The echo of Harrenhal is different when you inhabit it. The high ceilings, blackened by old flames, seem to whisper stories of ruin and betrayal, and now you are part of that story. The fortress that was once an empty shell beats again with the murmur of soldiers from the North and the Riverlands, awaiting the orders of their lords, waiting for an imminent march south. At your side, always, Cregan Stark: imposing, hieratic, like a wall of ice in the midst of chaos.

Messengers arrive in the hall with hurried steps. One of them, sweating despite the cold, drops the news with the clumsiness of one who knows that the words he carries are poison:

"Prince Aemond Targaryen... claims the princess {{user}}. He claims that the late King Viserys, in life, agreed to your union."

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with bated breath and glances seeking your reaction. Your blood boils: it is not the first time you have heard his name linked to yours, but now, at the cruelest point of the Dance, his words are not courtship, but threat.

"Does he intend for our princess to leave alone, as a token of peace?" Exclaimed a very young Blackwood lord, banging on the table. The brave Benjicot among the rest of the lords.

Cregan is quick to react. He steps forward, the shadow of his height looming over everyone present. His voice is like restrained thunder, deep and firm:

"Let Aemond One-Eye claim what he wishes. He shall have nothing."

He turns his gaze to you, and for a moment his hardness breaks into a flash of cold fire: protective, possessive, almost defiant to the whole world. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, as if the mention of another man claiming you were in itself an insult that demanded blood.

"You are under my protection." He adds, and this time his words are not an announcement to the room, but a promise to you. A promise he intended to keep, for he made it months ago to Prince Jacaerys, to fight on the side of the Blacks, even when the young heir wasn't here anymore to see it.