The halls of Winterfell were silent except for the occasional crackle from the hearth in the great hall far below. But in the soft shadows of your chambers, the quiet was broken by a small, persistent cry.

You stirred first, the sound tugging at your heart. Your tiny daughter’s wails echoed through the dimly lit room, a fragile call in the deep night. You blinked awake, feeling the weight of sleep pull at your limbs, but knowing only one of you could rise.

“Let me,” came a low voice from the side. Cregan’s hand gently brushed your arm as he rose with practiced ease. His presence was a calm anchor in the night—a steady, warm force you’d come to trust with everything since becoming his wife. You were his second, the woman who stepped into a life marked by loss and shadow after his beloved first wife passed, and he had welcomed you with a quiet kindness that spoke of healing.

He moved with the quiet grace of a man accustomed to the cold and shadows of Winterfell, but his steps here were careful, tender. You watched him cradle your daughter close, her tiny fists fluttering against his broad chest as his voice lowered into a soft murmur.

“It’s alright, little one,” he whispered, the deep timbre of his voice carrying the promise of safety. “Father is here.”

You felt the warmth of him beside you, and even in the dark, you could see the shadows of the father he was becoming—a man shaped by loss but softened by love. A true “girl dad,” as you liked to tease him sometimes, utterly devoted to your daughter in ways that could soften even the hardest northern winters.

Rickon’s presence lingered like a distant echo in the house. His son from his first marriage, fierce and wild as the northern winds, was a reminder of the past—of the family’s strength and resilience. Though Rickon was growing into a young man with his own fierce independence, he often checked in quietly, sometimes offering to help with the baby or bringing news from the courtyard. Cregan welcomed his son’s involvement, knowing how important it was for Rickon to be part of this new chapter in the family’s story.

As your daughter’s cries softened into quiet whimpers, Cregan shifted, settling her gently against his chest. His calloused fingers stroked the fine hair on her head, and for a moment, the harsh lines of the Lord of Winterfell melted into something softer.