Jon
Jon was relieved that his aunt and her litter of women had finally left Winterfell, he was also pleased to see that, in the last two weeks, Arya and Gendry had broached a tentative friendship. They ate together, though usually Gendry only spoke very quietly to Arya who would mutter back, she spent her days training the men and sparring with Coralline and at nights she'd watch the Smith, hammer in the forge. Jon thought it was strange how every evening she'd sit on that same workbench and hold her knees to her and just watch him, Sansa later informed him that Arya had watched Gendry work when she'd been a child, that it was an odd little bond that they could still share.
His own relationship woes were significant, Margaery was less than impressed with his recent actions: "The Queen says I'm to be left behind but not as your bride?" she had accused in a harsh whisper with a prod to his chest.
"I thought you'd be happy Lady Tyrell?" he had felt very hard done by when she'd jabbed him.
"Happy? I'm being left by my Queen in the North, still a spinster, still no prospects… I'll be a laughing stock, Jon Snow." She snipped.
"You'll find a nice Lord up here in the north." He'd attempted to comfort her with these unlikely words, most of the Lords were ancient and well married.
"I don't want a different Northern Man, I wanted you" his jaw had dropped slightly, was this some sort of declaration? But she continued with a scornful brow "Oh don't look so shocked, you oaf, I'm not harbouring some secret maidenly feelings for you. I was trained my entire life to marry a prince and breed princes, you are a prince… of Two Kingdoms… you aren't a drunk, you aren't a lout, and for a moment I thought I could tolerate you, and now you do this. Everyone will think I fucked a wildling and had to be left behind to birth his bastards. Because I am Margaery…" she shook her head solemnly before shooting him one last derisive look and stalking off.
That interlude had been weeks ago, and since then she'd barely looked at him. Jon hadn't cared really; he didn't have time for trivialities as winter was hitting some of the smaller villages hard and raiders from the last Bolton's had pillaged and flayed an entire hamlet leaving only one witness to tell of it.
"I'm sending the watch to patrol the forest but it's a lot of ground, we've got some wilding trackers aiding us" Jon had said when Sansa asked what was being done about the Bolton's
"I want the keep guard and my personal guard on alert… I wouldn't put it past them to raid us. They must be starving." She'd said in response and if she was scared her face didn't show it.
Jon had given instruction to the men, spoken to his wolf… he wasn't sure if Ghost could understand him, but he always gave instructions just in case "I want you and Nymeria on the alert pup, protect the Queen at all cost." He'd eaten his dinner and had a word with Gendry who seemed if not comfortable then at least a little less uncomfortable, now he looked forward to his bed and the peace that sleep brought. He pushed his door, a figure stood in the dark, he drew his sword.
"Really? The sword again?" Margaery was leaning against the fireplace a goblet of wine in her hand wearing her dress of the sheer, southern, flesh exposing variety. Jon swallowed, the tempting promise of human contact swam in his brain, the idea of feeling that burn of skin making his heart beat considerably faster. Ghost padded into the room, not at all phased by the intruder, he looked around with a determined glance before deciding 'all was well' and padded away again.
"How do you keep getting in here?" Jon asked. He locked his door when he left and when he returned, unlocked it, the same thing every day.
"I picked it." She said plainly as if this were the norm "have a drink with me." Her tone was still biting, but she held a goblet out to him.
"I really should sleep." Jon's self-preserving shield rose, prepared to defend what was left of his undead heart.
"You can sleep when you're dead… but you already know that don't you." She thrust the goblet at him again, and this time he took it.
"You know?" he asked, of course she did everyone did, but it still sometimes shocked him that it wasn't a secret. It was hard to rise from the dead in front of a lot of people and not become notorious for it
"There's a song about it Jon. Drink" she nudged the goblet he was grasping up to his lips. A thought popped in his head 'didn't her family murder Joffrey with poisoned wine?' his hand stopped, and he looked at her suspiciously "Why? Why are you so keen on me drinking?" she sighed dramatically taking a step towards him and holding his goblet toting hand in hers. She pulled the cup and his hand towards her mouth, standing on tiptoes she took a slow sip all the while staring into his eyes "see, just wine" she said after she'd made a great show of swallowing. Jon had heard stories of seduction, of women trained in the art of sexual warfare… if there were a Nights Watch of Seductresses he assumed Margaery would be Lord Commander, there was something about looking at her that seemed to make your mind filthier and the worst part was she knew it. He drank.
"good" she did not step back. Instead, she opted to remain close, and Jon suddenly became very self-conscious of her proximity.
"What are you doing her Lady Tyrell?" he asked with almost desperation in his voice.
"I have realised these past weeks of receiving ravens from my mother asking me if I've fallen foul of a wildling king, that you and I are perhaps not as alike as I thought. I wrongly assumed that you, like I, were a critical thinker who understood how the world works. I see now that you're an idiot who thinks he can be as powerful as he is and not shore up his futures with a wife and an heir and a keep. Instead, you stay here reliving the life you never had, where you're the little Lord of Winterfell and Sansa is kind to you, and it's everything you ever wanted." It stung, he wouldn't deny it, but it stung nonetheless. Perhaps that was what he was doing here, the Lord of Winterfell… he took another sip of wine turning away from her. "I apologise, Jon, I know that was harsh." She took a breath and for the first time seemed unsure of herself "I have spent a very long time saying the things people want to hear and… well, I've decided not to do that with you. If only because it wouldn't work" She cleared her throat, and he finally turned back to her.
"It still doesn't answer what you're doing here?" he was irritated now; nobody should be able to pick you apart as quickly as they did a lock.
"Well as you are not going to be reasonable I now have to pursue you, I foolishly made my play towards you which has cut off all other routes… hence my energy must be put into making the only man in Westeros with a working cock and a liking for girls who doesn't want to fuck me… want to fuck me." She raised her eyebrows playfully and took another sip. It was unsettling, she spoke like a raper on the wall or a wildling. "If I were you I'd just unlace my breaches and take me, it's an inevitability Jon, resistance is futile."
"I think I get a say in this Lady Tyrell, you can't control me I'm not a pawn in one of your court games." He was equal measures scared and aroused, mixed with the headiness of the wine he didn't know if he was going to cum or throw up.
"Jon Snow… this is not a game. It is my life. It is my fertility, my one use on this godforsaken land where you have all the power and me none." Her brows furrowed furiously, and she stamped her foot in a rage "I have been passed from man to man like a coin, I have smiled and acquiesced. Now for the first time, I attempt to make my own match, a good match, a match I am not repulsed by, and you decide to be the one man who doesn't like firm breasts and a pleasant face?"
"You are very beautiful Lady Tyrell, it's not your beauty that is in question." He really didn't want to have this conversation, he wanted to be left alone where he could grieve for his lover and punish himself for even imagining being unfaithful to her ghost.
"No, it is you that is the problem your Grace, of that I am fully aware… You've been sorely hurt Jon Snow, and you've let the hurt fester, and now you think it will never dissipate. We lived through a war Jon, everyone lost… every single person lost. But you push forward if not for yourself then for your sister, for this bloody kingdom you love so much… you push forward" she seemed to take her own advice trapping him between the foot of his bed and her body as she pushed forward, her goblet was gone from her hand he assumed she'd put it down, but he wouldn't be surprised if she'd thrown it in frustration. It appeared to him that the lady Tyrell was not told 'no' as often has he had been, she didn't seem to take it well. She looked up at him doggedly, she was going to kiss him he was sure of that, but rather than stop her he waited, he wasn't sure what for. His life had lost much of the adventure it had once held, this was something out of the ordinary… curiosity is what he settled on, but even his conscious brain knew he was in part lying to himself.
He expected her to be rough, to slam her mouth onto his and force him to kiss her, the set of her shoulders and the furrow of her brow made him almost sure, but then she did something strange something that might have seemed chaste for another girl. A kiss to the very corner of his mouth, a slow and wet and almost searing caress. She leaned back again evaluating his face, he remained still, just looking at her in a frozen expression of confusion. She tilted her head as if planning her next wave of attack before leaning in again and placing another slow and searing kiss on his stubble covered jaw her mouth lingered a little longer than before, her lips parting a tiny bit more, the inside of her lower lip dragging against his coarse, short hair. He let out an involuntary sharp exhale, and she hummed appreciatively repeating her motion of leaning back and evaluating him again, something in his face made her smile with satisfaction. He started slightly when he felt her fingers on his collar she was pulling the linen away, slowly manoeuvring her head into the crook of his neck, he felt her inhale him, and it made the hairs on his body stand to attention. Even his follicles betrayed him, she was the commander, and his body was hers to command. He knew he could stop her at any time, his brain poured excuse after excuse onto his conscious 'you're curious', 'you don't want to hurt her feelings,' 'you're not moving so technically you're not taking part.' No matter how much his brain tried to justify and explain what was happening the part of Jon that was always true, sang out 'You've not stopped her because you don't want her to stop.'
Her lips found their spot on his pulse, hot pressure, wet, the brush of teeth, and then she retreated again. He was surprised he wasn't swaying as all the blood seemed to be rushing to one part of his body.
She pursed her lips and drew them to the side, she was thinking, her brow furrowed "and now I find myself in a quandary," she said slowly, he remained silent.
"Do I stay and see where else you like to be kissed, and run the risk of pushing too hard or do I walk away now. Knowing I am leaving you wanting?" she hummed and drummed her fingers on his chest.
"I must be unselfish, I must go" a part of Jon groaned with disappointment. "One more for the road, as they say," Lady Tyrell leaned in for one last time, she seemed undecided on her final resting place until she found it, his mouth she kissed with only slightly parted lips. He didn't know how but his bottom lip was resting quite snuggly between her own, she pushed a tiny bit harder and to his and her surprise he reciprocated by matching her force. He raised his hand unsure of what to do with it, but before he could decide she withdrew "progress" she smiled before curtseying and taking her leave of him once again.
"God's help me" he groaned as he attempted to will his erection away, he had been so tired before, so ready for the comforts of his bed but now… he groaned again grabbing his sword up and marching from the room, intent on swinging his blade and if that failed he'd, well he'd have to 'help himself.' When you spent your entire life sleeping in rooms with other boys and then men, you never got into the habit if it could be helped, even with his own rooms Jon still felt self-conscious at the notion.
As it transpired the sword fighting nor the self-gratification helped, that was his first sleepless night spent over Margaery Tyrell. When she'd seen his blackened eyes and pale sleep deprived skin the next day she'd grinned and repeated "progress" before sauntering off with Sansa and Daphne… he groaned.
