A/N: A little experiment in first-person, present-tense narrative and also my first sex scene (oh my!)
It's the morning of my wedding and I'm playing the part of an eager royal bride. I'm playing it well because that's exactly what I am. Robert Baratheon is a handsome war hero, the saviour of the Seven Kingdoms and, most importantly, the new King of Westeros.
The dawn light glints off my hair as the maid brushes it. I gaze at myself in the mirror, thinking back to last night when I ran my fingers through my dear Jaime's hair, the same colour as my own. I know him well enough to recognise when he's holding back tears, just as he knows to hide them in my presence.
Our last coupling was prolonged and had a bittersweet feeling to it. I knew Jaime was saying goodbye, though he and his white cloak will always be near. As Queen, who knows if I'll have time for our trysts anymore?
Romantic love-making was never my favourite and as I elegantly bucked my hips and softly moaned under Jaime, I was already thinking of what I'd be doing during my wedding night. What would Robert be like in bed? Gods, he was strong and as broad as any man could be. What would it feel like to have his considerable weight of muscle pressing down on me? Would he pin me down by my arms and fuck me hard and furiously? Or would he prefer to lie back and watch me bounce on top of him, running his rough hands over me?
I'll have to act coquettishly of course, pretend to be shy and scared of his enormous manhood but, in the end, his expert touch will draw me out of my ladylike shell and he'll meet the lioness within. Men are so keen to believe they're the only one that could unlock that side of their woman, I don't expect any problems.
The maids take their sweet time dressing me and I'm impatient for the ceremony to begin. Already I can hear the rumble of the crowds gathering near Baelor's Sept and I'm looking forward to facing them. When the last piece of Myrish lace is finally in place, I stand back to admire myself. I've always been beautiful but today I'll outshine the sun itself.
My father comes to escort me to the Sept and I can tell from the slight nod in my direction he's pleased with how I look. As I take his arm to go, I've never loved him more. From a young age, he's always promised I will be Queen and, while it's not a silver-haired Targaryen I'll be marrying, I'll finally be exactly where I was always destined to be.
The peasants are cheering me as I enter the Sept but I'm kept away from them until the ceremony is over. As I head down the aisle towards Robert, I slyly look around at the guests from behind the safety of my veil. That grim-faced Eddard Stark is there, seemingly unable to crack a smile at his foster-brother's most glorious day. Stannis is just as bad, the years holding Dragonstone having taken their toll on the miserable bastard. Charming little Renly is grinning insipidly next to my monstrous little brother, but even Tyrion's ugly face cannot ruin my day.
To the right of the altar, I see Jaime looking mournfully at my approaching figure. My poor, darling twin, the other half of me. He will need to learn to adapt to this new world, just as I have. Besides, he will always be close to me. I couldn't bear the thought of having him far away at Casterly Rock.
And finally, I take a long look at my betrothed. He is handsome, with his dark hair and chiselled jaw and looks the perfect picture of a young monarch. At this very moment, he's looking at me with unadulterated lust on his features and I smile secretly to myself. I knew the moment I laid eyes on him this is a man I can rule from the bedroom and I have every intention of doing so and enjoying it while I'm there.
The ceremony moves by in a haze of remembered words and sacred vows. Before I know it, I've shed my Lannister cloak and exchanged it for one of Baratheon colours. Let him think I'm a Baratheon now if it suits them but a lioness will always have her claws.
I grip Robert's arm as we turn to leave the sept, appreciating the hard muscle of his arms. I suppress a little shiver as I think of what those arms will be doing later. Before we head out into the light, I catch a glimpse of our reflection in the stained glass mirror. Yes, we make a beautiful pair, a king and queen truly fit to lead Westeros into this new age of peace and prosperity. Our houses are the saviours of the realm and it is only fitting we should lead it.
For a moment the light blinds me when the doors open out. Then the noise that the ancient walls muffled hits me. The roaring cheers from the crowd take my breath away and beside me I see Robert smile at our reception as well. It's nothing short of magnificent. I beam down radiantly at the gathering peasants, drinking in their love and gratitude. For a brief moment I imagine what it must look like to the gathering commoners, this golden queen and dark, warrior king. This city is ours and ours alone.
The adoration continues on our journey back to the Red Keep and I feel nothing but pure joy as I enter the castle I will rule. The feast itself drags on and I demurely pick at my food throughout the forty courses, conscious that I'll give the performance of my life later. Next to me, Robert drinks heavily and the new king's cup is never allowed empty. I admire the man next to me, with his seemingly endless capacity for wine, a strong, virile fighter. I also discretely encourage him to keep drinking; a hazy awareness will prevent him from noticing the lack of maiden's blood on our sheets until I've had time to rectify the problem.
When it's time for the bedding I'm not afraid. Robert is hustled away in a flurry of skirts and giggles and looks like he's thoroughly enjoying himself. I'm carried off and I feel some wandering hands travel up my skirts. I make a feeble, ladylike attempt to bat them away but I can't pretend there's not some enjoyment in it. The lust is shining out of the men's eyes as they ogle and leer and I can see it for what it truly is; power. Besides, I know I'm in no danger. Jaime, who has been sulking in the corner all evening, finally breaks his churlish silence and strides over to grab me, ensuring my safe passage to the bed chamber.
The crowd still presses against us when we get to the chamber door and for a moment I can feel my twin's grip on my arm holding me back. I look into his eyes and I see the sad intense look I've become so familiar with, the pleading that it would be possible to run away with him. He'd carry me off across the Narrow Sea if I wished it and damn everyone else to the seven hells.
I gently remove his arm and his beautiful mouth drops even further and suddenly he is melting back into the shadows of the corridor. Some minor Riverlands lord takes it upon himself to open the door and shove me through, slamming it behind me. The sound of hooting and laughter continue outside but apart from some minor rips to my dress I arrive to my new husband more or less intact.
He is standing unashamedly in his smallclothes, and even those are ripped at the back. He's chugging a cup of wine back and the position makes it all the better to appreciate the hard sinews of muscle down his torso, covered by a light layer of black hair. I don't know why they bother to put armour on him, the sight of this alone would surely terrify lesser men into running away. His erection does not go unnoticed by me though I quickly look away before he realises.
He finishes the wine in a gulp and looks me up and down, his blue eyes a little unfocused.
"Ye gods woman, that's no way to arrive at your chamber after a bedding!"
I look down at my dress and give my most shy smile.
"Family honour protected me, Your Grace. And I am glad for it. I believe this sight should be for my husband's eyes and nobody else's."
Robert gives a wobbly nod and waves his hand at me as if to get on with it, sitting back into a comfortable chair. I know he's lain with whores before and thank the gods for it, at least he'll have some clue as to what to do. He probably thinks I'm a frigid highborn virgin and while I'll play the virgin for him, virgins have their seductions too.
I slowly unbutton the bodice of my dress, taking my time to feign innocence but in reality I know the wait will tease him, cause his desire to simmer and boil for me. The dress eventually drops, revealing my delicate shift. I sneak a glance at him from under my hair and yes, he's enthralled by the promise of what is coming. The wine cup in his hand is seemingly forgotten and his lips are parted slightly.
I slowly inch down the straps of my shift, one first and then the other and, for a well-timed long moment, clutch the material to my chest. An anxious bite of my lip is a good touch when finally I decide to drop the garment.
I lock eyes with my husband, the king, but his eyes immediately wander south. Let him drink me in, it may distract him from the feeling of excitement which must be showing on my face by now. His erection is now visible from the top of his smallclothes and I take a long look at it, wanting to touch it and have him where I want him. I slowly walk towards him, holding my head up. I have him now and have every reason to be proud of my body.
I stand over him, revelling for a moment in the power I have. With a growl he gets up and throws me on the bed and his rough hands are everywhere all at once. I stretch my arms over my head to allow him more access. His desire is direct, almost furious and that suits me fine. In time, I can respond and tame him properly, grow into my role as wife and bed-mate and take my pleasure as I want. Tonight, I'm happy only to be desired and in truth, what else can I expect after such a massive intake of wine?
Robert roughly wrenches apart my legs, his hands digging into my ass and thrusts deeply into me. It hurts slightly, this quick entry, but it's also pleasurable and I throw back my head and moan. Robert buries his face into my neck, hissing in pleasure and slams into me again. It's hard, frantic fucking and I love every moment of it. My hands can't even reach each other over the broad expanse of his back, his weight nearly crushes me and I'm almost laughing in the knowledge that the king of Westeros, the greatest warrior in the land, is in thrall to my cunt. He stretches up his body and I can see his eyes are screwed tightly shut as he nears his climax. I run my hands up his chest and wrap them around his neck, pulling his face closer to mine. With one hand he grabs my hair and with the other he pins my wrist down. I'm pushing my hips into him, not caring that I'll be bruised in the morning. His urgency and fervour is making me want to come and his hot, wine-soaked breath in my ear is only adding to my arousal. His beard tickles the side of my face as he moans long and low and I join him in a duet of animalistic noises.
"Yes…" he whispers, hoarsely.
I grin wickedly, enjoying his complete abandonment. "Yes", I whisper back to him. "Yes, my king."
"My queen, my queen…" he manages to groan out. A gasp escapes my lips and I can feel the ripples of desire build further, spreading out across my body and I know we're going to climax together, as we should do, king and queen.
I tug his hair with my hand, urging him to come. "Robert….gods…Robert", I half-shriek.
"Oh yes…" Robert moans. I gasp for air. I'm coming. "Yes…" Soon now. "Lyanna", he softly cries, a call of longing and despair.
I stop dead, my hand flops back on the bed, letting his black hair go, my hips stop all movement and I strain my neck to get him away from my face but to no avail. He continues thrusting into me, not noticing my sudden stillness. He ruts on top of me for just another ten seconds as I lie there, dead as a fish, until he comes, his grip tightening painfully around my wrists and hair. The pain which added to my pleasure moments before makes me squeal slightly but he doesn't notice. He doesn't notice anything. I feel his hot, sticky seed inside me and suppress a shudder of horror. All I want to do is crawl out from under him but his bulk is too strong, too heavy.
He sucks in air like a dying man and, without opening his eyes, pushes off me, flopping back down on his stomach, his face turned towards me. I turn and stare at the face of my husband, the man who just cried the name of a dead Northern whore in our wedding bed. Look at me, I urge silently. Look at me.
Finally I say it. "Look at me", I croak. No response. "Look at me!" I say, louder. The only sound from Robert is the beginning of a gentle snore. I crawl up to my hands and knees on the bed, pounding my fist on the soft mattress.
"Look at me!" I shout.
The only sound I hear is the ever-distant sound of the feast. I fall silent, fearing I'll be heard. Wedding guests are notorious for trying to listen in on newlywed activities, would they dare do it to the royal couple? Did they hear my moans and desire for more? Did they hear him say Lyanna's name?
A hot coil of humiliation unfurls from my belly and runs up through me as I crouch on the bed, Robert's seed running down my thighs. I edge onto the floor, dashing over to the jug of water. I scrub between my legs, down my legs and all around my neck, trying desperately to get the wine-soaked scent of my new husband off me. I was myself entirely but even then I don't feel fully clean. I shrug into a silk dressing gown, relaxing somewhat into the softness of the material.
Robert is still sleeping face-down in the same undignified position and I doubt he'll move before morning. I scramble around the little jewellery box to find the small vial of goat's blood Jaime planted there earlier, pouring a little on the crumpled sheets. I stand over him for a little while, watching him in candlelight. This is the man I'm tied to, the man my father bargained me off to. I was meant to be Rhaegar's queen and he was meant to bring that Northern bitch back to his thunder-sodden castle. Instead they're both dead after their torrid love affair and we're left to rule the kingdom in their stead. I laugh softly at the twisted hilarity in the plans of the gods.
I nestle into a comfy, leather chair in the corner of the room. Sleep will not come to me now, even if I could make myself comfortable next to Robert's massive form. I won't be there when he wakes, dutiful and ready to take another fucking. The next time he sees me I'll be fully clothed, dressed as a queen should be. He will see me for what I truly am; his equal, nay, his superior, ready to take on the ruling of a kingdom.
All is quiet now, the sounds of the feast having well and truly receded into the night. I open the window to gaze on the pinpricks of light coming from the rest of King's Landing. I rule this city now and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. I am Queen, as I was always meant to be. And I'll make a better ruler than the oaf that swung his warhammer all the way to the throne.
The crowds were amazing today and I try and cling to that memory, battling the sadness I can feel building. I am queen, I am adored by all the nation. Why not him? Why, when presented with me on a plate, as the greatest gift he could expect to receive, how could his thoughts be anywhere else? I am loved and feared, the Kingdom's Golden Queen, yet it was not my name that escaped his lips.
In the solitude of darkness I allow myself to cry silently, just for a moment. I wipe them away, pulling my robe closer to me and my thoughts drift to Rhaegar, to Father, to Robert, even to Tyrion, all these men who surround me day in and day out and underestimate me at every turn. I can feel my will hardening and draw strength from it. I am not a wilting flower that will be defeated at the clumsy gropes of a drunken solider. Even Jaime, my beloved other half, hoped he could change my mind about this wedding, about my destiny.
As the light dawns on the capital, so my spirits rise. I gaze out to the rooftops of the city, the city that loves me, cries my name in joy when I pass through the streets. I know now I'll never see Casterly Rock again. I've finally come home to live out my days here and die here, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
I'm filled with childish excitement at the thought of the day ahead. There's so much to do; I must choose my outfit carefully and have my handmaidens do my hair in a manner more befitting of an elegant queen than blushing bride. I leave the bedroom for my own chambers and don't look back.