The biggest "thank you" goes to all of you, for your dedication and reviews, my dear readers.
I must clarify, after receiving a review and exchanging with some members, that Brienne is NOT being raped in the last chapter. The intruder was just Tormund, trying to be charming and steal her away like wildlings do :)
Also, thank you for being patient. I try to update this story as soon as I can, but family obligations, work, and sometimes the lack of inspiration take their toll.
This being said, enjoy the new chapter and don't forget to tell me what you think.
Disclaimer: This story contains elements from the books & show. I own absolutely nothing, this is just for fun.
.ooo.
Daenerys Targaryen wed Jon Snow in a small ceremony, held according to northern traditions. There weren't many guests at the feast, Stark allies for the most part and the Queen's small retinue. Her new husband drank and ate but little. He listened whenever someone rose to make a toast and nodded a curt acknowledgment, but otherwise his face might have been made of stone. He is not hard to look at, Dany told herself, but he's too stern and somber. As her glance shifted away, his face turned, but it was a moment too late. Their eyes never met.
The feast went on into the night. The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. Black and white - the Targaryen dragons and Stark direwolves. People were drifting in and out, standing in small groups to chat, or sitting on the benches ranged against the walls. Hour after hour, after hour. Only well past midnight did Daenerys decide to retire. She wanted it to be done although the end made her uneasy. For after the feast came the bedding. I suppose it would be harder if I found him unattractive, she tried to encourage herself.
As soon as she entered her chambers, their chambers, her handmaids began to ready their khaleesi for the night. Irri took her hair down, dipped an ivory comb in violet water, and worked out the tangles in long, languid strokes. Jhiqui rubbed scented oils into her skin, while Missandei brought her nightgown - a rather sheer, silky, whisper of a thing.
"Will you be needing anything else, Your Grace?" Dany shook her head, dismissing the question in silence. After the girls took their leave she simply sat on the feather bed, stiff in her silk finery, waiting. In the North, a man came to his bride and they had chosen to keep this custom. The northerners would see it as the queen bowing to their traditions, Tyrion had said, a sign of respect for her new husband. Husband. Khal Drogo had been her sun-and-stars, but she'd lost him so long ago. She'd almost forgot how it felt to love and be loved in return.
Daario had helped her remember. But although he whispered words of love when the two of them were as one, she knew it was the dragon queen he loved. Not her. He won't be the last man to love you. Was that so? Could she ever feel something again? Would she ever desire somehing else, other than the Iron Throne? A faint noise pulled her out of her musing, as the heavy door of the room swung open, then shut. Jon.
He looked at her. For the first time since all the festivities began, Jon looked straight into the eyes of his bride. He'd stolen some glances during the feast, although as far as he knew, the queen never so much as looked at him. She'd sat silent through the feast, wrapped in her silks and black thoughts, speaking only when spoken to. Arrogant. Yet she truly was as beautiful as men said. The sort of beauty that bewitched a man in spite of himself. Small and delicate, with big purple eyes and sun-kissed skin. Almost unworldly.
She sat in desolate idleness, twining her fingers together and looking blankly towards him, but even in the dim light, Jon could see through all that. She was rigid, her shoulders tense, trying her best to feign indifference.
"You don't need to be afraid of me," he said as he came across the room, "I won't—"
"—I am not afraid," Dany cut in, passionless. Her eyes followed his movements. Instead of sitting beside her, the northerner went to the table near the window and filled two wine cups. "More wine?" she mocked. Yet drinking herself into oblivion wasn't such a bad idea, so she took the cup he offered and swallowed once, twice, three times. It was very fine wine. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the sweetness. Very fine wine indeed, but she was in no mood to taste it.
"Are you tired?" The northerner spoke in a slow, drawn-out way, his voice deep and warm. "Shall I leave you to—?"
"—no." Dany opened her eyes and sat up, shaking her head. "No," she repeated, taking a deep breath. He smelled faintly of soap and wine, "There's no point in further delaying this," the woman added quietly and reached for the fastenings on his chest. If it must be, it may as well be now, she thought, when I choose it. "We both know our duty," she continued, and her fingers worked deftly, removing both jerkin and doublet, "It would be stupid to risk an annulment." The soft leather slid off his shoulders and fell onto the floor.
Duty... Jon's jaw clenched. It was so logical. So cold-blooded. And after what he'd shared with Ygritte — so wrong. Such union should come out of love, not duty. Ygritte... He felt as if he was betraying his Ygritte. Yet an old flame began to kindle as Daenerys' hands moved smoothly, from the curves of his shoulders to the slight concavities of his belly. Oblivious, her fingers feathered over his scars and that's when Jon gripped her wrists.
Glancing up Daenerys found him staring. He kept still, hands around her wrists, eyes moving from her hair, to her eyes, her mouth. There was hunger in those dark eyes, yes, but glazed with some sort of hardness that made her feel small. In this bedroom, without the entire court between then, he was a man, and she a girl. No. Not a girl, she thought, A woman grown. A queen! Hurt and confusion clashed in Dany's chest, yet it was anger the one to rise from the wreckage.
"No?" violet eyes flashed imperiously and small hands clenched, preparing to wrench free, "Who are you to refuse a quee—?"
There was no demand in the kiss that swallowed her words. Only a simmering anger. Am I causing it, she wondered, or is it this whole situation? But than he kissed her again and she couldn't think any more. This kiss was longer. It lingered, tasted... and just when Dany's heartbeat began to quicken — it ended. She'd been a part of him—fleetingly—and now she was alone again. Somehow this tore at her heart, so she quickly stretched on her toes and caught his lips again.
Jon dreaded her obstinate determination, her insistencey, and above all he dreaded her vain, entitled manner. But the softness of her, the silky skin and warmth, the way the pulse beat at the base of her throat ... it all stirred the blood in him so hot, he felt afire. Breathless, she pulled away a few inches, stroking the back of his head, and their eyes locked, stunned and confused at the intensity of it all. And for the first time Jon glimpsed the woman behind the queen.
Breathtakingly, stunningly, beautiful.
He drew her to him, took her in his arms again and without warning he picked her up. The world spun, and the next thing Dany knew, was his face on top of her, and the sweet heaviness of his body.
Hours before dawn, Daenerys woke up shivering and rigid with terror. She'd dreamed of demons. Demons made of snow and ice and cold. They were all around her, reaching for her, blue and cold, whispering, pulling, touching her with their cold hands, twining their fingers through her hair. And she could not move. Even her heart had ceased to... had wanted to... wanted to... She could not recall the dream exactly, because the abrupt plunge into reality was equally disturbing.
Lost in the pleasures of newfound intimacy, it had been easy to forget her situation, but now she found herself sleeping next to a stranger with whom her life was inextricably linked. Still, stranger or not, she wanted to shake him, wake him, make him hold her, fuck her, help her forget the dreadful dream. But if she did, he would probably laugh.
"You're frozen," Jon's voice took her by surprise, for she hadn't realized he was awake. Slowly his warm hand ran down her arm and urged her gently under the pile of furs and into the warm space beside him. "Is it me?" he asked a moment later, his voice groggy with sleep, "Can you not bear me?"
Not bear him? Wordlessly, Dany burrowed closer, the warmth of his body seeping into her naked skin. Oh, how she lusted for this man! Just feeling his skin against hers made her weak with desire. It puzzled her, this queer, persistent wanting. He was nothing like Drogo or Daario. His brooding look, his sullen face ...Oh, but his heat, his passion. Deep within, she felt a new fire stirring, a new awareness emerging, and soon a sweet moan escaped her lips as she wrapped her legs around him again.
