ChaCha Here: Let me just say this fraking chapter killed me. There are the book spoilers as promised but they are important to the way this story will frame in the future. I don't own anything. Thanks for all your support, all your kind reviews and your alerts. It's really great to know that people are enjoying this. Lots of Love to y'all.
The next several days went by too quick for Bran's liking. Reports of the band of thieves began flying in the next day. They'd raided a village, but there were not causalities and fortunately the thieves had not set a torch to the village. They'd been spotted north and south of Winterfell, but when anyone gave chase seemed to vanish as quickly as they had come. His men had taken to calling them the Ghost Raiders, an apt name Bran thought.
He hadn't gotten to spend nearly enough time with Josslyn as he had hoped, his duties as the Warden of the North keeping him far to busy. She spent her days with Arya and Sansa's children mostly, who adored her more with each passing day. Sansa had invited her to join her sewing circle, and Josslyn had accepted hesitantly. She had warned her that her stitching was horrendous, but Sansa laughed it off saying "Well, it can't be any worse than Arya's."
From the jokes at dinner that night, he found that indeed her stitches were worse than Arya's, who Septa Mordane had proclaimed beyond hopeless. Though Sansa had tired to instruct her, Josslyn still spent most mornings dueling with Arya, and afternoons with the children or visiting Gendry in the forge.
Bran thought bitterly about her new friendship with his brother in law. It was not unusual for Gendry to spend most of his time in the forges, but for Josslyn it seemed strange. He knew that there was no romantic entanglement, for the Lord of Storms End had eyes only for his sister, but he still wished that she was spending those moments with him.
Summer's absence in his chambers too had been a bit strange. Bran had assumed that the dire wolf was spending his nights outside the castle walls hunting, until Sandor made a comment about the wolf following Josslyn around 'like a love sick pup.' That night he had joined his mind with Summer's, and found himself suddenly curled up beside Josslyn in her room, her small hand resting peacefully on his head.
Wearing Summer's skin he stretched his body, and looked at Josslyn as she slept. She looked so peaceful, so content, so unafraid of his wolf. In a moment of weakness he shifted and placed his head on her chest inhaling her scent deeply, before retreating into his own skin, returning Summer to his rest. Bran was suddenly jealous of his dire wolf, the sight of him curled up next to the woman who had stolen his heart was almost too much to bear. But he hadn't joined his mind with Summer's at night again, he knew that it was an invasion of her privacy even if she didn't know that he was there.
The times that he did get to spend with Josslyn were blindingly perfect. She was witty, smart and had a Lannister's quick tongue. They would go riding sometimes, though not without a garrison, but spent a lot of time in his solar. He would talk to her of the disturbing reports of the Ghost Raiders and she would listen, and comment with surprising acuity. Sometimes they would just sit in silence and read, or rather she would read and he would just stare at her. In these moments he would think of his mother and father, and wonder if this was what love was like. Having someone to share your troubles, to make you laugh, to simply sit quietly for hours on end enjoying the pleasure of someone's company.
Sometimes she would look up from her book and catch him staring, only to blush crimson and look back down. Every night after dinner, he would walk her room and kiss her. The kisses were becoming more and more passionate, his hands growing more daring, and Bran was having to try harder and harder to cool is libido. He wanted her, more than he'd wanted anyone or anything.
The dreams had started the first night that he'd kissed her, and they'd been innocent enough. He would be laying in his bed, trying to sleep when she would open the door and stealing into his room in the dark, crawling into his bed, resting her head on his shoulder to sleep. He would feel content and happy when he woke up the next morning, and his shoulder, where she had rested in his dream, burned with a pleasant warmth every time he thought of her.
But recently the dreams had become far more lust driven. She would still steal into his room, but she was entirely naked. He would take her hand and pull her on top of him, sheathing himself inside her, watching as she rode him, her large breasts in his hands, his lips on the cool, smooth skin of her neck, until she screamed in pleasure. When he woke from these dreams he was hard and frustrated, remembering the feeling of her walls clenching down on him. He'd started taking cold baths in the morning, but it did nothing for him. Anytime he saw her, anytime his eyes met hers, anytime he saw the alluring blush cross her cheeks, it would send him into a cloud of lust, the dreams leaping unbidden into his mind, her screams of pleasure echoing in his mind every time he heard her dulcet voice.
His sisters had gone a little crazy with the preparations for his name day feast. He had argued that he wanted a simple dinner with just the family, and Josslyn. But his pleas were being completely ignored. They'd invited every lord within a days travel, and several from even farther, all of whom would be there to feast and wish him well. Sansa had called for all sorts of performers, jugglers, singers, dancers, animal trainers all of whom would be performing that night. He'd had one request for them, one that they heeded happily-a surprise for Josslyn.
He had asked her to wait for him in her room, saying that he would come to get her before dinner that night. He'd panicked while dressing, casting about for something to wear, but nothing seemed right. Eventually he'd settled on a grey velvet tunic with a dire wolf embroidered in silver on his chest, with ivory woolen breeches. He'd wheeled himself down the halls to Josslyn's room, the trip seemed agonizingly long, and knocked on the door.
She answered the door in an instant, the most beautiful smile on her face. She was dressed in a beautiful long flowing gown of grey silk, that fitted slightly off her shoulders leading into long sleeves that fell nearly to the floor, her hair done up in a stunning array of braids all pinned to the back of her head so that the creamy skin of her lovely neck was perfectly visible. The smooth pale skin of her chest was visible, the neck line not too low to be considered inappropriate, but low enough to see the tops of her breasts bound by a corset underneath. His heart quickened when he saw her in the color of his house, and wondered if she had done it deliberately.
"We're matching," she laughed the sound tugged at his heart further. Bran simply raised an eyebrow and took her hand, brushing her knuckles with a kiss. He looked up and was pleased that she shivered at the contact. He saw a smoky colored blur and Summer burst from Josslyn's room, licking his master's face.
"Down," Bran commanded and Summer laid down on the ground looking up at him with disgruntled yellow eyes. "He seems to have taken a liking to you," Bran chuckled as they made their way down to the great hall.
"There's scarcely a night since I've been here that he doesn't find his way into my room." Josslyn rolled her eyes but smiled. "I haven't figured out how he manages the latch on the door though."
"Dire wolves are far more intelligent than most people give them credit for," Bran said knowingly as they crossed the court yard. She gave him an odd glance out of the corner of her eye, but didn't comment. Two guards opened the doors to the great hall that was already filled to the brim with guests, and he made his way to the high table, Josslyn at his side.
He knew that she must have noticed that the only spot open for her to sit was the Lady of Winterfell's chair to Bran's right, the chair his mother used to sit in that he'd had brought up from the cellars of Winterfell. But if she was surprised, she made not comment nor could you see it in her demeanor. She was all smiles and grace as they made their way slowly to the table, being forced to stop every so often to speak with someone. Bran's eyes flickered to the high table and saw Sansa smiling approvingly, and Gendry whispered something to Arya who burst out in uncontained laughter.
When they finally made it, Bran hoisted himself into the Lord's chair, and a page pulled out Josslyn's chair and she sat. Lords and knights were still hollering their best wishes for his name day. Josslyn leaned close to him, her breath warm and inviting on his neck.
"This is the Lady's chair Bran," she whispered so quietly as to not be overheard. Her eyes flickered to his and he smiled,
"I know." He was making a statement, a very public one at that, trying to show her that he was serious in his intentions. Josslyn was not just some fling, she was so much more than that. As soon as they were seated, the servants began to bring out the meal. Seven courses, all brought out at their own time. Fruit, fish, honey covered carrots, salad, roasted duck, potatoes roasted in butter in garlic and eventually spit roasted lamb. The children were constant rushing up to Josslyn, asking when she would get to tell stories, or to say that someone had said something rude, Sansa had to finally stop in and tell them to leave Josslyn to her dinner. Josslyn looked almost as chastised as the children did.
When the meal was finally done, tradition dictated that each member in attendance bid him good wishes for the next year. His sibling presented gifts. From Sansa and Sandor, he'd received a valyrian steel dagger that had a new hilt, made to match Ice, their father's sword that the queen had returned to him. From Arya and Gendry a set of bracers and greaves that Gendry had made for him. Then each of the Lords, Ladies and knights in turn approached the high table to wish him well.
Josslyn had not been wrong when she had said that there was little love of the Lannisters in the North. Many of the Lords made their distaste of her evident in their cold greeting. But within moments Josslyn turned them around and Lords and knights alike were hanging on her every word, the Ladies impressed with her gentility. During the course of the entertainments, she had two jesting marriage proposals and one serious one.
A young Lord Robb Umber had approached the table and very seriously asked for her hand. He was two years her junior and had clearly fallen mad in love with her. Josslyn gave him a bright smile, "Lord Umber, I'm sad that I must decline, but," she reached out and took his hand, making Bran surge with jealously, "If I ever find my self in need of a good husband, I swear I will look no further." Lord Umber smiled at her kind refusal and bowed wishing Bran a happy name, before leaving the table. Bran could swear that he saw the young lord's eyes dampen with tears as he left.
When the word spread of Lord Umber's proposal, a very drunk Lord Karstark leapt from the table, bellowing over the singer, "Lady Josslyn, marry me." An equally drunk Lord Bolton swore on his life he'd make a better husband than the fool Karstark. The two men, grabbed tourney swords and in over exaggerated movements, claimed a duel to the death for her hand. When their mock battle was over, Bolton lay on the floor moaning loudly in defeat and Karstark dashed up the ramp to claim Josslyn's hand in victory, Sansa was fuming over the crude game ruining her proper evening.
Karstark made it to the table, and raised an embarrassed, but laughing Josslyn's hand the drunk crowd cheering. "I fear that I might not enjoy being wedded to a man who'd kill his friend over a simple matter of my hand, Lord Karstark. I fear the blood might stain my gown," she said with a sarcastic pout that sent the crowd into bawdy laughter. Lord Karstark leaned close and whispered, "Not as much a stain and your maiden blood would leave." Bran would have killed him where he stood, had Josslyn not placed a warm hand on his clenched fist as she said loudly, "You'll have to content yourself with a dance my lord, but I fear I'm no better a dancer than Lord Bolton is with a sword." With another bout of laughter the matter was settled.
Eventually the tables were cleared and the musicians began to play, and Karstark claimed Josslyn's hand for his hard won dance. She smiled at Bran, who wished he could punch Karstark in the jaw and dance with her himself. He watched jealously as she was spun about the floor by Karstark and then Bolton, before Gendry stepped in an claimed her hand, saving her from another drunken knight. Bran had to smile to himself while he watched her dance though. She was all grace and ease and laughter. Such a contrast to the steely demeanor expected of him as Lord of Winterfell.
She never misses a beat, he thought with a smile. Karstark was one of the men who had been the coldest with her when Bran had introduced him, but she'd won him over quickly with that silver tongue and sharp wit of hers. He watched as poor, love struck Lord Umber claimed her hand after Gendry and wondered if he looked as moon-eyed as Umber did when he looked at her. After two more partners, Josslyn claimed exhaustion and returned to her seat, where she gave Bran's hand a small squeeze and she remained by his side the rest of the evening.
Eventually, everyone was either too drunk or too tired to carry on, and began to depart. Josslyn rose and excused herself. Bran offered to see her back to her room, but Josslyn shook her head. "I can find it on my own," she smiled happily at him. "You enjoy your party." As he watched her leave, Lords Karstark and Bolton close at her heels, he realized he didn't give a damn about the feast or the singers or the dance or any of it.
Later that night Bran was propped up against the headboard of his bed, scouring new reports of the Ghost Raiders and marking where they'd hit on a map. He could discern no detectable pattern. The attacks seemed random. The didn't seem to be heading north or south, or any other direction. They seemed to be camped not far from Winterfell, that much he could guess, but no matter how many men he sent out in however many directions, no one could seem to find them.
He was lost in thought when he heard a quiet knock on his door. "Come in," he called sharply, but regretted it instantly when Josslyn poked her head in.
"It's late," she said apologetically. "I can come back tomorrow."
"No," Bran said leaning forward, and he felt his demeanor change, from the frosty lord to the love sick fool. "Please." He gestured to a chair near his bed. He watched with interest as she breezed in with a bundle in her hands. Josslyn sat and blushed a little before handing it to him. "What's this?"
"Your name day gift," she smiled but still looked a little embarrassed. "I didn't think it'd be done in time, and I wanted to give it to you away from everyone else." Bran chuckled as he unwrapped perhaps the oddest contraption he'd ever seen. They were two long pieces of sturdy looking steel that were folded in half with an odd sort of hinge in the middle. A wide flat piece was at one end of both the pieces and at the other end they seemed to be bound together with what could only be described at a girdle, or a brace.
"Josslyn," he said his voice a mixture of laughter and confusion. "It's very thoughtful but I have no idea what this is."
"When I was in King's Landing," Josslyn smiled though her eyes portrayed the slightest hint of irritation, "I listened for weeks as men and women alike told the queen of a swindler posing as a miracle man. They all told the same story, he'd pick a man out of the crowd who would was someone that no one knew, but he said he'd been unable to walk his whole life. He'd show off his legs to the crowd and you could plainly see that they were malformed. The swindler would give him a serum to drink and lo and behold he was suddenly able to stand."
"People would buy the serum in droves, but when they got it home it was nothing more that wine deluded with milk and honey. Eventually the city watch caught up with him, and the queen asked him one question only, 'How did you do it?' After a few minutes the swindler confessed that it was all a trick, the queen already new that. He told her of a particularly clever device that he had crafted that would allow the man to be able to stand with practice. She sent him to the Wall saying that perhaps his ingenuity would help defend the realm, but she took the invention for closer study. I was able to take a pretty close look at it and Gendry kindly helped me piece it together. You see when rod is straitened it locks in place…"
Bran didn't care how it worked or even if it worked. This was possibly the kindest, most thoughtful gift that anyone could have given him. He leaned forward quickly and pulled Josslyn into a searing kiss. He pulled her so that her full weight was resting on top of him, her chest pressed tightly against his. She was so surprised buy the suddenness of the kiss and the change in her position that it took a moment before she returned the kiss with equal vigor, throwing a leg of his and straddling him. He lightly licked her full bottom lip and she moaned into his mouth, giving him the opportunity he was waiting for.
His tongue darted into her mouth, caressing hers, and he felt her whole body begin to tremble on top of him, tongues in a battle for dominance which he knew she would not easily give. His hands found their way to her waist, and drifted below, feeling the curve of her hips. She wound her fingers into his hair and he groaned appreciatively.
Bran's hands drifted around to clasp her bottom he pulled her harder against him so that her core was directly above his pelvis, the warmth and pressure nearly making him loose his mind. She shivered again, as his hands drifted back to her hips and down her legs, hiking up her gown so that he could feel her skin, something he'd desperately wanted to do since he'd met her. Her skin was even softer that he ever could have dreamed, and his fingers dug into her skin greedily.
Josslyn pulled her lips away from his and began to trail kisses down the sensitive skin of his neck. Bran clasped her hips in response forcibly grinding her into his hardness. She squealed in delight at the new sensation, and began to grind again and again, making Bran's mind submit into a cloud of lust driven frenzy. He grabbed the back of her head in his hand and smashed his lips on hers, groaning as her tongue boldly darted into his mouth. He pulled away from the kiss, exhaling heavily and met her eyes so full of desire that he didn't want to stop. He chuckled slightly and brought his forehead to rest on her, feeling her sigh deeply.
"A simple thank you would have sufficed," Josslyn said sarcastically not missing the opportunity, and Bran just pulled her closer. There was no way around it, he was in love with this girl. He may have been ten years older than she was but that was it, he was done for. He'd send a raven to Catserly Rock immediately and beg her father to give him permission to marry her. Soon he'd meet her in the gods wood and stand with her before the heart tree.
His eyes shot open. He couldn't stand. He was crippled. He wasn't whole. She deserved someone more than what he was. His heart plummeted from beyond joy, to utter despair, when he realized that he couldn't be with her. "Josslyn," his voice was shaky, "I think you should go." She looked him in the eyes, hers so full of confusion, so full of passion. He dreaded the next words, "You need to leave Winterfell."
Josslyn shot up, her eyes betraying anger and sadness. "What?"
"You need to leave," Bran affirmed. "This, whatever this is, can't happen." Why wouldn't she just leave? he thought. It would be so much easier if she just left me alone instead of looking at me like that.
"Bran," she stared at him, tears already forming in her eyes. "I thought…"
"I thought too," he interrupted. "But I was wrong. You deserve so much more."
"More than what?" she took his hand and he quickly grabbed it away.
"More than this," Bran snarled, desperately trying not to yell. "You deserve someone who is whole, some one who can carry you over the threshold, some one who can run after your children. Someone who can give you more than I can."
"I don't care," she tried to say.
"You will," Bran snarled to cover the choke in his own voice. "One day you will." He looked up at her eyes, the eyes that haunted every waking moment and saw it. Pity. The pity that she never once had shown him, that he foolishly thought she didn't have, was there written on her perfect face. "Get out," he whispered angrily. Josslyn rose, untangling her limbs from his and stormed off to the door. She stopped as she reached the door, her back to him, but he didn't need to see her face to know that she was devastated, he could see it in her posture.
"Good bye then, Lord Stark," she said coldly from the door. She opened it and was gone.