Obsidian04



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  1. Public Bookmark 5

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    Princess Baela goes to Winterfell to visit Lord Cregan Stark.
    Things get hot and things get cold

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    23 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 34

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    “I hardly credit hunting to be some great pastime.”

    “I would have thought otherwise.”

    The corner of Baela’s mouth tipped up slightly. “From my attire and lack of side-saddle? Appearances deceive, my lord.” She hadn’t yet looked away, neither had he. “Do try to ride an ordinary saddle in skirts and tell me how you fare. Certes I do not fare well in a hunt; the chase is a thrill, yes, but the interminable wait afore then, less so. Hawking, now, is much more of a delight. Or a tourney.”

    Jacaerys groaned under his breath.

    Ah, yes, another rumoured transgression: performing in the coronation tourney under the guise of a mystery knight. No rumour by the prince’s reaction. She is not as those who came before her. Cregan liked to think he had the measure of the Crown Prince but his betrothed was more of a mystery to him. One he found himself keen to solve now he had her in his sights.

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    23 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark 14

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    It’s the wedding night of Lord Cregan Stark and Princess Baela Targaryen. A most useful union, which will provide each one with what they most want - Baela her title as Heir, Cregan the conclusion of his Pact.

    Yet, they are to be pitied. They will never know the love of a soulmate again, for theirs is dead and buried under the waves. Any affection they share will only ever be a fraction of what was meant to be - a gentle warmth where there once was a scorching fire. That is known.

    Set in an AU where a soulmate’s touch is unmistakable - it burns.

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    23 Jun 2026

  4. Public Bookmark 9

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    Baela Targaryen — Queen Who Never Was like her grandmother before her, and Princess of Dragonstone no more — takes one step closer. In their proximity, Baela can see the stern set of his face dissolve into puzzlement as she reaches up, fists one hand in the furs upon his shoulder, and begs, “Take me as your wife, Lord Stark. Share with me your weirwood gods and frozen halls, and allow me to ride and hunt and hawk as any man does. Whisk me north of the Neck before they stuff me in a gown and sell me to some fat southron lord to be bred like cattle.”

    Already seeing the refusal taking shape on his lips, Baela curls her free hand into Cregan’s other shoulder, holds him in an iron grip, and leans so close their lips nearly brush. “Marry me, Lord Stark, and have me as you could never have him.”

    ~

    [This is pretty much entirely F&B compliant, and spoiler-heavy for the end of the Dance. You don’t HAVE to have read the book for this fic to make sense (I hope) but if you’re not keen on spoilers, then this isn’t the one for you. If you don’t care or you already know what happens, then by all means…read away :)]

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    23 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark 4

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    What If the Wolf Cregan,got what he wanted and deserved.

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    23 Jun 2026