The Raven of Winterfell
“My Lord,” Harlan Blackwood, twin brother to Alysanne, greeted Lord Cregan Stark as he unveiled the wedding gift he had brought. For his twin, Lord Cregan’s new wife, Harlan had gifted a weirwood bow, and accompanying arrows, fletched with feathers of Huginn and Muninn, the raven’s Harlan warged into most often. For Lord Cregan he gifted the man with a horse he had bred himself, sired by a northern stallion purchased from House Dustin and a sandsteed mare he’d purchased from House Dayne of Starfall a few years ago. It was a hardy beast, with more speed than a regular northern horse but sturdier than a full blooded sandsteed would be and more suited to a northern winter. He had even brought a gift for little Rickon, the heir to Winterfell, Lord Cregan’s eldest son by his beloved first wife who had died giving birth. He had made the little wolf, a black cloak lined with the fur from the white foxes he had hunted around Winterfell. Silver embroidery, that he had done by hand, despite embroidery not being a Lordly talent, in the form wolf paw prints and raven feathers in a brocade style decorated the lapel and collar. Harlan had sworn himself to his sister as her sworn shield back in King’s Landing when they’d met the Stark Lord and his half sister and they’d developed their little plan.
Cregan smiled a small, ‘stark’ smile at Harlan and directed one of the manservants to place the gifts with the others, though little Rickon escaped his nursemaid long enough to put the cloak upon himself. Harlan watched the gift giving continue for a while longer, little Rickon singing a small ditty called Black Aly to his father’s new wife, his stepmother, while the Northern Lords offered their own gifts.
The Dance had struck the North and the Riverlands hard and his sister’s marriage would help create an alliance between the two regions of Westeros, even if she was not to birth the heir of Winterfell, her children would be the heir’s siblings. He heard cries for the bedding and hurried off to the rooms that would serve as his sister’s personal rooms for the duration of her marriage. Sara Snow was waiting there and gladly let him in before locking the door. The rooms for Lady Stark were connected to Lord Stark’s via the master bedroom and Harlan waited with Sara as they heard the rumbling of the Northern Lords and Ladies as they japed whilst stripping the newlyweds and carrying them to their marriage bed.
The knock they were waiting for came and Sara opened the door to a naked Alysanne and Cregan. Harlan pressed a soft kiss to his sister’s cheek as she laughingly pushed Harlan into Cregan’s waiting arms before throwing herself into Sara's, the connecting door being firmly closed between them. Harlan gasped as Cregan pressed his lips to his neck leaving firm but gentle kisses upon it, the scratching brush of Cregan’s whiskers making his skin sing.
“To bed my Raven,” Cregan murmured. Surely the Northern Lords had pressed themselves to the doors to Cregan’s bedroom but the locked heavy wood door was further soundproofed by the furred rug that was pressed up to the tiny sliver of space. Whatever sounds escaped the rooms would be expected anyways. Cregan pushed Harlan backwards towards the bed pulling at the ties on his leather vest. Harlan kicked his boots off before helping the Stark Lord with his vest. His tunic and leggings followed leaving Harlan in only his small clothes.
Heat grew ever stronger between them as Cregan lowered Harlan down to the mattress, lips locked together. For such a gruff and stern looking man Cregan was rather gentle as he let his hands wander over Harlan’s skin. Callused palms pressed down on Harlan’s hips as he arched into the Stark man. Harlan pulled his lips away from Cregan’s with a gasp for sweet air. A gasp that turned to a moan when Cregan latched onto Harlan’s neck with a sucking kiss. Harlan pushed at his small clothes trying to get them off his body with one hand, the other clutching at Cregan’s dark hair. A hiss escaped Harlan’s lips, and his hand tightened its grip in Cregan’s hair when Cregan bit and worried a bit of skin on the lower portion of Harlan’s neck. When Cregan pulled away slightly to kiss down Harlan’s collar bone, Harlan could feel the ghost of a satisfied smile on the other man’s lips.
“Incorrigible,” Harlan whispered as he kicked his small clothes free of his legs and then wrapped his legs around Cregan’s waist.
“Insatible actually,” Cregan whispered back as he lifted his head from Harlan’s skin using his arms to hold himself over the green eyed Blackwood. “And ravenous,” a kiss was placed on Harlan’s pectoral. “Voracious,” a kiss to the belly. Harlan whimpered as Cregan’s callus rough hands followed his lips, scratching gently against Harlan’s nipples before reaching up to grasp a vial left on the little bedside table bringing Harlan’s leg up over his shoulder as he did so. “Greedy,” a kiss to the left hip. “Feverant,” a nip to Harlan’s thigh and a squeaking giggle from Harlan, that turned into a gasping cut off squeal as fingers, lubed with lemon oil from the vial, brushed firmly at Harlan’s rosebud seeking entrance. Cregan surged up to kiss Harlan almost punishingly, swallowing Harlan’s surprised cry as he pushed two fingers into him. “Wolfish,” Cregan said with a laugh before devouring Harlan’s mouth again as his fingers thrust in and out.
Alysanne and Cregan gave Harlan four nieces to spoil before they stopped trying for a boy child to appease the Northern Lords despite their still young and fertile ages. Rickon, Cregan’s first child was strong and well past the cradle at four and ten, betrothed to marry the Lady Jeyne Manderly in two years who would serve well as Rickon’s Lady Wife. Harlan’s eldest niece, Sarra, was named after the late Sara Snow, Alysanne’s lover and Cregan’s half sister, who had sadly perished of Winter Fever only two years after Alysanne and Cregan had married. Her hand was promised to the eldest son of Kermit Tully, Sherlock Tully. Alys was named for her mother and shared her mother’s love of archery and horseback and was betrothed to Eddard Karstark. Raya and Mariah were only six and three, young still. Too young to be betrothed yet but it was very likely they would both be staying in the North.
Magga Mormont, sister to Lord Mormont had come to serve as a shield maiden for Alysanne and to teach her daughters the ways of the North. She had also become Alysanne’s lover in the wake of Sara’s death. Now however it was Harlan who was to face his own mortality. Raiders from beyond the Wall had threatened the Mountain Clans, House Flint of the Mountains having sent a rider with word of their imminent attack. Harlan had ridden out with Cregan and the Stark men and they had routed the raiders. Unfortunately Harlan had taken an arrow to the neck in the attack.
“It’s, it’s alright,” Cregan said quietly. His voice was sorrowful, as he held Harlan’s hand. Harlan was sitting, back resting against the rough surface of a mountain boulder. Harlan coughed, wet and wheezing, blood spattering out across his lips and chin.
“Lllllooov,” Harlan croaked.
“Shhhh,” Cregan said, brushing some of Harlan’s loose hair back from his face, tugging lightly at one of the dark curls as he did so. “Don’t speak,” Cregan whispered. “I know, I know.” Harlan reflexively tried to swallow, wincing in pain at the movement. Tears leaked from Harlan’s eyes as he stared up at Cregan who knelt beside him. Cregan’s thumb gently brushed across Harlan’s cheek wiping away one of the tears. Cregan’s lip quivered slightly as he sucked in a breath. “I love you my Raven,” Cregan whispered quietly, as the light faded from Harlan’s eyes. Cregan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Harlan’s head before pulling back and closing Harlan’s eyelids. The Stark men who had ridden with the party and the mountain clan men ostensibly looked away pretending not to notice the proof of the rumored relationship between their Liege Lord and their Liege Lady’s brother. Harlan’s body would return to Winterfell with Lord Stark and his men, and his bones would be sent forth to return to Raventree Hall. When Cregan finally passed leaving the Stark Lordship to a great grandson descended from his third wife, he was buried in the crypts, his statue built to his exacting predeath specifications, a raven, black wrought in obsidian stone set upon the shoulder of the gray stone fashioned in his likeness.