A few moons before that, she ran to her mother, scared with eyes as wide as the moon itself, almost sobbing that she is bleeding and is fearful the sickness has returned. The Queen calmed her, saying it was only her flowering, that she transitioned from girlhood to womanhood. Daenys didn't know (no one really knew) but the Queen Alicent kept it a secret for good two moons in front of the King in hopes her beloved daughter would remain in King's Landing for just a few more moons. But Daenys' secret was overheard when she was telling it to her sister Helaena by a servant girl and whispers easily pass through the halls of the Red Keep, soon reaching the ears of the Hand of the King Otto Hightower and then the King himself. Two moons later, Daenys returned to Winterfell.

The Maesters wrote that the princess wept through the ceremony. It wasn't sure if she cried because she was being married off to a stranger or if it had something to deal with Cregan himself or if it was simply because she was a scared girl who would prefer to stay under her mother's wing in her home. Either way, Daenys Targaryen married Cregan Stark in the Godswood of the Winterfell's Keep. Queen Alicent wept through the majority of the ceremony.

During the feast, the princess seemed out of the world – her pupils dilated, lips wobbly, tears prickling her eyes as she stared in the unknown. Cregan remained focus on her as if scared that once he looks away, she'll disappear from his sight. The nervousness only built within him when her fingers flinched, grasping the edge of her gown as if she was in some sort of pain. Cregan reached out for her but his fingers stopped an inch from her hand, unsure if she wanted to be touched or not. His fingers remained nears hers when he whispered through the music and chatter, "are you alright?"

As if she was still unaware of her surroundings, she muttered, "a time of sorrow will follow."

His brows furrowed, unaware if he heard her mutters correctly or not. His fingers finally reached hers, instantly bringing her from the unknown. She turned her head to him, eyes wide as the deer. Cregan swallowed harshly at the sight of the lilac eyes boring in his, quickly removing his hand from hers, "I – uhm – are you alright?"

Unsure what to say or what he meant, Daenys nodded, glancing away in favour of twisting a ring on her finger, "yes, fine."

When the Lord of Winterfell approached his son, telling him that it will be time to retire to the chambers, Cregan swore he felt a knife dig through his chest. He looked down but saw no blood. He swallowed, nodding his head.

Daenys was still painfully unaware of the bedding ceremony. Shielded from the cruelty of the world, her mother never spoke to her about it. Nor did Helaena. Daenys knew that whatever happens after the wedding resulted in screams echoing the hallways, haunting everyone's mind. At least it was what happened when her sister married their brother.

But she was not aware of the hands of the men, gripping the gown with dragons sewed on it, whispering words she didn't understand when they peeled the dress off. Though Cregan begged his father to not allow the right to the first night to happen, he had little chances of convincing him of abolishing the bedding ceremony. Hence why the two stood in the chambers, their clothing being torn off by the people. Cregan wanted to comfort Daenys in any way possible, but he could only watch her stand on the opposite side of the room, tears falling down her cheek when the men whispered words, giggling like boys that just turned four.

Once they were positioned in bed and the Maester started speaking words none of them heard, Cregan tucked the fur fully over the sitting Daenys. Though her eyes remained trained on the edge of the bed, she was still grateful for him doing it. The only sane person in the situation remained to be his mother who – once the Maester was done – ushered everyone to get out of the chambers. Though their words still echoed in the hallway, Cregan knew it was only a matter of time that his mother would get the away from there as well.

Once the silence prevailed, Cregan pulled himself out of the bed, searching for the gowns placed somewhere in the closet. Daenys' belongings weren't placed in the chambers yet so he grabbed his nightwear and placing it near her body. Almost as if he was nervous, he spoke, "you can wear that. They have not yet brought your things here."

Daenys finally looked up at him with those big lilac eyes and Gods, Cregan swore he was dead. Six feet under. Buried under the Keep. He knew those eyes would haunt his dreams forever. Her lower lips continued to womble as she reached for his shirt and pants, nervously glancing back at Cregan. He took the idea, nodding quickly and turning around, eyes looking down at the small table by the fireplace, "sorry."

Daenys didn't reply, only pulling herself from under the fur and standing by the edge of the bed, pulling the shirt over her head and pants on her legs. It could fit two of her but it didn't matter. Her palms wiped away the tears that tortured her cheeks before sitting back on the bed. The cracking of it made Cregan realize she was dressed already. Turning around, he saw her sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on the bed in front, her lower lip caught between her teeth to prevent the wobbling. Cregan turned to open the nightstand's drawer, pulling a pocket knife from it. He pulled the covers of the bed which made Daenys's brows to furrow, watching him with a confused look.

He placed the knife to his open palm, dragging a line across it, making Daenys gasp, "what are you doing?"

He looked up, eyes open with a small shake of his head, "apologies, I did not mean to frighten you. They will wish to see the sheets in the mor, I know they will."

"I do not understand," she spoke, brows still furrowed when Cregan allowed his blood to drip of the bedsheets, near where she would lay.

"You do not?"

Daenys shook her head. Cregan only breathed out, "oh."

Once there was enough blood on the sheets, Cregan pulled his hand away in favour of placing a tissue over the fresh wound. Unable to look in her eyes, he remained staring at him tissue covered palm, "well – uhm – usually – uhm – women bleed on the first night. And – uhm – they look at the sheets in the mor to see if the marriage was – uhm – consummated."

Her cheeks almost burned, unable to look in his eyes anymore, "oh."

To change the conversation, Cregan cleared his throat, "I can – uhm – I can be on the couch tonight. If you wish it."

Even when she wished to remain alone in the chambers to be able to weep through the night, she shook her head, "it is alright."

He looked up from his hand, "are you sure?"

She nodded.

Even when Daenys thought she would not cry and weep when Cregan was in the chambers, she couldn't hold back the tears once her head hit the comfortable pillows. He listened to her for a few moments, fingers aching to touch her skin. She didn't know what got into her, maybe her emotions got the best of her, but she turned in the bed, pulling herself closer to Cregan's body, her forehead pushed deep in his chest, sobbing. Just like an instinct, Cregan wrapped his arms around her weeping body, holding her through the night.