THE LIONESS

Anger was not the proper word for what Cersei felt, sitting at the high table of Winterfell's Great Hall as her loving husband, saw fit to honor her with a wench on his lap, her teats in one hand and a cup of ale in the other. Of course it was not unusual for Robert to openly dishonor her for all to see, though it was unusual for Jaime to be absent when she felt the need comfort, as well as the need to privately dishonor her husband later.

Before embarking on their journey to the frozen hell that is the North, Robert ordered Jaime to stay in Kings Landing, insisting that having the Kingslayer in his party would only hinder his efforts; by the gods she hated that moniker, hated the scorn Robert chastised Jaime with, how the name still caused him to cringe every so often. In addition to Jaime, none of her Lannister kin other than her vile imp of a brother had been allowed to come, and that was because her children asked so fervently.

Thus the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms found herself surrounded on all sides by Northmen and Roberts courtiers, neither providing much comfort.

Glancing towards Robert, seeing a new serving wench on his lap, this one with an even heavier bosom, Cersei decided to preserve what little dignity she had on this evening. Looking to Lady Stark who, for her part was still trying to engage her in conversation, she rose from her seat.

Clearly startled by the sudden movement, Lady Stark made to inquire on her health. "Your Grace? Are you unwell?"

Remembering her courtesies, Cersei placed a forced smile to her lips. "Of course. I merely find the evenings festivities to be exhausting." She said, with far more warmth than she felt. "I believe I should retire."

Lady Stark bows her head in deference, not forcing the subject further, for which Cersei is grateful. She makes her way from the high table, spotting a half-sleeping Tommen as she goes, jostling him awake. He only protest slightly, rubbing his eyes as they make their way to the exit, where a steward awaits them.

With their guide in tow, they make their way through the ancient castle, Cersei glancing upon the stone with less than mild fascination; she vaguely wonders how long the castle has stood, though pushing away those thoughts as their party arrives at Tommen's chambers.

Dismissing the steward, she calls for Tommen's handmaidens to undress, bathe and redress him, watching her golden cub as they follow her orders. Once they are done, she helps tuck him in, pressing a kiss to his golden crown. She moves for the door, looking back once with a smile to see her cub nestled in his sheets, then exiting to make for her own rooms.

She arrives at her chambers, swiftly dismissing her maids before resting upon one of the lounges provided in her temporary chambers. Her anger holds root within her, refusing to abate as she feels her core ache for what is denied her. She continues to rearrange herself, restless in her skin as she tries in vain to forget the aching in her loins.

Giving in to her compulsion, she reaches for her furs, draping herself in warmth before she leaves her chambers hoping the night air will sooth her. She makes her way through the corridors, tracing the steps of the steward until she emerges from the keep victorious.

Her expectations of being the only soul not enjoying the festivities are shattered, looking on as her imp brother converses with another occupant of the yard. Despite her expectations of an awkward encounter with the pair, her brother moves on, clearly done with the conversation, leaving the boy in the yard.

The boy returned to the center of the yard, brandishing a blunted tourney sword in his hand as he began to train in earnest. As he moved his sword, Cersei could not help the wonder she felt at watching him. He moved as though his sword were a part of him, an extension of his arm. He shifted and whirled and parried against unseen enemies. For a few moments, Cersei thought the boy resembled Jaime, with his graceful style and quick hands.

As he turned in a wide arch facing her, she realized that the comparisons stopped there. Jaime was tanned and golden like the sun itself, though this boy was pale of skin and dark of hair, like the night sky framing the moon. While Jaime's face always boar an easy smile, this boy seemed sullen. Looking back at her, instead of emerald orbs that matched her own, grey the color of beaten steel locked on her own.

The boy dropped to a knee in front of her, his final stroke melting into his kneel and his sword rested at his front foot and knee. "Your Grace." He looked up to her, showing his face.

He had the Stark face, long and guarded, though unlike his father who was passable, the boy was comely in a roughly hewn sort of way.

She stepped forward. "Rise." He nodded lifting himself to his feet. "It cannot be comfortable, kneeling in the snow." She noticed how he shifted uncomfortably, softening her features to be more approachable. "Every soul in the castle is either on the walls or in the Great Hall, other than you?"

He looked down to his feet. "You are here as well Your Grace?"

She chuckles lightly at this, causing the boy to look up at her face, a small smirk playing at his lips. "I found the festivities to be less than satisfying." She said, shifting to lessen the ache in her core. "Why are you not enjoying the festivities?"

His lips turned down at that, shifting into a frown before slipping into a mask of indifference. "Much the same as you, Your Grace." He took up the tourney sword, polishing it lightly before replacing it in a nearby rack.

Her eyes followed him with curiosity. "You are quite skilled for a boy of your age." She said, grabbing hold of his attention s he turned back to her. "Would you care to act as my escort for the evening? I seem to have forgotten my Kingsguard. "

He regarded her with something akin to caution. "Lady Stark thought that the presence of a bastard might upset yourself or the King." He shifted slightly, his hand gripped tightly at his breeches.

She laughed lightly, trying to lift the mood, incidentally startling the young man. "Robert has several bastards tucked away around the realm, possibly even in the Westerlands." He looked surprised at that. "And I asked you to escort me, certainly that is permissible?" She raised a brow to him, watching the color rise in his face.

He straightened his back, trying to seem taller and more alert, then cleared his throat. "If it please the Your Grace, I shall escort you." He put out an arm. "Where should you wish to go?"

Cersei could not return to the heat, the cold being the only thing calming the stirring in her loins. "I should like you to tour the grounds. I wish to see more of Winterfell through your eyes-" it was then she realized that she had never asked his name.

As if picking up on the unspoken question the boy opened his mouth to speak. "My name is Jon. Jon Snow."

The next hour was a blur, between walking around the gods wood and armory and the glass gardens, she lost herself. Jon guided her through the gods wood, stopping before the heart tree, admiring its grotesque carved face dripping red sap, as if crying blood. He told her that many generations of Starks worshipped before the tree. From there they went to the kennels, to look at some of the castle dogs as Jon compared his direwolf pup, who seemed to materialize in an instant and vanished just as quickly. From there, the pair doubled back to the Glass Gardens, Jon spouting historical details about the Kings of the North and their accomplishments, the entire way there. When they made it to the glass gardens, Jon taught her about how the harsh climates make it near impossible to grow food in many of the lands of the North, but the glass gardens allow the land to receive light without the risk being covered in snow. As if to prove his point, he plucked a blue rose from the ground, presenting it to her gallantly. She accepted her favor graciously, clipping the stem and wearing it in her hair.

Eventually they made their way to a dilapidated structure, the roof caved in and several windows missing. Her escort looked back to her with a wolffish smile, extending his hand in an open gesture. "Do you trust me Your Grace?" He asked, clearly not expecting a real answer from a woman he just met.

She nodded in response, stifling her urge snort, grabbing his hand and accepting his guidance into the tower. He led her passed downed beams and crumbling walls, up dusty obstructed stairs, leading her to the top of the keep where Winterfell could be seen in its entirety. From this vantage point, open to the world, the once dreary castle seemed alive with the bustle of its inhabitants to and fro and the lively noise coming from the Great Hall.

"This is one of my favorite places in all of Winterfell." He declare solemnly. "It may not be much to someone who has spent their entire life to the south, but to me it seems so-" the words seem to elude him at this point. "Wondrous."

Cersei turned to him with an appraising look.

"I'll be joining the watch soon. When I do I'll have to leave this all behind. I shall be married to my vows." He said, again answering questions not asked.

She wondered why a boy so young would willingly go to a glorified prison. He would never experience the joys of looking down upon his first child, or the passion of making love for the first time. And with that she was reminded of the dull aching inside of her, needing a release. Realizing that her hand was still clutched in his, she wiggled her fingers to stop them from stiffening.

Jon clearly took that as a sign of her discomfort, removing his hand from her grasp and taking several steps back. She moved toward him slowly, like a lion cornering its prey, making sure he did not flee. "You seem nervous Jon." She advanced even further. "Do highborn ladies make you nervous, with our lethal skirts and needles?" She giggled, seeing the tension leave his shoulders.

She needed her release and by his own admission he was leaving for the Wall soon, never to be heard from again. If there was a better option available to find her release, she could not think of one; he was young strong and virile, though he may be a green boy, he could be trained. And none would ever know; just Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell and his Queen.

"Have you ever lain with a woman Jon Snow?" She asked having made her mind. She advanced on him, the tension returning to his shoulders.

"I- you mean- Your Grace?" He eloquently responded. His face quickly turning Lannister Crimson, as he shifted away only to hit a wall.

No longer being able to contain herself, she surged forward trapping his body with hers, trapping his lips with her mouth. Jon resisted, her lips moving softly against his to no avail. She believed all hope was lost when she felt his lips part, a subtle moan escaping his mouth. "That's it." She whispered against his lips. "Share this moment with me." She ran a hand along his flat stomach trailing down to his breeches and cupping his manhood in her palm. "Share your first with me." He breathed into his mouth, jostling him in her hand.

He moved his head away from hers tenuously, fighting the compulsion to give in to desire. "We cannot." He breathed heavily. "I cannot dishonor my king, your lord husband." He grabbed the sides of her face, looking directly into her eyes, his steel orbs hardening with resolve. "I cannot dishonor you."

She smooths a hand down his chest, then migrates to the back of his neck. "You owe him nothing." She pulled his face to look into her eyes. "Do you think his thoughts rest with me while he is with his whores? That my honor is a concern of his?" She looks into his grey pools imploringly. "I need to feel someth-"

Her next words are never spoke as Jon, moves his mouth back to hers, moving with more fervor and intent than before.

Without pause her hands move to his breeches, unlacing the troublesome garments and shoving them down his thighs, exposing his small clothes which suffer the same fate. Jon removes his doublet and tunic with great haste discarding them on the floor.

He then moves to turn her around, moving to her laces. She turns on him holding his hands steady by the wrists. "No. It will take too long to remove and much longer to redress." Jon nods breathing heavily, kicking his boots free and completely removing his breeches and small clothes, tossing them to the side.

Looking over his body, she could have done far worse; he was lean and strong his muscles heavily defined. She moved her eyes over his manhood, stiff and strong. She couldn't help the comparison to her love; while Jaime was certainly large and grand in her eyes, Jon was longer by a section of her little finger and thicker still.

She immediately felt shame at the comparison; Jaime would always be her one true love, Jon was a mere distraction, a temporary tool until she returned to Jaime.

Her thoughts were broken as Jon placed her against the wall, lifting her skirts and sliding his hand over her mound, slowly caressing her folds. She grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand toward her mouth, kissing the fingers. "Now take your hand and rub inside of me softly."

He did as she asked, rubbing his two fingers inside of her, flicking them across her sex. "Good." She whispered in his ear, encouraging him in the right direction. Jon looked beneath, her skirts causing her to snicker. "What are you looking- Oh!" She did not finish her thought, for as she tried Jon shifted the hood of her pearl, attacking it with his palm while his fingers twitched and dipped inside of her. It only took a moment for her to come undone, as he worked diligently at her mound. Her peak was rising steadily within her, her belly tight with anticipation, just a little further and she would lose herself. And then it stopped.

Cersei looked to Jon, heat rising in her cheeks, though he was not focused on her face. He lifted her skirts higher, as if looking underneath. Then without warning, he dipped bellow her billowing fabrics, vanishing. Cersei made to protest the loss of contact until his lips brushed her sex, putting her leg over his shoulder to open her more.

She instantly resumed her crashing peak as Jon began to lick her, massaging her folds with his fingers, his lips and tongue occupied her pearl, sucking and licking and stabbing her way to a sweet release. He gripped the back of her thigh that was still attached to the floor, as she crashed around him, his tongue still on her, his fingers still within her. She began to crumple forward as strong arms made to brace her against the walls.

Her head began to clear, as his face came into view again, concern marring his beautiful features. "Did I harm you your grace?"

She chuckled weakly. "No. Certainly not." She breathed out heavily. "Where did you learn such a thing?" She asked with genuine curiosity.

He blushed innocently. "Some of the guards talk about pleasing their women." He told her, the red in his face increasing. "They talked about using your mouth, so I tried it." He seemed so young in that moment. So innocent.

Then he lifted he skirts once more, one hand moving to her mound, the other to his cock. He looked into her eyes, silently asking for her permission.

Cersei grabbed hold of his manhood in one hand, the other arm draping over his shoulder, then nodded he permission just before he thrust inside of her, her hand as his guide.

For a moment she held him there, basking in the fullness of her loins. For the first time since she parted with Jaime, she felt full and satisfied. Then Jon began moving slowly inside of her shoving her harder against the wall, content to simply move inside of her for a few strokes before picking up speed. It continued for a short while until she felt the tell tale sign of a mans release, Jon twitching inside of her as his movements became slower and more stiff right before he spilled his seed within her.

He stood there, still sheathed within her for several moments breathing heavily, before looking into her eyes. He must have seen something displeasing, for he turned his head, his cheeks inflamed once more.

She grimaced, placing a hand to his cheek him. "You did well. After all I was your first." She could not help feeling regret at the hurt look in his eyes.

The hurt only lasted a moment as he looked to her with something akin to wounded pride, before straightening his back and diving deep within her, much deeper than before bucking his hips into her heat. Before long she had wrapped both arms around his shoulders, her knees to his waist. He gripped her thighs roughly as he delved inside of her bringing her to her release, forcing her to bite his shoulder. She swore to herself that she heard him roar as he released his seed within her once more.

She collapsed against the wall, Jon still inside of her as her breathing began to slow.

He locked eyes with her, lust clouding everything his gaze. She grabbed his manhood once more, stroking him to his full hardness, as she grinned at him almost matching his own smirk.

He took her thrice more that evening, in varying positions, lasting different amounts of time. He would make love to her as best he could, followed by asking her if she was satisfied. If he was not satisfied with the response his work garnered he would try again. He brought her to her peak several times, though he was never truly sated.

Eventually, they both collapsed onto the furs that were discarded four couplings ago. They were tangled up in one another, Jon's manhood still sheathed within her growing softer by the second.

Jon untangle himself from her, rolling over so that he still lay atop her, though at a more comfortable angle, his softened manhood warm against her thigh, his head against her breast.

She lye there stroking his hair, enjoying the feeling of warmth beside her, the feeling of a strong handsome man inside of her, one that she does not despise. He is no man, he is a boy, a voice within her chided.

She does not remember falling asleep, or how long he has been asleep, though when she wakes the sky is still dark. She turns her head to see Jon still collapsed around her, his right hand clutching her breast in a territorial way. She moves a hand to his hair, combing through his locks gently. He stirs around her, flexing the hand latched to her bosom, forcing a giggle from her throat. "You have a singular focus."

He smiles sleepily, opening his eyes to look upon her face as she moves away from him. She stands shakily, her strength still waning until she felt strong arms wrap around her waist. "Are you unwell your grace?" Jon breathed onto her neck, his manhood poking through the fabrics other dress.

"I believe so." She sighed. "Though I'm afraid I don't have the energy I once did." She turned to him smiling at the confusion on his face.

She looked down his body and his eyes followed, as if not realizing his current state of undress until just now. "My apologies Your Grace!" He began to scrabble about the room searching for his clothing, laying a hand on his breeches first before looking down to her feet. Her eyes captured his line of sight landing on his small clothing at her feet.

She bent down to pick them from the floor, Jon protesting the obscenity of it the entire time. "You were inside of me until recently. I believe we can put aside propriety." She said handing him his bottoms.

She wrung her hands around one another as she prepared herself for what was to come next. "It is best you tell no one about us." He looked to meet her eyes, something akin to disappointment alive in them. "Bedding the King's wife is no small feat, even if your father is Warden of the North." She stepped toward him. "If any knew of this, both our heads would adorn the walls of the Red Keep." The look of absolute terror in his eyes steeled her nerves. She gripped the front of his tunic, near his stomach. "I will call for you when I am ready."

He looked at her in confusion. "Your Grace?" His question was answered with a deep kiss to his lips, their lips once again locked in heated battle, their tongues fighting for dominance until finally Cersei stepped away.

For a moment she stood still, appraising her new lover, looking over his entire body, stopping briefly at his manhood, once again standing at attention.

She walked out of the room in the broken tower, finding way back down the stairs and into the night without her guide smiling the entire time.