It's not a good chapter without some excitement ;) enjoy!
"Jon, please."
Enrin threw her hands in the air, her exasperation palpable. A fortnight had passed since her fall, and since then, Jon had treated her like a porcelain doll, afraid she would break.
Today he asked if he could lace her boots.
He stood in the corner of the room, at least having the grace to look sheepish. She sat at the edge of the bed, glaring at him.
"I can very well lace my own boots for myself, thank you," she said, almost spitting. She leaned down again, tying the straps all the way up to her knee. When she stood, she swayed.
Jon leaped forward to catch her, his hands steadying her elbows.
"You're not ready to go yet," he said, sitting and pulling her into his lap, "I'll send a raven to this dragon queen and I will tell her to wait a while longer."
Enrin couldn't help but roll her eyes skyward, pushing away from him so that she could stand.
"You said so yourself, we need her armies to help us defeat the Night King. I have agreed with you. Now please, we must go."
Jon squinted at her, eyes wary. "And you're sure you feel well enough for a week on a boat, perhaps longer if the winds do not favor us?" She had been so weak when she fell, Jon feared for her safety each time he turned. His hand was always on her, poised, ready to catch her if she weakened. Of course, she hadn't, and he knew if she did, he would never hear of it if he was not around to witness it himself.
She rounded on him, throwing her thick hair behind her back. "Get up," was all she said, before he turned and walked from the room, her red dress flowing behind her.
Jon pulled on his cloak, squaring his shoulders, before he echoed her steps down the hall.
The throne room was alive with chatter, but as she entered it fell to a low buzz. Some of the lords bowed to her, others ignored her. Some even had the audacity to look on her with distaste. She strode past them all, crossing the table and taking her seat next to Jon's. As he entered, each head bowed, some lower than other's, looking for a favor. Enrin couldn't help but roll her eyes at these southern lords kissing the ground for a man they thought better than them. Although, Enrin was sure Jon was a thousand times better than all of these men combined.
He came around to be seated next to her at the high table, his hand finding hers immediately, out of instinct. They laced their fingers together, looking out over the crowed of people before them. Sansa took her seat next to Jon, smiling encouragingly to them both. When the room quieted, Jon rose to speak.
"I know that most of you had heard of the summons from Daenerys Targaryen."
The room buzzed again, and Jon raised his hand for silence.
"Today," he said, his eyes taking stock of the room, "I ride for wintertown, and sail for Dragonstone."
Yohn Royce all but leapt from his seat, his face incredulous.
"Your Grace," he sputtered, his cheeks purple, "you are the King in the North. The King in the North cannot...leave the North."
Jon watched him idly, his face a calm mask.
"And what sort of king would I be if I did not make alliances with other strong leaders to better the lives of my own people?" The room quieted again, and Enrin's eyes caught Sansa's. They watched each other for a moment, their silence the only communication they needed. If Jon did not play this very carefully, he faced the risk of losing the support of the Northern lords. Enrin chewed the inside of her cheek. Today was the day of her first official council as Jon's wife, and already it was proving to be a tense one.
Robett Glover stood next, uninvited, and Enrin liked him the least of all of the lords before her. Her distrust for him radiated from her in waves.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but how can you be King in the North if you are not IN the North?"
It was all Enrin could do not to roll her eyes. She stood then, folding her hands neatly in front of her, playing ever the lady these people expected.
"Forgive me, Lord Glover," she said, her voice dripping with poison honey, "but how can you be Lord of Deepwood Motte if you are not IN Deepwood Motte?"
Whispers spread about the room, a chuckle being heard from somewhere near the back. Lord Glover rounded on her, his face full of reproach.
"I will not be spoken to like this from a wildling, not in my own homeland," he growled, spitting as he talked.
Jon moved to step forward, perhaps to leap over the table at this man, but Enrin put a hand on his chest to stop him. If she was going to prove herself, now was her chance.
"If I am remembering the timeline correctly, my lord, my people were here first. I am descended of the First Men, like all of the free folk born beyond the wall since the day they stepped foot here in our lands. I have seen things you have never dreamed.
I am not what you expected in a queen, I know that. I am not what I expected in a queen, either. I will respect you, my lord, I will respect your words and your entitlement to feel your feelings but I will not be disrespected in my home, in front of my own people, and my husband."
Jon stared at her, his eyes full of wonder, and fear. Lord Glover sputtered, opening his mouth to speak again.
"Sit down, Lord Glover," Enrin spoke, the sweetness gone from her voice, "your time for speaking has passed."
The throne room was silent, poised, as Enrin and Lord Robett Glover stared each other down.
And then he laughed.
The rest of the lords followed in his suit, little Lady Mormon the most of all. She rocked back and forth, slapping her knees, nudging her knights beside her. Lord Glover doubled over, wiping a tear from his eye. Yohn Royce looked on, joining in the mirth, his laughter nervous.
"You make a valid point, my lady," he said; but then he looked at the men gathered behind him, who all stood, "or shall I say, my Queen."
He raised his sword and pointed it downward, falling to one knee, his men following his lead. Yohn Royce and the Knights of the Vale followed suit, not to be outdone. Lady Lyanna Mormont knelt next, her little face staring up at Enrin in admiration.
"I'll name you, Your Grace," she said, her small eyes alight, "The Queen in the North!"
"Aye," Lord Glover agreed, "The Queen in the North!"
Each knight took up the chant, the words echoing through the halls of Winterfell.
"The Queen in the North!"
The council passed smoothly, each lord expressing their discontent, even at the thought of her going with him.
"My Queen," the little Lady of Bear Island questioned, "you truly think you should not remain here to rule while His Grace travels to Dragonstone?"
Enrin could not help but smile gently at this tiny creature, who looked even smaller wrapped in a fur cloak two sizes too big. Lyanna Mormont reminded her of herself when she was younger; full of purpose with nowhere to put it.
"His Grace and I have decided to leave the North in Lady Sansa's hands in our stead," Enrin spoke, as Jon looked down at Sansa with pride in his eyes. Sansa only nodded, her face serene, fear boiling behind her eyes. The lords each pledged their swords to her as well, and Enrin watched them warily. She felt eyes on her, searching the back of the crowd. A small man with a pointed chin, streaks of gray at his temples, watched her as well, their eyes meeting briefly. Apprehension sliced through her chest, and she narrowed her eyes. He bowed his head and slipped from the room, a shadow, disappearing into the hall.
The lords bowed as the council broke, each coming to them to wish them well on their journey. They begged for a hasty return, their discomfort palpable. Sansa milled among them, and Enrin reached out to catch her arm. She took it in hers, saying, "Sister, will you see me off?" Giving a gracious smile to the ladies milling about, fussing over her dress, Enrin purposefully pulled Sansa away.
Sansa followed her into the courtyard, her face troubled.
"What is it?" She asked as they neared the doors to the castle, the cold air whipping over the threshold. The wind hid their voices as Enrin whispered to her.
"Keep your wolf with you at all times," she said, nodding down at the slate gray pup at Sansa's heels. They had grown so much, her ears brushing Sansa's thigh.
"She may not be able to fight a war, but she can protect you. I'll leave four of my men here with you as well, my own guard," Enrin spoke in a rushed voice, her eyes scanning the faces around her. Sansa looked on, shaking her head. "Enrin, what is it? Tell me," her tone was colored with anxiety, and Enrin placed her hands on the girls arms, holding her steady.
"That pointy man," she said, "the one who brought the Knights of the Vale. I do not trust him." Enrin looked around once more as the people began to file into the heart of the courtyard, waiting to see them off. "Be careful, Sansa," she said, pulling the red haired girl to her in a hard hug, "never let yourself be alone with him. Until I return, my men are yours. Let them protect you."
They broke apart then, Sansa only nodding. Enrin turned quickly as Jon appeared behind them, reaching to place a kiss on Sansa's hair.
"Be safe, sister, I will see you upon my return."
Four hard men surrounded Sansa then, their faces stern. Ten men of the free folk had pledged themselves to Enrin upon her marriage to Jon, and she had taken them on as her personal guard. She had known these men since they were babes at their mother's breasts, and she trusted their loyalty almost more than anything. She looked at them each in turn, needing no words. They only nodded, hands on their weapons, eyes scanning the crowd.
Jon and Enrin made their way through the throng, their horses awaiting them. Jon helped her into her mare, a thick gray charger with hooves the size of dinner plates. He mounted his own black stallion, and Enrin could not help but think how kingly he looked then, wrapped in furs atop his great warhorse, looking out over his people. He raised a hand in one final farewell, before spurring his horse into a trot, Enrin and Davos at his side.
They rode in silence for a few miles, the smoke rising from Winterfell growing smaller in the distance. The horses were sure footed in the snow, their men riding behind them in single file. Enrin watched as Jon slowed his horse to a walk, letting the soldiers pass him, gazing into the distance toward the north. The caravan veered east at the crossroads, wintertown a speck in view in the distance.
She reigned up next to him, pulling her wolf's head cloak around her tighter. Night stalked past her, Ghost at her heels, the pups gamboling after them.
"You did me proud today," Jon said suddenly, reaching for her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles. She smiled at him softly.
"You and your pompous lords," she teased, "if we had been in the true north, I would have put an arrow between his ribs for the affront."
Jon laughed once, a strange sound, shaking his head. They stood together in silence for a few moments, watching as the guards strayed farther from them.
"This crossroads is where I last saw my father," Jon said, his voice a whisper on the wind, "I was just past my seventeenth name day. Heading for the Night's Watch." He shook his head, eyes gazing out before him. "'Next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother,' he said. The last thing he ever said to me."
Enrin reached for his hand, unsure of what to say. She took a breath.
"I'm sure she would be proud to see you today," she said, gently, "her son is a King. You are her pride and her joy." Jon turned his gaze to her, eyes shining.
"You didn't know her, but she knows you, that I am sure of."
Jon heaved a sigh, shaking his head. A sad smile played on his lips when he looked at her.
"I think they would have liked you," he said, "my...my parents."
Enrin squeezed his hand. "I hope I am worthy of that honor."
Jon leaned over to kiss her, something chaste, but desire bloomed in her belly as his lips touched hers. She moved to deepen the kiss, but he pulled away, spurring his horse.
It was all she could do not to huff, before she nudged her mare after him, overtaking him as they followed the caravan into wintertown.
The ship pitched beneath her as they pushed away from the sleepy town, dusk falling across the sky. She watched Jon beside Davos, pulling sails and tying ropes that she had no idea where they went. The sailors watched him appreciatively. How many kings would dirty their hands behind their soldiers?
She leaned over the bow of the ship, watching the waves crash against the hull. The wind whipped her hair this way and that, the frigid air freezing her skin. She reached down to stroke Night, who lay at her feet. She felt her wolf's uneasiness at being on the open water. The pups raced about, ripping apart old discarded nets, leaping on the sailors that passed them. Night growled quietly, resting her head against Enrin's calf for a moment before stalking off to discipline her children.
She felt a hand grasp her hip as Jon appeared beside her, sweat dripping from his brow even in the cold air. He pulled her close to him, pressing his lips to her ear.
"How about supper?" He asked, taking her hand and leading her below the deck. They strode past hammock after hammock, some men already bedded down for the night. Jon held the door of the cabin open for her and as she stepped inside, he closed the door softly behind them.
It was small, with the featherbed taking up most of the space. A small table sat in the corner, each available surface littered with candles. Two plates of salted pork awaited them on rough wooden plates, cups of ale sat beside them.
"Salted pork," Enrin commented as she sat, Jon pushing her chair in for her, "I assume this is all we've brought with us."
Jon smiled a gentle smirk, sitting across from her.
"I'd bet you wish you stayed in Winterfell now."
She picked up her fork to eat, the taste assaulting her tongue. Jon finished his in record time, as Enrin pushed the other half of hers away, downing her cup of ale. He watched her, sternness in his eyes. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, her face impassive.
"Are you not going to finish that?" He asked, fiddling with a loose bolt in the wood.
"It seems that I am not."
"You've got to eat."
"I have eaten."
"Enrin."
"Jon."
They glared at each other, each waiting for the other to rise to the challenge. Jon broke the contest first, pinching the bridge of his nose. She drummed her fingers on her elbow, stubborn as a mule, one eyebrow arched.
"I'm not going to fall apart if you touch me, you know," she said, and Jon met her eyes over his fingers. He said nothing.
Enrin sighed. "Well, I would like a bath, if possible. Or do you think the water will boil my insides and turn me into a ham?"
Jon glared for a moment before he stood and strode from the room, his chair scraping loudly against the wood.
Enrin wandered to the window of the cabin, suddenly feeling ashamed. She was being petulant, she knew. In the fortnight that had passed since her injury, she had slept for four of them. The remaining ten, Jon would hardly kiss her without breaking away before they took it too far. His hands were feathers on her skin, afraid that if he squeezed too hard, she would break. Enrin rested her chin on her hand, allowing herself the moment alone to wallow in her pity.
The door opened as Jon returned, two of his men pushing a large basin of water through the doors. Steam rose from the top, curling into the air.
Enrin and Jon's eyes met for a moment, before he turned to leave again, and as his hand touched the latch she whispered, "Wait."
She strode the room in two bounds, gripping the front of his leathers roughly. She yanked his mouth down to hers and kissed him, hard. Jon was half hearted for a moment, her lips traveling to his ear lobe, nibbling down his neck.
"I don't want to hurt you," Jon said, his voice filled with longing. His breath hitched as Enrin's teeth hit a particularly sensitive spot in the hollow of his throat. She undid the straps on his jerkin, sliding it off his back. She pulled on his shirt next, forcing him to raise his arms.
"You won't," she said, stepping away to undo the bodice of her dress. Jon watched her unlace, his eyes following each movement of her finger. He reached forward to pull away the last strap, her dress falling open. Jon gazed at her for a moment, eyes raking over her body, before his mouth was on hers again, more insistent than before. Her hands fumbled with the ties on his pants as she slid them down his legs. Jon pressed himself against her, his mouth finding her breast. He teased her, her breath coming in short gasps. "I said I wanted a bath," she whispered, pulling his face to hers once more. He turned to step into the bath, pulling her behind him, liquid sloshing over the sides like a waterfall. She sat astride him, their tongues fighting for dominance. His fingers found her there, spreading her open, moving inside her with agonizing slowness. She moaned into his mouth, breaking away to look at him. His eyes were fire, his hair slick with wetness, pushed away from his face. She knotted her fingers in it, pulling his head back to reach his throat.
Jon lifted her easily, his hands on her hips, and slowly slid into her, the hot water tingling on their skin. Gently, they began to move.
"I've missed this," he whispered, his voice almost a growl, his lips finding her jaw. Enrin was all sensation, her skin flushed. She felt herself building, already, as she kissed him again and again, her lips everywhere on his face.
"I love you," she whispered as she tightened around him, wrapping her arms around his neck to succumb to what she had needed so badly.
"I love you," he replied, his lips at her ear, as he moved once more in her and stilled, releasing himself deep inside, the steam curling around their bodies inside their own little piece of the world.
Jon pulled the furs around them, pressing a kiss to Enrin's forehead. He pushed her hair away from her face, the scar from her stitches visible just by her hairline.
"See?" She said, her voice languid and sleepy, "not so bad. I'm just trying to match you."
Her fingers brushed across a paper thin scar over his eye. Jon smiled down at her, indulgent, nestling closer to her in the bed. She turned onto her side as he pressed himself to her back, spreading his warmth across her.
They slept for what felt like moments, before a violent toss of the ship nearly flung them from the bed. Jon caught Enrin before she tumbled off, steadying her before he leaped up. The ship pitched again, sending Jon into the wall with his shoulder. He swore, yanking his pants up his legs and throwing his jerkin across his back, tying them hastily. "Stay here!" He shouted as he threw the door open, racing into the hull of he ship, yelling for Davos as he went.
"Like hell," Enrin spat, already dressed in her leggings and Jon's shirt, pulling her boots onto her feet. Steel crashed above her as the boat rocked again, sending her sidelong into the edge of the trunk full of their belongings. She cursed, but threw the trunk open regardless, sliding her quiver of arrows across her back. She hung her bow in the crook of her arm as Longclaw stared at her from the corner, forgotten. This time she cursed Jon, snatching the sword and running from the cabin.
The deck was a flurry of motion; some shouted orders, others cried out in pain. Men she did not recognize stormed over the sides of the ship, waving stunted blades and daggers. She grasped the arm of the person nearest to her, a cabin boy no older than fifteen. "What is this?" She shouted over the clamor, the boy's wide eyes rounding on her. "Pirates, m'lady," was all he said, before his gripped a sword in his shaking fingers and rushed out to join the fray.
"Fucking pirates?" Enrin mumbled to herself, slipping out of the doors and weaving her way to the upper deck, her eyes scanning for Jon.
She saw him, wielding an oar like a spear, his foe a man twice his size and mean as a bear. Enrin knocked an arrow and loosed it immediately, firing it in one ear and out the other. Jon paused, mid strike, his panicked eyes finding her. "Enrin, no!" He shouted, and she turned almost too late. A wiry boy raced at her with a dagger raised above his head, ready to strike a killing blow. Instantly she ducked, sliding under his legs and bringing her shoulder into his groin. She tore the scabbard from Longclaw and in one swift motion, skewered him all the way to his chest from between his legs. His blood splattered her face as he died, collapsing to the deck, his eyes unseeing. She wiped her eyes and straightened, knocking another arrow and taking out the eye of a man behind Jon, who tumbled overboard. Enrin took a running leap from the top of the deck, landing below on the balls of her feet like a cat. She thrust Longclaw at Jon hilt first, her eyes menacing.
"Don't leave your fucking sword next time," she growled, ripping her lost arrow from the dead man's skull and wiping it on her shirt. She knocked it immediately, standing with her back to him, spinning in a slow circle. Jon mimicked her, wielding his bloody sword, their eyes taking in the scene.
Davos faced this way and that, pulling sails and dislodging grappling hooks from the side of the ship. She put an arrow in the throat of a man who meant to attack him from behind, his scream gurgling as blood surged from his mouth. Davos turned, his face stunned. "Davos, the sails!" She screamed, Jon hacking away at an opponent with his sword. She reached forward, a moment, to grasp the hilt of a discarded long sword. Something hit her from the side and bowled her over; a crooked toothed smile loomed above her, a dagger between the teeth. She gasped and struggled for purchase, her hands finding his throat as she squeezed, hard. Suddenly he was lifted away from her.
Night had seized the pirate in her jaws, her teeth crushing the back of his neck. Ghost stood beside her, his mouth wet with blood, and they snarled. "Go!" She and Jon shouted in unison, and the wolves sprung forward, leaving a spray of blood in their wake. Enrin elbowed him in the ribs. "And you wanted to leave them behind," she said, and he dutifully ignored her. He whirled, taking two men out with one great sweep of his sword. Enrin's eyes found the cabin boy, his thin arms weighed down by a sword three times too big for his size. She leaped forward, gripping his elbow and pulling him to her. She shoved him in the cabin doors and shut them. "Stay there, little one," she shouted, raising the hilt of the sword she pulled from his hands. Jon was lost in the smoke and noise, her eyes scanning for him.
She was hit again from the side, her head slapping against the deck with a loud crack. Her vision swam, stars shining above her eyes. Blood filled her mouth as her teeth but into her cheek. The man that hit her lay on top of her, his leg jutting her knees apart. He laughed as she struggled, and she found enough strength to spit in his face. He growled, and brought his hand across her face, hard. She felt his hands tugging at the ties on her leggings, and panic gripped her as she realized what he intended to do.
She swung her hips, biting the hand that he had pressed over her mouth. She screamed, fear and adrenaline surging through her, again and again. "Jon! Jon!"
And then he was there, cleaving the barbarian nearly in half. He gripped the man by the back of his shirt and threw him, his fist connecting with his face again and again. He pushed the body overboard, cursing after it, as it sank beneath the black water.
He reached for her and she shied away, instinctively. The battle had all but been won, a few stragglers begging mercy or flinging themselves from the rails, swimming after their retreating ship.
"Shh," Jon hushed gently, his hands raised, Longclaw laying at his feet. Blood covered them both; Enrin tasted it in her mouth and didn't know who's it was. She stumbled to him, almost as if she was just realizing who he was. He wrapped her in his arms, saying a silent prayer to the gods. "You saved me," she said into his neck, her arms around his waist.
"Always," Jon replied, pulling away to look at her.
"Are you alright?" They both asked at once, wiping the blood from each other's faces with their fingers. Davos stumbled over to them, a small gash bleeding across his forehead.
"Your Grace," he said, his eyes on Enrin, "I'd like to thank you for saving my life." She managed a small smile, and gripped his forearm.
"Extinguish the torches," Jon said, his voice all business, "and we continue to sail through the night. I won't take another chance like that." He turned and pulled her toward the light of the cabin doors, his arms supporting most of her weight. Her eyes found his and a small laugh bubbled from her lips.
"Fucking pirates."