The Court of Bastards

by MariDark

Stannis takes Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen from her mother's dying arms and raises her as his ward. The New King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, decides that her fate is to wed with shame, making her family line continue in disgrace by pairing her to his friend's bastard, Jon Snow, despite Eddard Stark's initial refusal.

2. Jon I

To say Jon Snow grew up in tranquillity would be a bittersweet jest.

Firstly, Jon Snow was a bastard to the Lord of a Great House, the Warden of the North who was an intimate friend of the ruling king. His father was already wedded when he brought Jon Snow home, and the bastard was of the same age as his father's heir. He was his trueborn brother's best friend. They were taught together all they knew; how to manage their castle and how to fight and how to be lords of something.

In another life, Jon would not have grown alongside Robb as he did, Jon knew that every time Lady Catelyn, his father's wife would stare at him with as much hate as one could muster. But because of his betrothal to the last surviving Targaryen who wasn't in exile, Jon needed to know lordly things, so that he could support his father's future plans for the North and for that reason alone Lady Catelyn allowed his education alongside Robb. He needed the high training that was given solely to heirs because his bride was a fucking princess and he would become a fucking lord.

That's the second point of Jon Snow's grooming; his future wife.

Daenerys Stormborn — she was so highborn, she already had a title — of House Targaryen was engaged to him before her first name-day for the sole reason of shaming her family by marrying her off to a Northern bastard. Of course, the only way Jon would ever be arranged in a marriage with someone as important as her — completing a pact as legendary as the Pact of Ice and Fire — would be to humiliate a Great House by ruining its line with bastard blood.

Jon himself thought that King Robert was being a hypocrite. His whole House hailed from a bastard, a rumoured Targaryen bastard!

But that was neither here or there, the point was that Jon already knew, since before he even knew how to write his own name, that he would be espoused to Lady Daenerys. At first, Jon didn't like the idea, he rebelled in his own mind, swearing he would run away to the Wall and take the black or go to Essos and become a legendary warrior that would bring down khalasars and earn glory to his name. Maybe he'd end slavery.

The thought of being tied, of being married to a high noble just because the King wanted to humiliate her…Jon despised it.

He loathed the idea in his early childhood when he sat in the library for hours a day, reading every tome on Targaryen history because it would one day be his House; he hated in his room when a boy of seven when he'd remember that he'd never have the chance to choose.

Standing under the weirwood, watching the beautiful girl he was promised to before he even knew how to sit approach him with hopeful eyes and an even stronger will, he couldn't help but think how foolish he had been.

Jon's heart hammered in his chest, his eyes staring into her shining violet orbs with all the sympathy he could muster, hoping that she could see how much he understood her, how he was trying and would keep on trying to make the best of their situation. Jon Snow knew he wasn't alone in this, that he wasn't the only one that was being used and played as a pawn in the game the king played. More than anything else, Jon knew — hoped with all of his heart — they would be friends and companions to each other for the rest of their lives.

He had doubted, for years and years, he had doubted the girl would ever agree to him. He expected to be treated with scorn but he found only tentative gentleness in her when she first approached him for their entrance on her welcoming feast. Jon looked at her and saw kinship, and hoped they could live their lives as friends, at the very least.

But, oh, she was beautiful.

White as the snow that named him, more beautiful than anything and anyone he has ever seen; Daenerys Targaryen was a vision and a goddess come true. She was a child still, like him, but Jon had no doubt she would become the most beautiful woman in the world. Daenerys would be his wife, and she'd never had to choose. Unlike him, though, she'd never really had a family. Jon knew she was happy, that life in Stannis' court was tranquil, stern, but gentle with a girl with a heart as good as hers.

Jon knew a lot about her, a great deal actually.

He knew she was a kind girl with a spine of steel when needed; he knew she traveled with Lord Stannis to Braavos in his trips as Master of Ships and it was there she met her water dancing master, Syrio Forel, a former First Sword of Braavos who she hired and took with her all the way back to Dragonstone; he knew that she had gone to King's Landing and that her experiences there were of the unpleasing kind. Jon knew a great lot of things, things he was sure he shouldn't know without Daenerys telling him herself.

His eyes took in her form, in her bright gaze and white dress and silver hair, and Jon was absolutely enchanted and filled with guilt.

Before they kneeled on the ground by the heart tree, Jon let his eyes stray towards the crowd watching them. His eyes briefly met the solemn gaze of his father and the stern stare of his bride's guardian but Jon turned from them and began looking for the cool eyes of his personal guard — who he was sure was amongst the crowd.

Jon found him quickly, the ever-present cruel glint in Ramsay Snow's eyes not letting him be missed amongst all those nobles. When Ramsay's clear blue eyes met his grey ones, they shone with excitement, the obsessive loyalty of his fellow bastard was a terrifying thing to behold, something that drove him to do horrible things for the good of Jon's cause.

Whatever that cause ought to be, thought Jon.

Ramsay had warned him weeks past, said that he had heard whispers amongst the Night's Watch and the few wildlings he had — and, seven hells, Jon did not want to know how he had done it — interrogated. That they had to fortify Queenscrown and the growing town surrounding its construction site.

Ramsay said that the wildlings were getting bolder; more forceful and curious of the growing holdfast in the New Gift.

Jon turned briefly to meet his bride's beautiful face as they kneeled, sighing deeply when he thought back on the many things they would have to face together and feeling happy that he'd have her to share such a burden with. His mind brought back his foolish dreams of running to the Wall and maybe one day becoming Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and Jon shuddered at the mere thought of having to lead such a place by himself.

He closed his eyes, holding tight to her small hand, and bowed to the Old Gods.

•••

Robb never tired of saying how jealous he was of Jon, of how he'd always had been a lord and could have a say on his own holdfast and his own household and on and on he would complain, half in jest half in seriousness and Jon, since his tenth name-day, would always bitterly think that his brother should be more grateful for his care-free life.

Jon had been an unofficial heir for the first ten years of his life. For ten years he was a free boy who'd only dream and dream and complain about his promised wife; and then, at ten name-days, his father brought him up to his solar and sat him down intent on showing Jon the construction plans for Queenscrown, the common folk who slowly was migrating there, the possible contracts with mountain clans, the taxes they needed to settle with both the common folk on Queen's Town — the town that was slowly forming around Jon's castle, his people — and the Night's Watch, his household, and the maester he needed to hire from the Citadel and Jon woke up.

Be it Lord of ancient Winterfell or new Queenscrown; it didn't matter for it wasn't an easy task. People would rely on him and that was not easy. He could sentence people to death, he could starve them to death, he could enrich them or drown them in poverty, he would hold their lives in his hands when winter came.

At ten, for the first time, Jon travelled to his holdfast. It was a short travel, silent and grave. Jon took no joy from it.

People had flocked to them when they entered the small town in front of the growing fortress, shouting for him, greeting him with m'lord and little prince. He had asked his father why'd they call him that and Eddard Stark said they thought him a prince for marrying a Targaryen princess. Ned had looked into his eyes, his entire face going cold and warm in the only way his father could do, and said they called him Bastard Prince.

It was the second time his father called him a bastard. The only other and first time were when he explained to Jon that he was a bastard.

Queenscrown was built inside a lake. It was grandiose, the stone was strong and white, wide and high the castle went, overseeing all sides of the lake, from the mountains to the forest to the Queen's Town slowly but steadily coming to life around the water castle's entrance. The first walls surrounding it were high, as high as the towers in Winterfell, Ned said they took five years to complete it parting from the stone bridge that connected land to the foundation of the holdfast. The castle was thrice higher than its outer walls, delicate and grandiose with its golden ornaments and wide balconies in a different way from Winterfell, which was dark and heavy with thick granite. Jon had thought it would be useless when winter came, but his father assured him of the castle's good architects who designed it so it could retain heat, even with the great balconies.

They hadn't entered the castle, but they stayed at the closest inn to it, renting a room that faced the constructing castle and Jon stared at it for the whole of the night, perched on the small window that gave view to the majestic construction. And for an entire night, the building of it never stopped, the sounds of hammers hitting stone and shouts of orders never once halting. Jon had seen gold, silver and colourful stones and ornamentations that no Northern castle would ever have, so he asked his Lord father, how did you come by so much money? Ned's eyes darkened, but he answered. The King helped, Lord Stannis also would once Jon took Daenerys for a wife and they had several investors from the East; he'd said. Those same investors of the East were the reason for his castle's exotic design, foreign to the North. It was the most impressive — and expensive — thing Jon had ever seen, and it was his.

Theirs, he thought, walking toward the Great Hall of Winterfell with his new wife in his arm. It didn't take long for the whole party to arrive at the hall, where servants had already prepared the feast for the celebration of his marriage. It was greater than the one held previously. This one would mark the presence of lords and magisters, bourgeois and knights. A feast made for a king, who would not appear, Jon knew.

Ramsay said the king thought the marriage of one of the Great Houses of Westeros was beneath him. A marriage that was arranged by him, nonetheless. Jon thought it better this way though, he wouldn't want the king to ruin his marriage with his dishonourable behaviour.

Jon didn't like Ramsay, but he did trust the older boy's information. To a reason.

"The high table," He whispered to Daenerys, leaning slightly towards her. "We'll sit by my father's right."

Her full lips formed a small smile, eyes going soft as she turned to him. He found it calming.

"The seat of honour," She teased, but her eyes were warm, serene.

Jon couldn't understand how she seemed so…good to him. To the bastard chosen to humiliate her. He couldn't understand her serene smiles, her easy laughs, or relieved confession the previous night. With her soft looks and joyful grins, Jon felt heavy guilt for ever thinking so badly of her.

He smiled, nodding and helping her to her seat at the high table. He pulled the chair for her and she sat, looking over her shoulder and whispering quiet thanks. He nodded, turning to the chair next to her with trembling hands. His father was already in his chair, sitting down and chatting quietly with his Lady Catelyn.

Jon couldn't remember a day that he'd sat at his father's right. It was simply not done. A bastard had no place in the most prestigious sit at a Lord's high table, as Catelyn had made clear so many times throughout his life.

"Jon?" His father's voice cut through his musings, capturing his attention and making his dark grey orbs turn towards the older man. Ned's equally dark eyes were gentle, his face offering a rare smile before nodding towards the chair. "Sit by your wife and at your liege lord's right; today is yours."

Something like a haze fell over Jon right then, as his father looked at him with thinly veiled pride and his child-wife — as much a child as he was — looked on with faint curiosity. Today was a day to celebrate him and her, to cheer for their union and the future progress they would bring to the far North.

His father celebrated with him, for him.

"Yes, father." His voice was strong, Jon liked to think. He pulled the chair and sat, sweeping his cool gaze over the crowd that mingled beneath the high table. He felt a small hand envelop his larger one and he turned towards his small wife to find her giving him a soft smile.

"Husband," His breath hitched, throat tightened, and it dawned on him that they were husband and wife. Still, it would only be real when they were to bed each other. Thinking of the bedding only brought blood rushing both to his cheeks and groin, and he averted his gaze quickly while nodding at her. "Would you guide me on what meal should I partake first?" A smirk danced on his lips at the memory of her curious and delighted face on the previous night, when he'd helped her on what to choose for a meal. Jon turned toward the table in front of them, eyes roaming over each plate, both Southern and Northern, before setting on one of the various Northern pies prepared. The one that caught his attention was one of his favourites; Cook Gage's beef-and-bacon pie.

He smirked, quickly gathering the pie in his hands and bringing it closer to them. Jon ignored his father's chuckle and deftly cut one piece for his lady, putting it on her plate and then doing the same for him. All the while, his voice softly explained the simple meal for her.

"It's beef and bacon pie, there's onions, raisins, pepper, red wine and some other things in it, but it's still very simple and sweet." He gave her a small smile. "I think you'll like it." He leaned closer to her, lowering his tune. "It's one of my favourites." He leant back and smiled at her more openly and she responded in kind, cutting her pie and bringing one piece to her full mouth.

Her pleased hum brought delight to him; at least she found his suggestions on food good enough.

"It's wonderful, my lord!" She giggled, bringing a hand up to cover her still full mouth. She swallowed and turned to him. "Your favourite, you say?" He nodded and she turned toward the table again, her beautiful orbs moving quickly over the plates before settling on one small dish with roasted balls of some kind pilled in it, she pointed silently at it and he nodded in acquiescence, asking his lord father to pass it on to him and then putting it in front of her. "These," She captured one of the little balls of roasted meat between two slender fingers, bringing it to her eye level and then gently offering it up to him. "Are elk meatballs," She smiled and brought it to her lips, biting into it, never taking her eyes off of him as her cheeks turned red, as his no doubt were turning in that very moment. "They are stuffed with blue cheese."

This time her voice was shyer, eyes turning away in embarrassment at her forward actions. But she smiled when turning away from him, laughing quietly, and he allowed himself to smile at her. Jon took one of the meatballs and threw it into his mouth. Daenerys turned back to him, looking expectantly at his reaction.

He blanched at the strong taste.

"It's great." His strained voice tried to reassure his lady, his fingers twisting in a nervous tic at her blank face.

Jon almost exploded with embarrassment when she laughed loudly at him.

•••

The feast raged around them, laugher and conversation as loud as they could be, music rang in his ears as the people mingled and partied, forgetting momentarily about their harsher world. It was not the case for Jon and his young wife.

They stood together beneath the high table, her arm looped around his, as they waited for their guests to meet with them, offering gifts and pretty words of congratulations, most, if not all, coming from their Essosi investors.

The rich lords of the East were treacherous and not to be trusted, Jon knew. His lord father had let their odd interest in Queenscrown slide aside, shaking away their interests in investing so much gold in their keep with merely a second thought. Jon hadn't questioned at first, deciding to take after his father's honourable decision and simply accept their offerings, and hadn't thought of the matter for years. It was one of the reasons Jon had advisors, to tell him that to do so would be a horrible mistake.

Maester Yandel was the maester sent from the Citadel to serve Jon and Daenerys in their new hold, the young maester was one of the promising minds of the order, one of their most notable members and scholar of the Targaryen dynasty. Jon understood that he had taken to come all the way up North for the sole reason of having freedom over the writing of his remarkable book, The World of Ice and Fire, for he didn't wish to be limited by the king's vices and dislikes of the Dragons. Though at the ripe age of five and twenty, the man had the wisest mind Jon had ever seen. They'd met recently, knowing each other for only a few weeks, but they had an honest relationship in which Jon made sure to let it be clear that he didn't wish to be coddled. He knew of his young mind and body and knew better than to turn a deaf ear to good counsel.

And the first words that had left the man's word when they had first sat together to discuss the matters of his holdfast had been; why did the magisters waste so much gold with ruins in the far North?

Jon remembered to have blinked at the question, looking at the castle's plants displayed on top of his desk inside his small solar, looking at all the notes and papers upon papers of contracts and supplements' records, then looking into the man's blue eyes and saying, naively, 'I don't know'.

The man had told him, then, that he needed to find out.

And figure it out he did, Jon thought bitterly as he met the piggy eyes of Illyrio Mopatis, their first and foremost investor, as he led the bigger part of their Essosi guests to stand before him and Daenerys. His hand curled around her arm and he leaned down slightly, his mouth hovering over her ear.

"He is Illyrio Mopatis, an investor from Pentos," Jon frowned, unsure on how to go on, but noticed her focused stare, the slight straightening of her spine and set of her shoulders, and decided to share with her a warning. "A most forward investor, very generous."

Daenerys turned to meet his eyes, an eyebrow lifted in confusion.

"Magisters are not generous."

Jon sighed, nodding tiredly and turning back to the oncoming Essosi party.

"Aye, they aren't."

"Lord Targaryen!" The obese man shouted, a greasy grin on his face as he opened his arms dramatically, his belly and saggy tits bounced with his movements and his hair shone orange on the candlelight. Jon nodded in greeting — ignoring the part of him that blistered at being called a Lord — as did Daenerys.

"Magister Illyrio," He hoped his voice didn't fail him now. "It's an honour to finally meet you. I want to thank you for all the gold you have invested in our home." There, he'd said his thanks and now he could play the stupid game of words without having to think about his gratitude too much.

The man chuckled, shaking his head amusedly as one of his fat hands stroked his forked yellow beard. His eyes went then to Jon's wife, sliding over her young form slowly. Jon could feel his jaw setting, grinding his teeth in anger at his daring. But Samwell Tarly, his good friend and faithful steward, taught him patience above anything else. He had to make a good face with those people. So he only stroked Daenerys' arm with his thumb when he felt her tense. Only he heard her low gasp of surprise.

The man laughed, his flesh bouncing in a most perturbing way. Jon could feel the laughter building in his chest and he turned to Daenerys, but she was already looking at him. She quickly looked at the chuckling man and then back at Jon and they both bit on their lips, equal grins growing on their lips.

"It is indeed!" The man turned fully to Daenerys. "My Lady Targaryen, I hope you enjoy the gifts I bestowed you. Not of much use, but they will certainly be a great treasure for your House, I'm sure." His voice was sly and his smirk provocative. Jon suddenly didn't want the most likely true treasure the man presented them with that was most likely waiting for them in their chambers.

His lady wife tilted her head curiously, her hair shining elegantly and almost matching the colour of her wedding gown.

"Gifts?"

The man smiled but did not answer her.

"But enough of that," He clapped his hands in front of him, brought one of his fat hands up in the air and snapped his fingers, pointing a finger towards them. Jon saw as, immediately, three women stepped forward until they were kneeled in front of them, bowing with their temples pressed on the floor. "I deliver gifts of another for you."

One of them was blonde, with long and slick hair. The other two were of similar appearance, with dark copper skin and black hair. Their clothes were Northern but ill-fitted, and their appearance was tired. Jon could feel his hands shaking and he gulped, slowly looking up away from the women — the slaves — at his feet and meeting the calculating gaze of Illyrio Mopatis, the man who dared to bring slaves North of Westeros as gifts.

The table behind him was silent, and Jon could hear the thundering of his heart as he gulped down. Daenerys' hand gripped tightly to his arm and Jon was grateful that she understood what was happening.

His lord father hated slavery.

Jorah Mormont's fate reverberated in Jon's mind, the man's escape of his death sentence cursing him to exile. Jon feared his father would put the same fate to him for being offered slaves so openly.

Ned could think Jon was approving of it, that maybe he had been meddling with slavery since the past year he had let Jon be with his duties, no more guiding him unless Jon asked for it. And if it was so — if his father believed he meddled with slavery — then Jon would be sentenced to die, for slavery was a crime that was answered with death. But what about his wife? His hold? His friends and allies who guided him throughout his journey until this very day, where he and Daenerys finally claimed lordship over their castle? And the city that grew around his keep, already relying on the trades and securities that were offered by him?

What about his people?

"You dare to offer slaves to my son and good-daughter!" His father's voice boomed in the great hall, silencing all in the room. Jon dared not to breathe too loud.

"Jon…" He couldn't bring himself to look at her, not even when she worriedly tugged at his arm. Distantly, he took notice of her calling him by his given name for the first time.

"I understand the existence of your dishonourable practices but I did not think you would dare to bring them here into my home!" Ned's voice was as cold as the Valyrian sword Ice, cutting through Jon's mind as easily as it did to all the men he had watched his father cut heads off. "I welcomed you and agreed to your help in my son's future, but I will not accept this."

"Jon…" Her words were muddled, but he noted they were more desperate. He wished to reassure her, to bring her peace of mind. But he could find neither in himself to do so.

"They are no slaves, my good Lord Stark." The man's voice was confident still, and it caused a fire to rouse up in Jon's belly. Rage filled him as he focused on the distasteful man in front of him, and he took a step forward, intent on doing something — anything — to end the man's madness. "I took them from slavery, offering them another life in exchange for their price in gold." Deaneries pulled him back to her, both arms hugging his right arm close to her and stopping Jon from advancing on the man.

"What kind of life? You think we will take slavery into our trades?" He could feel the stillness in his lord father's voice. Winter is coming.

"No, my lord. A life in court." The cheek in the man's voice, his arrogance and devilish smirk as he looked at Jon's father was maddening. The pig's eyes turned to Daenerys, and Jon wished for nothing more than a sword in his hands to cut the man's head off. "As my Lady's handmaidens."

Daenerys pulled him to her with all her might, twisting so she was in front of him and pressed the back of her body to his front. She stopped him from ending all alliances they had in Essos.

"Why?" Her voice was strong and filled with power. It made him stop in his tracks and look down at the crown of his little wife's head. Daenerys' voice was loud for all to hear, no hesitation and no fear as it echoed as much as his father's voice did in the great hall. Jon swept his gaze through the first few rows of guests that were close to them, most of them were of the North, Lords and their heirs. They looked at her in surprise, a few eyes glinting with — dare he say it? — interest.

Illyrio nodded at her and pointed, first, to one of the copper-skinned ones, both appearing to be close to age to Jon and Daenerys. The one he pointed was bigger boned than the other, with larger shoulders and hips, as well as heavy breasts.

"This one is Jhiqui, a Dothraki woman with knowledge of both the common language and the Dothraki one." Illyria smiled, showing his yellowed crooked teeth. "I heard my lady is fond of languages, you've spoken with many a guest here in different languages." He nodded to her, his piggy eyes looking at her beneath short lashes. "You honoured us with your young wisdom and wit."

Daenerys did not answer to him.

He pointed then to the other copper skinned one.

"This here is Irri. She knows of the Dothraki way of the horse. She will teach you how to master a horse and become its lady as the horse lords of the East." Then he pointed to the blond one, the oldest of the trio. "And this is Doreah, a whore of Lys." Jon's lips pursed in displeasure, and the entire hall erupted in scandalized whispers at the magister's next words. "She shall teach you about the arts of the bed."

Jon tried to walk away from Daenerys, intent on taking the man's life for dishonouring her so. It was enough that their whole marriage was a ploy of the king to see her family shamed, now the man wanted to display their future bed life to all?

But his lady stopped him once more, with nought but a gracious twist and nudge of her body.

"Enough! I'll have none of this!" His father's voice boomed once again. "Guards!"

"Wait!" His wife turned around, and Jon saw her face, beautiful and ethereal, as she looked up at the high table. Her violet eyes shone with determination, with a shrewdness that took his breath away for a minute. "This is a matter of House Targaryen of the North." Others, so far as they were from her petite form, couldn't see her sharp intake of breath, the way her chin trembled slightly when she ended her phrase. But Jon could, and he understood. It is a matter of our House. "Let us take care of it."

Jon looked at her with wide eyes, his breath coming and going quickly out of his mouth. He could feel a heavy weight on his shoulders, and he deemed it responsibility. And as he looked at her trembling form slowly coming together, at the way she gathered herself up and lifted her chin in defiance to this weight he had no doubt she felt as heavily as he did, Jon knew he could not let her do it alone. Incited, he let his body mirror hers, turning to face his father with her.

When his father's gaze fell on him, Jon did not know what the older man saw. Was it Jon Snow, his bastard son, in his marital clothes, doublet made of the finest silk and clothed in the red and black of his new House? Or was it Lord Targaryen, standing as tall as his teenaged body could, in fine clothes that were given to the new lord of Queenscrown, for he had nothing but gifts handed to him, with nothing to his name but the Snow that marked him as a bastard and the House name his wife gave him?

It did not matter, Jon thought as he stood shoulder to shoulder, side by side, to his lady wife and stared up at his liege lord.

Ned nodded.

Jon and Daenerys turned to the three slaves kneeled in front of them. Jon made himself seem taller, puffed his chest out and lifted his chin as Daenerys stood with her hands clasped at her waist. He hoped she had a plan in mind.

Her head turned imperceptibly to him, and he met her gaze. Jon pleaded her to go ahead with whatever she had planned to do. He was genuinely lost but knew they needed to follow along and show that they were strong on their own, not only on what his father or their investors did or gave. She nodded and took a step ahead, and then another, and until she was merely at arm's length of the kneeled women. Jon could see that the one named Jhiqui was trembling slightly.

"Rise."

He watched as all three of them stood. And it terrified Jon how much emptiness there was in the Lysene woman's blue eyes. The other two kept their eyes lowered and their bodies submissive.

Jon looked at each of them and scorched their faces and names to his memory.

"Each of you came here to leave a life of chains behind," His wife's voice was clear and loud, and Jon could see their crowd watching on with hungry eyes. Jon knew the whole of the Seven Kingdoms would speak of whatever happened here. "Each of you looks at me and see, perhaps, a better life than what you had."

Daenerys' shoulders were tense, and he thought that she was uncomfortable standing there, alone, supporting the gaze of the whole of the North and parts of the South and East by herself.

"You see no life but this one of following me, thinking that then you'll live in freedom." Jon took a deep breath, and stepped forward, slowly but surely approaching his silver wife. "But I think you are wrong so I give you all a choice." He stopped beside her and looked each of them in their eyes in the same way his wife was doing beside him. "You may continue by my side, find your place as my handmaidens as you initially came here to," Daenerys' voice rose louder, and Jon swept his eyes toward Illyrio, who watched them with mystified eyes. "Or," Daenerys' voice was louder, loud enough to echo in the room that same way his father did. "Or you may deny it, and choose where you want to settle and I'll happily help you, providing means and funds to secure you enough in your journey."

Jon saw as Illyrio's eyes darkened, and the room remained silent. Jon turned away from the magister to see the women's reaction. The Dothraki duo stared at the floor still with wide eyes, wide eyes full of doubt. Doris looked at Daenerys with eyes full of resentment, of sadness and resignation. He frowned.

Illyrio's laugh was thunderous, he clapped his hands and walked towards them with challenging eyes.

"You jest, my lady."

The man towered over them both, but Jon didn't falter, nor did Daenerys.

"Do I?" She asked cooly.

"Yes," The man said then, with more force to his voice. Jon looked around the room, searching for Ramsay, his personal guard was never far from him and he needed to be sure his friend was close if it came to the protection of Daenerys and himself. "You do." The man turned, grabbed Doreah's chin and turned her face slightly as one does to inspect one's merchandise. "You have nothing to your name that wasn't given, so with what profit will you pay these two?"

Jon thanked the Old Gods that his siblings had all retired to bed, with the excuse of Robb and Sansa, who he could see lurking on the front row closer to them.

Ramsay was hidden a few rows back, his eyes glued to the magister's head as he fingered the dagger Jon had no doubt was hidden in the boy's doublet. And his father questioned him why he named such a young boy as his personal guard. Only Ramsay could manage to bring a weapon with him even when the guests were searched for them.

Jon could feel Daenerys' desperation at the magister's words. It was in the way she exhaled quickly out of her mouth, on how she shifted her stance slightly forward as if in frustration — wanting to reach the subject of her frustration and confront him — and he answered swiftly, knowing of their economic situation better than anyone else.

He handled them himself.

"We can because we have acquisitions of our own." His voice cracked a bit, and he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He grunted, looking at his wife, expecting to see ridicule in her eyes but only seeing her hopeful and encouraging gaze. He looked back at Illyrio, meeting his narrowing stare and cleaned his throat, speaking once more with more certainty. "Trade has been happening quickly in our lands," Jon looked at the people in the great hall. He could see Robb and Theon, Sansa and her friends looking at him with wide eyes, the Umber Lord and Karstark Lord and many others. Closer to Ramsay he could see Roose Bolton staring at him with cold, calculating eyes. He looked back and met his father's approving stare, giving Jon his evident approval in revealing the discoveries Jon had made in the past year. And then, Lady Catelyn, looking at him with blank eyes. He turned back, face hardening and chin rising. "We already have pledges of fealty to House Targaryen, fealty of small mountain clans," That caused people to murmur amongst themselves. He knew what they were asking. What worth was there to mountain clans? Jon smirked. "With them, we have found mines upon mines of precious stones and metals and even silver. We are in the current search for gold in the mountains surrounding…" He looked at Daenerys, who looked at him with shocked eyes. "Surrounding our lands." He moistened his lips with his tongue, turning back to Illyrio, who stared at him with a keen gaze. "So you see…" Jon nodded his head to the three women who would be free to choose their own destiny; be it with them or by themselves. "We can certainly grant them their wishes." Jon then swept his eyes over each and every magister and investor that stood before him. "We will, in due time, pay every debt we have to each of you."

Jon then looked at Daenerys, nodding to her. He could see his own reflection in her large purple eyes, clear and beautiful for him to see before she hardened herself once more to face their crowd.

"What do you choose?" She spoke quietly, kindly, to the three women staring at her. The Dothraki women, no, girls had tears in their eyes and the Lysene woman looked at them as if seeing the gods themselves.

Irri, the slender Dothraki girl, fell to her knees and bowed deeply.

"Khaleesi…Khal…" She looked up at them before pressing her forehead to the ground, and Jon did not know what to do. He wanted her to get up, there was no need for her to kneel.

Jhiqui followed her. She kneeled once but did not stay bowed as Irri did, looking up at him with tearful almond-shaped eyes.

"We thank you, Khal Targaryen." Her voice was heavy with an accent he assumed as Dothraki. He jerked a nod, quickly helping her to her feet, and then helping the other girl. They rose quickly and then bowed once more, taking a step back and letting only Doreah of Lys stand before them.

She had tears in her eyes, a slip of hope shining in them.

Jon wondered how many times freedom was offered to her.

"I can choose..."

He saw his wife's head turning to him and he met her inquiring gaze. Jon smiled, saying without words that all would be fine. She turned her purple eyes back to Doreah with a smile.

"Say only your destination, and you'll go as soon as possible." Daenerys stepped forward, her hands grasping at the woman's and never turning her eyes away. The woman smiled at her. It was strange to have someone older looking at him with such regard as Doreah did that very moment. She took her time in looking at them, before bowing deeply over Daenerys' hands still holding her own.

"Then I shall stay with you, my lady." Jon sighed, meeting Daenerys' gaze with his own. They exchanged small smiles before she tightened her hold over Doreah's hands, letting them go and walking forward until she stopped in front of Illyrio.

"It seems that all was resolved without bloodshed." Daenerys curtsied, as befitting of a lady of her position. "I thank you, Magister Illyrio, for bringing such talented handmaidens to my household." Her voice was music, melodic and pleasing to hear. Jon didn't doubt it could lull anyone to sleep despite its childish aspect.

"You have great charisma, my lady." Jon looked coldly at the man, as did his wife, he had no doubt. "You too, my lord, I see that you didn't stay idle in these years before taking your lordship." Jon only stared back at the man.

Daenerys curtsied once more before walking back to Jon's side, turning around to stare right back at all the eyes that looked upon them, now, with apt attention. They had proved their worth and showed they had their own weapons and means. Jon's breath shook and he could feel his blood boil, as around them it was made known the power of their House. The power they were garnering in their frozen lands.

"Let it be known!" Daenerys' voice boomed through the room once more, jolting him off of his musings as he turned toward his fiery wife. "I want you all to tell the whole of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond!" Her young voice had still a high note to it, remains of a childhood that seemed so distant now. "Tell all who want to listen, Queenscrown is no mediocre hold! Tell them that we are strong! Tell them that we preach for liberty!" Jon looked at his wife with wide eyes, not believing in her audacious speech — it could be called treason as it was from her mouth that these words had fallen from! — but still mesmerized by her gaze and inspiring words. She opened her arms, sweeping her violet gaze around the room. "Let it be known that in Queenscrown there is a place for anyone to prove their worth! Be it a woman or a man, of noble birth or not, a slave or a bastard; it does no matter!" She let her arms fall, one hand grasping at his with such strength he thought she could tear through his limb. "We welcome you!" She lifted her chin, eyes dancing with fire. "We, Lord Jon and Lady Daenerys of House Targaryen of the North, welcome you."

Strangely, or not, Jon would think years later, those who yelled in accordance to her were, in their most, servants and all of those that resided at the very end of the great hall, where prestige wasn't found.

•••

After such a speech, there was no bedding ceremony.

Thank the gods, thought Jon as he was pulled by his father towards the man's solar. He was sure he would not have survived the embarrassment of having his clothing being torn apart by ravenous women.

They had been quick to dispatch the party after that. His wife's new handmaidens were quickly led by a servant to a room of their own, and the magisters were all too quick to make amends with them. Jon saw greed in each of them. The Northern lords were quick to speak them, nodding to him in appreciation. At least Jon liked to think they were.

Soon, they were all heading away from the great hall.

Daenerys was being pulled along, her — previous, she's Jon's now, as he is hers — Lord guardian Stannis pulling at her arm as they quickly ascended the steps leading to Eddard's solar. Behind them were Lady Stark, the red woman who'd arrived with the Baratheon's retinue and the Onion Knight. Maester Luwin was waiting for them by the door already, his face showing the worry he felt for them. Beside the old man was Ramsay, looking at Daenerys with a stare Jon remembered as the one he had after he finally had words with the boy after he had had enough of Ramsay's initial uncooperative and callous behaviour.

The Bolton bastard had arrived at Winterfell when Jon was two and ten. He had been sent as the Bolton's contribution to the new household of the North. When Jon first met him, all the older boy ever did was to insult him and Queenscrown. He spoke ill of everything, laughing at them cynically and always flaunting about his apparent lover, Myranda, and how much better she was in comparison to the 'white dragon bitch'.

Jon was always quick to anger when coming to these things; his castle, his future wife and his own station as bastard and heir to a new holdfast. But for the sake of making allies, as Maester Ludwin advised him on those dark days of Ramsay's first arrival, he tolerated the boy and his insults. Until he didn't, so he had acted on the building violence that raged inside him.

The result of that beating was the same look Ramsay now directed at Daenerys. Jon now knew he had not to worry about his wife's well-being when regarding his definitely unstable guard. Because after weeks of the same contemplating stare came the fierce loyalty that Ramsay had for Jon now. The sick obsession that made the older boy do anything for Jon's well-being.

They entered the solar and the maester closed the door, quickly waking to his father's side in front of his heavy desk. Ned had released his arm from his iron grip, and Jon stood before him with peculiar calm. Daenerys walked quietly until she was standing by his side, her shoulder brushing against his upper arm. She was very tiny, Jon noted idly, and he wasn't the tallest of boys.

Lord Stannis stood rigidly beside Lord Stark, his eyes dark. Lady Catelyn stood by the door, Jon could feel her cold stare on the back of his head. The red woman had stepped forward until she faced a window, looking at the distance beyond Winter's Town outside Winterfell. Jon could feel Ramsay standing behind him, slightly to his left. He looked down at the ground, gulping before rising his stare to meet his father's solemn eyes.

"What you just did," Lord Baratheon's voice was hard to decipher, grunting and low. "Was exceptionally unwise." His lips pressed firmly, eye narrowing to the girl standing beside Jon. "Do you understand the consequences of such an act?"

"It is simply not done," His lord father brought a hand to his temples, eyes closing as if in pain. "One simply does announce an invitation to one's keep in such a way." His father sighed deeply. "Robert could take this as treason, don't you know?" He chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. "Words of liberation could only mean treason when coming from a Targaryen to him at least."

"But it wasn't what I meant!" Jon's wife took a step forward, hands balling into tight fists. "Not like that!" Jon could see the way her shoulders fell in defeat, big violet eyes looking at them helplessly. "I don't want his throne and I couldn't let that magister put us down with slaves as gifts! And I couldn't let them fall back into his hands!"

"And you did right, my lady." Maester Luwin nodded quickly. "But you could have been quiet afterwards."

"Yes, child." It was Catelyn that spoke, surprisingly. "A lady cannot afford to have such ilk in her home, and you cannot hope to gain favour with the king uttering such words." Jon felt his lips twist bitterly, for he knew it was a jab at him and Ramsey.

"Oh, please!" Jon blinked at his wife as she turned around sharply, the frustration evident in her voice and face as she stared at the older woman. "My husband is a bastard!" He turned his eyes away, feeling hurt at her harsh words. "I've met him for barely a day and I know for sure he is thousands of times a better man than the cruel monster that will sit on the throne after our fat king!"

"DAENERYS!" The Lord Baratheon's yell was as piercing as Lady Catelyn's words, and it struck the younger girl like thunder, just as her words struck Jon breathless. She immediately turned away from Lady Catelyn, her gaze downturned and mouth sewn shut. Daenerys stared at the ground guiltily but did not apologize for her words. "Watch your mouth, child. I've taught you discipline, I want you to show it." She nodded morosely, but Jon could see she was hurt. Biting his lips, he gently laid a hand on her shoulder, hoping to show his support for her. She looked at him with surprised violet eyes and smiled gently in appreciation. He nodded in response before turning to his lord father.

"Maybe we can turn this in our favour, father." He felt the awkwardness growing in himself, uncomfortable at the attention of the room turning towards him. But he ignored his discomfort and focused on the words that needed to be said. "We could send word to other Houses, to other towns, that we seek to be a refuge to those that think they have no destiny in the realm." He stared at his wife with solemn eyes before meeting his father's gaze once more. "We need to increase the numbers in our household, in any way possible. Samwell," He turned to Daenerys, explaining to her quietly. "He is our steward. You will like him, I'm sure." He looked back at his father, blushing slightly at his amused stare. "Samwell has said we are in need of people to fully administer the castle and its relations with the surrounding town." Jon turned once more to Daenerys, blushing. "Queen's Town, it's growing steadily at our hold's entrance, my lady," And then he met his father's eyes once more.

There was silence in the room, and then he could hear Ramsay's snicker, disguised as a cough.

Jon cursed him to seven hells for his inconvenience.

"It's a sound idea." Jon thanked Lord Stannis for not commenting on his fumbling behaviour. "It would grant you favour with the people, but it's still an open invitation for spies and unsightly people."

"My lord," Ramsay's mocking voice was as irritable as ever, even when speaking to the brother of the king. "That will not be something to worry about. Spies and…" He giggled. Ramsay giggled. Gods help him, Jon thought, for he would strangle his friend after all this mess. "Unsightly people have no place in the grounds of my lord Snow."

Stannis lifted an eyebrow.

"And who are you to say so?"

Jon immediately stepped forward, intent on introducing his guard before he made a fool of himself with his strange humour and flair for dramatics. He was too late.

Ramsay took a large step forward, bowing deeply with one arm behind his back and the other dramatically rising upwards.

"My name is Ramsay Snow!" He lifted his upper body, blue eyes glinting in a way only his could. "Lord Snow's personal guard and…" He giggled again. Gods, he was embarrassing. "Master of whispers AND!" His smile fell, face going slack with the cold cruelty that he showed to those he deemed lower than him. "Master interrogator."

Jon saw his father's disapproving shake of his head, his dark eyes meeting Jon's with a warning that often was there when Ramsay was involved.

It was common knowledge that Ramsay was a cruel man that cared for nothing short of Jon's continuing progress in power. Since the Bolton bastard decided, in his twisted dark mind, that Jon was worthy of his loyalty, he had started to create a web of information gathering throughout all of the North that was equitable to the Spider's own in King's Landing. Laughably calling himself master of whispers, the man had agents in all of the North and the South, some whispered he even had influence Beyond the Wall, spying on Mance Ryder daily.

It was also known that the older boy had no scruples in using violence upon his targets so he could get the information his lord needed. Jon didn't approve and made sure to stop his guard every time he could, but Jon knew Ramsay still did it out of his sight.

It was Ser Davos who spoke next, and Jon jumped slightly in surprise as the voice of the Onion Knight came from behind him. He had almost forgotten about the man's presence.

"Interrogator, you say?" The man's voice was careful, and Jon didn't blame him. Ramsay did appear to be as crazy as one can be, and Jon didn't doubt one bit of his insanity.

"Aye," Ramsay's voice was bored now, sighing heavily as if he was losing his time standing there. Jon resented his friend sometimes — for more flawed that Ramsay was, Jon still thought of him as his friend and sometimes Jon questioned his own sanity because of it — because he knew Ramsay could act as one deemed 'normally'. But since Jon accepted him in his service, Ramsay simply didn't care for crafting a mask for other people's comfort. "At least I try to be," He looked slyly at Jon while leaning towards Daenerys as if telling her a secret. "Lord Snow doesn't appreciate much of the art of interrogation." He looked at her then, winking at the Lady. Jon could sympathize with her puzzled face. He often had the same face when dealing with Ramsay's eccentrics.

"Ramsay can appear a bit…odd." Jon glared at his friend's snicker. The older boy often laughed at his wording. He then looked back at Stannis, face grave. "But his work is true. There is no one better than him." His eyes went to Daenerys, who observed quietly. His words came out softly. "Our home will be safe with his help."

For a moment, there was only them both. Him and his stranger of a wife.

Her rich violet eyes were otherworldly to him, as colourful as the precious jewels of their lands. Her hair, seemingly made of the silver he found in the mines in the mountains surrounding their castle, shone with the candlelight. He remembered how long it was from the previous day, both at her arrival when it was held tightly into a single braid running down her back, and on the welcoming feast in its simple Northern hairdressing. Her wedding gown was daringly light in the cold weather with only the slight details of fur on its neckline.

She took his breath away with her beauty, and she robbed his attention with her magnetic charisma. Jon had thought he would be wedded to a girl like Sansa or Catelyn, and he had prayed for someone as kind to him as Arya. Daenerys was none.

Her free laughs and smiles, given as easily as the winds blew, conquered his friendship more easily than anyone else ever did. The way she relied on him and was still strong on her own was relieving and a fresh breath of air from years of quiet solitude he had faced since coming to his responsibilities at ten name days. The way she held herself and the way she spoke, her way with words evident in her bold speech in the great hall…She would grow to be quite the woman, he thought to himself. He hoped that they could grow well together.

"Well then," Ser Davos clapped once, taking them from their reverie and making Jon turn scarlet as he noticed all in the room looking at them. Ramsay tittered behind one of his hands, mocking him surely. Good gods, how he hated the damn boy. "It is time for you newlyweds to, uhum, do your duty so to speak." Then he coughed, no doubt hiding a laugh at them. "So let us retire for the night."

"Yes, yes," Maester Luwin nodded quickly, already at the door and only waiting for Lord Stark's confirmation. "We shouldn't have interrupted the ceremony, but it was a far too important matter."

His lord father's eyes were dark, his whole posture resigned as he searched for his wife's eyes. Jon didn't have to look back at Lady Stark to know her face was as blank as her own husband often was.

"Yes," He finally sighed, turning away from them. "Jon, show to your wife the way to your chambers. Your gifts and belongings have already been transferred there."

Jon gulped, the memory of the bedding suddenly overwhelming him. He thought back to quarters that were assigned to them for years already. Where he would live with his Daenerys for a few weeks still until they headed to their own keep.

Looking at her, he could see the bit of fear that clouded her eyes. Somehow, it reassured him. He gulped, offering his hand to her.

"My lady?"

Daenerys looked at his hand, almost lost in what to do. Violet eyes turned away from him as she looked at the red woman, who had remained quiet through all of their talking, and something in the woman's gaze must have comforted her of something. She looked deeply into his eyes, searching for something in his depths, and he dared not to turn away.

Her hand was warm in his.

•••

They walked quietly through the dark corridors of the castle, its warmth entering their bodies and keeping the cold away as they moved, hand in hand, towards their chambers. Jon could feel each step resonating inside of him, each intake of her breath hitting him like a whip. His whole body was synched to her movements. It didn't take long for them to stop in front of the heavy red door that marked their rooms.

Jon looked at her, not saying anything, and she didn't look back, staring at the door with a narrowed focus. He looked away, stepping forward and letting go of her hand as he opened the door, revealing a big chamber filled with sofas and an already lit hearth. The bed had a canopy and was huge, much larger than the one in his previous rooms. He could see various trunks around the room, separated into three groups that he assumed were his, hers and their gifts.

They entered, slowly observing the space around them with no rush. Jon closed the door behind him, bolting it. She turned around sharply, eyes wide and hugging herself.

"No!" He brought his arms up, eyes equally wide as he tried to calm her. He had no wish of imposing himself on her. If she wished so, they would not touch each other. "I'm just…I…" He frowned, unsure of how to go about it. He had no talent for words. "I can unlock it if it pleases you?"

She shook her head slowly, relaxing once more and chuckling.

"No, no…" She smiled at him, tired and suddenly so small. "It's just…It's hard…I don't know how…" Her mouth hung open, words stuck in her throat as she looked at him with those violet orbs of hers. He nodded.

"Yes. I understand." He watched as she smiled wide, looking down at her hands before walking languidly towards the two armchairs in front of the hearth, a small table between them filled with cheese, fruits and wine. Daenerys grabbed one of the furs that were thrown in the chair, wrapping it around her shoulders as she sat on it, taking her slippers off and pulling her legs up, hugging them close to her chest. She looked over her shoulder at him, tilting her head to the other armchair.

Blinking, Jon nodded hastily. He walked briskly to the chair and faced the hearth with cool eyes as he slowly sat in it, slowly relaxing. Jon let his body fall in the armchair, feeling absolute bliss at its warm and soft embrace. He let his head fall back, closing his eyes for a moment and let his body slide down, his legs sprawling open before him as he relaxed.

It was silent for a long while as he laid there, half sat and half laying in the armchair. He could picture her in his mind's eye, behind his closed eyelids, as she looked at the fire, entranced and entrancing in her ethereal beauty.

"Me too, you know?" Jon spoke finally. His voice was low, small and timid. He felt he needed to tell her of this. "I've never…" He gulped, opening his eyes and staring at the dark ceiling above him. "Never…"

Silence met his confession, and Jon feared she thought him foolish when she giggled. He frowned, lifting his head enough to see her laughing quietly with her face hidden between her knees, her arms hugging them tightly to her chest.

"You laugh at me?"

She looked up, the laughter slowly leaving her face and making her look pensively at him. She shook her head again, looking instead to the fire once more.

"No…" Her voice was soft, whispering even though they were completely alone. "It's just you. Your…" Her full lips quirked up, eyebrows puckering expressively before she turned toward him with soft eyes. "Your kindness." She sighed as if a great weight was lifted from her shoulders. "You are so kind, and gentle and understanding…" She huffed a laugh, turning away from him, before meeting his gaze again. "I cannot bear to think on how much I…" Her eyes darkened, shame overcoming her beautiful features. "How much I hated you."

He tilted his head, letting his cheek rest on the soft cushion of the armchair behind him as he looked at her with curious eyes. Jon didn't judge her for hating him; she obviously held no ill feelings for him now, and he did resent her in his childhood.

She laughed bitterly, hands rising and slowly taking a pin off of her hair, making one strand fall lightly over her shoulder as her legs fell off the chair.

"At eight, I hated you for what you meant to me." She continued to slowly free her hair of its bounds, each strand falling around her like new snow falling from the skies. "I hated you for shaming me so, for bringing bastard blood to my royal blood." It hurt to hear such words from her mouth, but Jon kept his silent vigil over her as she lost herself in her words, fingers never stopping from their heavy task of freeing her waterfall of winter-touched hair from its bounds. "I thought to myself that I should be queen, that I should be betrothed to the prince, who was surely better than a Northern brute." She looked at him then, violet orbs dark with terrible memories. "Oh, my beautiful, kind husband," He blushed at her words, but did not turn away from her piercing gaze. "I was wrong. So terribly wrong."

Her hands fell to her lap, the last pin in hands as her hair curtained around her small form. Her waves were so long, they reached the small of her waist. Daenerys' hair was magnificent, it shone bright and fell artistically around her face. She shook her head, making it move wildly around her head and then settle more naturally, not twisted by the tight hairdo she previously had. She gently put the pins on the table in between them.

Her head rolled on her shoulders until it was tilted towards him, in a position that mirrored his.

"Lord Stannis took me to King's Landing once," Her eyes turned clouded, memories coming forth to block her vision of the present. It didn't take long for his mind to piece together what he knew of her and what she began to tell him. "I spent an entire year there, until after my ninth name-day, stuck in that hellhole," She sneered, disgust clear in her features.

Jon knew of that, barely. His lord father had spoken to him about Daenerys travelling to King's Landing and staying in court for a whole year. Ramsay told Jon that she was humiliated by the royal family there, though he did not discover much more.

"It stunk and it was so dirty," She shook her head, horror falling swiftly over her face. "The people there, the common folk…" She huffed in disbelief as she still couldn't believe what she had lived there. "They were filthy and hungry and so desperate…" Her eyes then turned to his, sadness bringing tears to her exotic irises. "And they did nothing. The King, Robert," She leaned over the arm of the chair, bringing herself closer to him. "He only drinks and whores, fathering bastard after bastard in a way that we could fill our entire halls with them!" She pulled away, falling back into the chair and looking at the ceiling. She dampened her lips, pink tongue washing over her plump mouth.

Though Jon was distracted by both her words and her seducing actions, he couldn't help but agree with her depiction of the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. Sam often rambled about how it was a shithole, though their maester would always disagree with the fat boy, by Ramsay's reports and what the smallfolk of Queen's Town said of the city, Jon was inclined to believe in his steward more than maester Yandel.

"And the prince that I dreamed of?" She laughed bitterly, closing her eyes as tears fell down her cheeks. "He only humiliated me, along with his cruel mother." She looked at him, face slacking into a blank mask. "He played with me, guiding me on, making me believe in my dreams, my naive, stupid dreams of royal marriage." She closed her eyes. "And then he stripped me naked, tore my heart out in front of his court and laughed heartily at me." Jon never strayed his gaze from her. A girl drowned in her past griefs shouldn't be such a vision in his eyes, shouldn't make his blood freeze and boil in the most confusing of sensations, but Daenerys did. "Next time I returned to Dragonstone, Lord Stannis told me how I came to be yours, not his; Joffrey's." She opened her eyes, smiling tragically and genuinely at him. "I've never been so relieved to be wrong. To not have a dream come true." She held her hand out to him, and he grabbed it, holding tightly to her. "A nightmare, truly." New tears fell from her eyes again as she smiled tremblingly at him.

Jon sighed deeply, his fingers closing over hers as something deep in his chest resonated with her history.

"So, you see, Jon Snow," She laughed, gulping slightly before standing, letting her fur fall back on her chair. "You are the best, the very, very best," He smiled up at her as she walked closer until she stood between his sprawled legs. "Best husband a girl like me could have." She nodded, gazing bashfully at their joined hands. Jon leaned forward, sitting at the edge of his seat and lifting one hand to her cheek, tentatively laying his palm on it.

To his breathtaking surprise, she pushed her face into his palm, turning her lips into his caress and pressing a silent kiss on his callused palm. The foreign sensation brought a shiver to his whole body, goosebumps making the fine hair on his body stand. His whole form tensed, but in a different way that promised many pleasurable things.

Daenerys breathed trembly onto his hand, pressing one more kiss to it before stepping back, letting his hand go. She stood before him, glorious, the fire behind her forming a halo around her form. Her eyes, jewels gave life, were focused on him completely as her hands went behind her, twisting someway and another until her gown went loose.

A shaky breath left his lips, his wide eyes were nearly black and he could feel a growing discomfort in his breeches. Violet eyes darkened, but her lips smiled gently as she let her gown fall to the ground.

She wore nothing beneath it.

Daenerys turned bashful at his long stare, her face and neck and chest reddening as she looked down. She raised her arms, intent on covering her lovely breasts. Round, not very big and still childish, with pink peaks that were like buttons, begging him to pay them their due attention. Her curves were slight but her body was strong, her limbs sculptured for speed and flexibility. Her belly was flat, her hips wide and thighs thick. The small patch of silver hair between them fascinated him, calling for him with silent promises.

"You are bewitching…" He gasped, head shaking in disbelief at her enormous comeliness. He stood, grasping her face between his hands — so scarlet, so shy, so gorgeous — and bringing his forehead to meet hers. Jon closed his eyes, trying to ignore the desire growing in him and focusing on her.

"Do you want this, Daenerys?" It was the first time he called her so.

He felt as her nose nuzzled his, a soft touch that brought a modest smile to his lips. He nuzzled her back.

"Yes." He kissed her.

His lips touched her warm and wet ones, still salty from her previous tears. He moved them slightly, lost, but knowing that he searched to bring her pleasure. She bit him lightly, pulling away with his lower lip stuck between her teeth. He opened his eyes, looking into her lovely face and smiling. She let his lip go, smiling back at him, her hands smoothing the fabric covering his shoulders.

Slowly, so damn slowly, she helped him take his clothes off.

It was embarrassing, and he yelped lowly when she first touched his breeches, making her laugh and he shut her up with another kiss. That only made her laugh louder, and he kissed her smiling lips trying to contain his own laughter as her hands clumsily unlaced his breeches.

Daenerys managed to undo the laces, but when she went to the task of taking his pants off, they finally noticed that they had to take his boots before taking off the damn pants. Jon cursed, damming his far too many layers of clothes as she giggled insanely, kneeling on the ground and trying to avert bumping her head with his hard erection as she went about taking off the fucking boots. Which was as humiliating as it sounded.

All the while she giggled, taking one boot and pulling it forcefully off his leg while he tried to balance himself standing on only one. She pulled and he fell back to the armchair, she kept laughing, almost sobbing with hilarity, and he kissed her again, more forcefully but not containing his own laugher this time.

"It's not funny." He told her, trying to show some semblance of seriousness.

"It is!" She didn't contain herself, laughing mirthfully with eyes clear with giddy happiness.

Small hands went to his other boot, taking it off more gently as she giggled occasionally, shaking her head in amusement. Jon watched her with soft eyes.

The boot went off and she brought her hands to his loose breeches, pulling them down his strong legs, her face slowly taking a more curious and lustful gaze as she watched his body. This time, it was Jon who blushed. When she finally took off the offending piece of cloth, she tossed it aside, rising on her knees so she could look him better.

Violet orbs drank him shamelessly, passing through the ridges of his defined muscles, his abdomen and resting on the bulging member close to her face. She went bright red on the face, the same as him, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. He, too, didn't quite know how to proceed. So he only breathed in slightly, his eyes roamed over her body as he brought his arms around her waist to hug her close to his chest, bringing her up from her kneeled position so she could curl in his chest, straddling his hips.

They both gasped when their bodies finally connected, her breasts firmly pressed to his chest, her legs pressing into his and her folds touching lightly to his hard member.

"It's strange, isn't it?" He breathed in her hair, lips moving against her silky hair.

"What?" One of her hands was gripping his hair at his nape, another was drawing circles on his neck. Daenerys moved her head up, lips grazing against his.

"We met yesterday, but here we are, married, in a room of our own, naked and ready to…" Jon cleared his throat, stopping himself from finishing a sentence so dirty in the presence of a lady.

"Fuck?"

He laughed, letting his head fall back and bring an arm to throw on top of his eyes.

"What?" She asked, laughing against his neck.

Jon grabbed the back of her head, pulling her to him and kissing her, deeply.

His arms snaked around her, firmly securing this little woman close to him as he opened his mouth on hers, and she opened hers in welcome. Jon stood from the armchair, holding Daenerys tight to his chest as her legs circled his hips, holding tight to him and pressing her folds against his skin. He moaned, as did her, at the feeling of skin sliding on the skin. His legs took them to their large bed, his knees bumping on the bed as he lowered her to the mattress.

Jon had to stop himself and take a moment to stare at her enticing form laid out in front of him. Her mouth was open, breathing harshly through red and wet lips. Her hands were laid out on both sides of her head, arms sprayed in a way that framed her lustful face, her tits bounced with her rapid breathing. Her legs were bent on her knees with her feet planted firmly on the bed, exposing her to him. Daenerys' eyes shone with lust and fear, fear of the unknown that was ahead of them. He wished to soothe her.

He could, Jon thought, eye falling to her glistening folds.

Kneeling on the ground, he ignored her questioning call of his name and laid his mouth against her, fingers parting her nether lips as he devoured her. She gasped, grabbing his hair as she bucked against his lips with abandon. His thumb searched for her pearl, not exactly knowing what he searched for but knowing its purpose from various talks with both Ramsay and Theon.

He found it, stiff and hidden, but it brought screams out of her sweet mouth and made her drip into his mouth. She screamed more and more, legs kicking and pressing on his head, gripping him so strongly it hurt. On and on she went, him never ceasing in his banquet and she desperate for something he had not yet given her. Jon swore he would give her, whatever it was.

And then she went rigid, her body arching into his mouth and out of the bed, her back bowed and she screamed. Orgasm, Jon thought idly as she spent into his mouth. He blinked, licking his lips and crawling his way up her body until he was hovering over her, bracing himself with two arms laid around her head. Her hair was splayed over the silk of the bed, stuck to her face and one long strand stuck to her open mouth. He used one hand to remove it, kissing it before putting it behind her ear as he caressed her face.

She kissed him tenderly, nudging his hips with a knee. He kissed her cheek, breathing in the scent of her. They parted for a few moments, exchanging kisses as they arranged themselves on top of their bed. She laid her head on a pillow, and he laid on top of her, his hips nudging her legs apart as he looked into her eyes.

Gulping, he blew a strand of his own black hair out his eyes, and her hands were soon on his face, moving the wild curls away as he braced himself on one arm and the other he used to guide himself inside her.

She gasped, and he locked his muscles, his whole body listening and completely in tune with her every reaction. Daenerys brought her forehead close to his, violet eyes looking deeply into his as he entered her completely. Jon found no barrier or any of the likes he had heard in perverted talks, but he knew horseback could break a maiden's barrier. Maester Luwin had told him so that very evening.

Nonetheless, nothing more than that passed through Jon's mind as his lover — his wife — clutched at him so intimately. He moved against her, bodies so close to each other he did not know where he ended and she began. They kissed, and he could feel the salty taste of tears on her lips.

"Jon…"

She chuckled, a breathless smile on her lips and tears shining in her violet orbs. She kissed him again, sure and passionately as they rocked against each other.

He could love this.

She breathed his name into his mouth, sweetly and wantonly.

Her Valyrian name was massacred in his tongue, lost in pleasure as he was. But she did not seem to mind, so he decided to keep calling her so.

"Dany…"

He spent on her, his seed spilling into her womb as she milked him greedily. Their eyes met in wonder, finding in each other the same sentiment of immeasurable pleasure for something they had been so scared of. The pleasure they had found in each other's arms was un-matching, Jon thought as he leaned down to kiss her once more.

He could love her.

•••

A/N: As said in the previous chapter, I've posted this on another platform, ao3. Though the updates here will be better in my opinion, as I'll check them again and may or may not add some detail or other, dunno. I change my mind quickly.

As before, I'll put the notes from the first update here, but first, let me address some of your reviews. saphirablue25, yes, there are many ways for him to humiliate Dany, but, legally, she can't marry and have his name, as 'Snow' is a common surname given to bastards according to the area they are born. It is insulting that the Targaryen Noble bloodline would continue in this way, as history and prestige have a great weight in how Houses are seen. House Targaryen is being humiliated, but it somehow failed as we've seen in this chapter, Jon discovered some important and things and isn't being stupid about how to invest the new capital in potential coming from these new goods. Garl Vinland tells me my transitions were somewhat lacking in the first chapter, I agree. I really need to work on this, I hope in this chapter I got somewhat better? Please don't be afraid of pointing out some way I can work on it.

Now, the notes.

Please review. I need your opinion on that smut. I really don't know how I feel about it. I like it, but...I want to know if you guys do.

Watched closely to my tenses when writing this one here.

Now, let's talk business.

Ramsay Bolton's, or Snow, part in this story is heavily inspired by the character Fabien Marchal from the series Versailles. Ramsay has not been suddenly turned into a good guy, his character was kept somewhat the way he was. After thorough research, I came to the conclusion that he could develop a kind of obsessive loyalty to someone. He had it for his mother in canon verse. Jon obtained this loyalty after showing that he could wield power in a way that Ramsay could recognize. Also, as he was quite young when he met Jon, I think it's easier to develop and solidify such a way of thinking when someone is as young as he was when they met. Especially since Jon does see his worth for what he can do and his own virtues, not only his bastard blood. Beyond that, Ramsay has found a role that he finds comfort in, being his lord's 'master interrogator', and it stops him from wanting to take the leading role for himself. Jon knowledges his eccentric and honestly unstable mind, but he doesn't stop or ask him to hide who he is, accepting Ramsay even if it frustrates or disgusts him sometimes. We will see more of Ramsay (much more) and he is going to be one of the main characters in Queenscrown. What are your thoughts on him? Also, this Ramsay is based more on the show version than the book one. The book!Ramsay is a lot crazier, I think.

The mountain clans mentioned by Jon will be further explained, but for now, I want you guys to know that they are a little bit on the OC side of things. Yes, there are northern mountain clans in canon-verse, but they reside along the shores of the bay of ice, west of the mountains surrounding Queenscrown. And there are a lot of mountains in between these two areas. So I thought of these clans, the ones that Jon found, more as nomads that live in small groups. As the North is so vast, I didn't think that the entire area was really explored, so my take is that there are some riches there for our Targaryens to explore. More on that will be explained later in the story itself. Or just ask me if ya wanna! Preferably on a review, so others can read it also!

Ok then, let's talk about Dany's speeches and Jon's fumbling words. I took to heart Jon's 'I'm not a bloody poet!' phrase. Here we see Dany being all badass and making inspiring speeches while Jon just speaks what he thinks necessary while brooding a lot over a number of things. It's a difference between the two characters that I really tried to show in this chapter. Now, it doesn't mean they will inspire armies yet, Jon is still kind haunted by puberty and Dany just haven't dealt with a lot of people, and needs to learn to measure her own words. She could have ended in really bad waters because of that speech if Robert had been there. And she still can if they don't rectify the situation!

I think that's all I have to say, for now, any further doubts or ideas or critics you guys wanna say, please comment!

~Mari