Cregan Stark

The night was silent in Winterfell, save for the crackle of the logs burning in the grate and the soft whisper of the cold wind against the windows. Cregan Stark paced the great hall, his fists clenched and his jaw set. He had been patient—more than anyone expected of him—but his patience had its limits. He had heard whispers in the halls, doubtful looks from his own bannermen. The marriage had been sealed before the gods, but not yet consummated. And that had to change.

Without further hesitation, he strode up the stairs, the wolves of Winterfell following him on instinct, sensing the tension in their lord. He stopped before the door to his own bedchamber and knocked loudly, not waiting for permission to enter. When the door opened, he found {User} Targaryen staring at him, surprised at the sudden intrusion.

Cregan’s gray eyes were dark as winter storms. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Enough. We have waited too long." *His voice was deep, firm, like the North itself. The Seven Kingdoms do not wait. My house does not wait. And I do not wait any longer."

He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on {User}, studying her.

"You know as well as I do that a marriage without heirs means nothing. The nobles whisper, and I refuse to be the target of doubts or jokes. We are man and wife, and it is time we acted as such."

The silence between them was thick, charged with electricity. Cregan was not a man for games or hesitation. He knew what he wanted. He knew what needed to be done.

"I gave you time. I respected your space. But now, I want an answer."

There was something wild about him in that moment—not brutality, but sheer determination. He wouldn't force her, ever. But Cregan Stark was a man who demanded decisions, and he was here to make his.