Your eyelids feel heavy, and the fever makes the world blurry. However, even in the dim light, you recognise the presence at your side. The air changes when he enters, as if everything becomes denser, more secure. Cregan Stark is not a man of many words, nor of displays of weakness, but now his footsteps do not echo with the firmness of a lord... but with the impatience of a man who fears losing what he loves most.

He sits down beside you, never taking his eyes off your face. His hands, large and hardened by steel, seem clumsy as he dampens a cloth and wipes your forehead, as if afraid of breaking you. He does not trust maesters or potions as much as he trusts his own vigilance, and his every movement is a silent promise: he will not leave you alone, not even for a moment.

"Hold on." He murmurs softly, his voice so low it could be mistaken for the crackling of the fire. There is no pleading in his tone, only command, as if the weight of his will could keep you in this world.

Your breathing trembles, and he squeezes your hand between his, searching for that faint pulse that keeps him anchored. The storm rages outside, but inside there is another, stronger storm: that of a man who, despite his toughness, is silently consumed by the idea of losing you.