(no subject)

[ungentle]

Daenerys knew the North very well by now, as much as she knew it wasn't hers.

She'd spent practically her whole life in Winterfell, under Lord Eddard's -- protection?  Care?  Watchful eye?  Possibly some combination -- and truly, she was grateful of it.  Surely her life could have taken other, less civil turns: exile, perhaps, or being killed like the rest of her family.  She wasn't a Stark, she had always known she didn't quite belong, but she was looked after by the Starks, this for reasons she was only just beginning to understand.  (It fascinated her that not killing children was considered a matter of politics and not of basic decency, but then, she was only a young girl, she wasn't meant to understand these things.)

It wasn't uncommon for the once-princess to seek out privacy and quiet when her day's work was done.  She'd been a striking girl and she'd grown into an even more striking woman, and even despite the whispered worries about her lineage, she had always received a great deal of attention; she was as good and polite as she could be when approached, but this tendency to run off and hide, though not entirely ladylike, stemmed from a desire to avoid such attention.  She often retreated to the godswood, though not from any particular religious inclination so much as that she knew it was unlikely she'd be disturbed there, at least by anyone who wasn't welcome to disturb her.

Today's earlier raven from King's Landing, though innocuous enough, had sent Daenerys into a mood: carefully disguised, hardly noticeable to most, but nonetheless one she felt she needed to be alone, or mostly alone, to sort through.  If anyone were to look for her, or just to stumble across her, they'd find her in the godswood, bundled in a cloak and deep in thought.

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[blackbastard]

All his life, Jon Snow had existed in a kind of middle state. As the son of Lord Eddard Stark, he was a part of one of the great and powerful houses of Westeros with the whole wild and beautiful North as their land. But as a bastard instead of a trueborn child, he could never inherit name, title or honor from the family that was his in every other aspect. Even Lady Catelyn had always seemed to treat him only grudgingly as part of House Stark, a necessary inconvenience and embarrassment. Jon's main comfort was that for the most part, his half-siblings treated him as trueborn as they were, and he was content.

Then, the raven came from King's Landing and the servants at Winterfell began to chatter. They spoke of King Robert and the friendship that was shared between him and Lord Eddard. They whispered that at last, the Lord of House Stark was to be named Hand of the King. If any of it was true, it boded very ill for a bastard son. And so he left the company of his siblings to find another place he felt welcomed, the godswood.

It was no surprise that he found Daenerys there, also seeking refuge. Jon could not imagine what would be in store for the would-be princess, should the servants' whispers prove to be true. He knelt near the heart tree and gazed into the carved face. "Have you heard?" he said quietly. "All the castle casts guesses about the raven's message."

[ungentle]

There had always been a sort of camaraderie, or at the least an understanding, between Daenerys and Jon; she was more overtly set apart, the family was even less hers than it was his, but though the Stark children were by and large kind to her, though she could sit sewing and chattering with Sansa for hours and be chased across the courtyard by Arya with equal ease, Jon was the one she considered herself closest to in spirit.

As such, he was one of the few she was glad to be joined by, especially just now. Her arms were wrapped round her legs, hands plunged into her cloak (she'd come to terms with the fact that no amount of living in it would make her fully equipped to handle the cold), but she offered a polite nod hello.

"Yes," she murmured. "I imagine they would." She wasn't sure what else to say; she held no resentment toward Lord Eddard, she couldn't without spending her whole life unhappy so she'd never let herself, but the Baratheon king was another matter, and she'd been sorting through the swirling mix of fear, anger, and anxiety that the thought of him had stirred in her. "Is there any consensus?"

[blackbastard]

Almost without a second thought, Jon undid the tie of his bearskin cloak and draped it over the girl's shoulders. Daenerys was always cold, and he had always done his best to help her, as they were both so much of and not of the Starks at the same time. When the silver-haired girl wasn't around, Robb would joke that her unease with the Northern chill was because Daenerys was part dragon. Jon had seen flashes of light and strength in her from time to time that made him wonder at the idea.

He shrugged, sitting down beside her. Immediately, the godswood settled his nerves as it always had. "Most coin is being laid upon Father-- Lord Eddard-- being named the new Hand to King Robert, and that he would be fool to refuse. Seems that would mean moving the family and the better part of Winterfell's people down to King's Landing."

Jon sighed. "Sansa is of the opinion that move would not be one undertaken by a bastard son, as-- in her opinion-- I'd be an embarrassment to Father's new station." The words were bitterly said, all the more for so likely being true.

[ungentle]

When she was little, before she'd fully understood that she was different from the other children running around Winterfell and why, she'd gotten embarrassed about the way her body didn't seem to hold up to the weather the same way. It was nothing to be ashamed of, not really, but it had still bothered her in the way that such things do children. She hated to ask for help even still, not wanting to call attention to this (she'd have laughed if she heard Robb, she wouldn't think of herself so despite her ancestry), but Jon's way of looking out for her caused her to try for a grateful sort of nod of acknowledgement.

"I see," she mused. She had never known King's Landing, but what she knew of it made her believe it a treacherous place, and between that and the low esteem she had for King Robert though never expressed, she could already start to suspect where her opinion would lie about this.

His second item, though, caused her to frown openly. Speculating on Jon's role in this new development was easier than speculating on her own, not that she wouldn't. "Doubtless Sansa is mimicking the opinions of others," she said, "But there's no need to do so that bluntly." For all the courtesies the younger girl could have, as sweet as she could be, there were still some things she hadn't quite learned. Observing this was Dany's way of offering sympathy without overtly doing.

[blackbastard]

He laughed, despite himself. "Sansa is the roughest-tongued proper lady I've ever met," Jon offered, half a teasing comment and half a compliment. Whatever happened, she was still family. He nodded to Daenerys, though, silently thanking her for the words. It was like this with them, two outsiders despite being deep and protected inside the walls of Winterfell, helping one another out as they could.

"Could still be true, though. And if I'm to be left behind, it's not permitted for me to stay as the castellan. It would be a black cloak and the Wall for me."

And for the first time since he'd arrived in the Godswood, Jon shivered at the thought before he shook it away. He looked at Daenerys and tried to put on the most hopeful face he could manage. "There's no danger of being left behind for you, though. No need to worry about that."

[ungentle]

And she returned the laugh, perhaps a bit too loudly -- any levity was welcome just now. "Perhaps so," she said carefully (it wasn't wholly her place to comment, Sansa had grown up alongside her but Sansa wasn't her family). "But words are one of the best tools a lady can hope to have, when they're used correctly at any rate." Which wasn't only applied to Sansa, and was thus followed with a slight sigh.

Unthinkingly, she shifted just a bit closer to Jon. A proper distance was still kept between them, but it was instinct born of her sympathy and nerves both. She couldn't help but look just a bit horrified at what he said, though it didn't entirely surprise her. "Oh," she whispered. "I'm..."

There wasn't really a good end to that sentence, though; they looked out for each other, but they rarely acknowledged why or offered apologies for the things they had no control over. She certainly didn't know what to say once the conversation was turned back toward her, though. "Of course not," she finally managed, and it was bitterer than she usually let herself be when she added, "That's not why I had been worrying."

[blackbastard]

"Then if it's all the same, I suppose I'm glad to have been born a man," Jon mutters, "as I'm no good with words at all." He wasn't a simpleton, he knew that, and he could read well enough and write passably, and when it came to common sense, Jon figured he was clever enough as he needed to be. But skilled with words? No.

He frowned at the way Daenerys seemed to react, and he closed the gap a little further without thinking. "It's not so hard a life," he said, trying to reassure her. "And I'm used to wearing just about all black already." Jon shrugged.

"But if it's true, I confess... who am I supposed to keep reminding to put on her cloak or her woolens, hm? I've seen men of the Night's Watch before," Jon said with an attempt at a smile, "and I don't fancy helping keep any of them warm like you." The moment the words tumbled out, he wanted to snap them back up.

[ungentle]

That coaxed an odd, anxious smile from her. She wasn't one for taking up arms and roughhousing like Arya was, and she was plenty feminine, but she had long been aware of the advantages that might come from being able to do like men and fight with more than just words. Besides that, there was truth to what he said, though Jon's intermittent awkwardness had long struck Daenerys as endearing, so she wasn't about to say anything about it.

"It can't be an easy one," she said, shuddering a bit in spite of herself. It wouldn't bother Jon, of course, but the thought of anywhere even colder than Winterfell pained her to think on. And -- well.

Her first instinct upon Jon's teasing was to give another of those laughs and bat at his arm, feigning something like playful shock. "Perhaps they wouldn't want your reminders," she countered, "Ineffectual as they seem to be, since they've never stuck." But once she'd taken the time to think over what else he said, she was suddenly struck with the idle thought that ensuring she was dressed properly wasn't the only way he could keep her warm, and this got her falling back into a polite shyness.

[blackbastard]

Jon gave Daenerys a conspiratorial smile and leaned in just a little closer, something he was finding himself growing more and more inclined to do that day. "Come on, now. You and me, we wouldn't know an easy life if it bit us on the arse." Oh, there were worse ways for a bastard and a deposed princess to grow up, but neither were they pampered and fawned over.

There was a moment then, when it seemed that Daenerys had caught exactly the second meaning in his words that he'd not intended to put into them. The idea did not dismay him. In fact, it had the opposite effect, and that just made him more melancholy about leaving.

"No, it's quite pleasant in the South," he said quietly. "No more fur cloaks and rough wools. It'll be silks for you. Proper, beautiful gowns to suit you. Proper finery. Proper, fancy men, too..." Jon's voice trailed off.

[ungentle]

"No, we wouldn't," she agreed, chuckling wryly. They'd been about as fortunate as any in their positions could be, but those positions were by nature rather unfortunate, it was true. Daenerys would never have wished this on anyone else, but, well, having Jon there already had always been a comfort.

As for their current conversation, she wasn't sure if it was also a comfort or something quite different. Some of this, she knew, could be attributed to her mood and opinion of the situation -- his role in it, her role, everything as a whole -- but some of it was not so easily explained.

She glanced away when he attempted to -- console her, perhaps? -- and seemed to sink down into herself a bit more. "It sounds very pretty," she about whispered, because she wasn't sure how to put the rest of what she was feeling into words just yet.

[blackbastard]

He could feel the retreat, and it was the last thing that he had wanted to happen. Not that Jon could completely understand everything that was going on right at that moment-- it was like those bitter cold days where ponds would freeze over, and though a man could walk across the surface, things could still be seen below, living and moving but unknowable. He laughed at himself for the image, thinking he was starting to sound like Maester Luwin.

"Pretty," he repeated, "but kind of empty, too. I'd prefer it here. I'm made for a hall filled with cooking smoke and the warmth of hearths. I'd be a poor excuse for a proper noble boy, don't you think?"

He looked at Daenerys and offered a bit more of a smile. "You, though? You should have a chance to shine like you ought."

[ungentle]

Honestly, Daenerys could barely understand all of it herself, let alone begin to explain it. She didn't often show her fear, she wasn't used to even thinking she ought to, but in this moment, she couldn't much think of an alternative, and that at least was fairly easy to read on her face.

"I think you wouldn't be happy trying to be one," she amended, diplomacy and truth rolled into one. "Too much putting on airs, I suspect. It wouldn't suit you."

It was because he was honest that she knew what he said meant something. What, she wasn't sure, but he was sincere, and she didn't know if that made it better or worse. Possibly both. "It wouldn't be me shining," she murmured before she could think better of it. There would, after all, be only so many things a dead king's daughter would be seen as good for, and none of them would be her own idea. "But thank you."

[blackbastard]

He looked back at Daenerys and nodded. She saw him, saw exactly the kind of man he was as clear as day. Just more proof for him that the two of them really were kind of a pair, growing up in a place where not a hell of a lot of other people could really understand their situation.

"Wish I could stay here and watch over Winterfell for Father. It's always been my home, I'd like it to stay that way."

Despite himself, Jon found himself smiling. "Very sorry to tell you, Princess, but you wouldn't have much choice in the matter. You do it already all the time. Just might be a bit harder to see up here in all the snow."

[ungentle]

The hours between their revelation in the godswood and their decided meeting time passed by unbearbly slow for Daenerys. She'd been distracted at supper, not entirely unusual for her and especially -- not accepted, exactly, but tolerated, given the news from King's Landing; she'd ducked off to her room as soon as it was polite, claiming a headache (everyone knew it was a lie, but everyone expected it was to do with the news, too).

Of course, the truth was more complicated. It wasn't nerves, exactly, that she was contending with. She was surer than anything of this decision, she wouldn't have made it if she wasn't. She wasn't fretting about any of the implications of it or about how it wasn't going to be some idealized fantasy (though two young somewhat-outcasts sneaking off to the hayloft was a tale of sorts, at least). She wasn't even worrying about the act itself, exactly.

But it was only right to be a bit nervous before undertaking this, she figured, even if it was a good nervousness.

At the designated hour, then, wrapped in her warmest, thickest cloak and with her hair all but loose, she made her way to the hayloft, eyes gone wide and heart beating fast as she crept through the halls and up to the designated location. It didn't surprise her that she was there first, and she said a silent prayer of thanks for the chance to calm herself a bit more after arriving.

[blackbastard]

Jon had nearly patted himself on the back for choosing the hayloft. Even without assistance at the time of night he and Daenerys had agreed on there was more chance of winter changing to summer spontaneously than there was of someone chancing upon their hiding spot. To make sure though, he'd given a few coins to the men who'd be on guard duty to keep them away and encourage them to do the same. To make extra sure past that, he'd hinted that the favor was for Robb, not him, since they might get curious about the kind of girl that would finally get Jon Snow to do something like this.

Climbing the ladder up to the hayloft, Jon took a deep breath before stepping off it. He hung the small lantern from a hook on the ceiling, but his smile at seeing Daenerys waiting for him might have been all the light they needed. Dropping the bundle of blankets he'd carried with him, Jon closed the gap between them and bent his head down to kiss her, not wanting to wait another second to do so.

[ungentle]

Daenerys sighed happily into the kiss, rising on her tiptoes and winding her arm around his shoulders to bring them yet closer. That was all she concentrated on at first, their mouths working against each other and the heat it stoked in her belly. Kisses were a bit different, she reckoned, now that they were an agreed-upon prequel to other things. Build-up and a chance to discover things that might make the other go wild.

When she felt herself getting short of breath, she pulled back just the slightest bit and looked straight into his eyes. "Nobody saw me on my way here, I don't think," she murmured, just because it seemed like if they were going to the trouble of doing this so secretly they should keep each other informed of their progress.

[blackbastard]

The kiss was just so... Jon is rapidly running out of words to describe what it feels like to be with Daenerys, to kiss her and hold her and to be ready to... It's just too much for him, so he stops trying to put words to things for a while. He nods, though, at her words, pulling himself back together.

"Same for me. Although there shouldn't be another soul within a hundred paces of here until morning." With that said, he gathers the blanket roll and spreads the thick woolen fabric on top of a particularly soft-looking pile of hay. Another two blankets top that for good measure. When he's done it looks like they have a proper nest.

He holds out his hand. "My Lady?"

[ungentle]

Perhaps they've reached a place beyond words, where they'd be able to say what they needed to say through their bodies and their eyes and just understand it. It seems likely as anything, given how close they already are.

"Good," Daenerys agrees, almost mischievous. She steps back to allow him to arrange things as he will, smiling all the while; she's got hands buried in her cloak as usual, but she doubts that the cold is going to be a concern for much longer, she's already beginning to feel a bit warm just from thinking of what they're undertaking.

She accepts his hand with a graceful little curtsy, dropping her gaze just to lift it again and look at him from under her eyelashes. "My lord," she returns softly and reverently as anything.

[blackbastard]

If life were fair, he thinks, the words echoing from their earlier talk, then they would be saying these words and doing these things on the night after their wedding. But fairness isn't something people like he and Daenerys can count on, so they're taking what they can when they can. Jon lowers himself to the blankets as gracefully as he can manage, then helps her down beside him.

Jon puts one arm around Daenerys and stops. He's done so much planning, making sure that they wouldn't be disturbed that he's given no real thought to what would happen next. He stares at her, transfixed but near panic. Jon has no idea how to proceed at all, so he falls back to one thing he knows he can do. He kisses her again.

From there, it's something of a natural progression to fall back down, laying together much as they had in the godswood.

[ungentle]

If it's true, if Jon's to be sent to the Wall, he'll never marry at all, and if Daenerys' suspicions are correct, she'll someday be given like a trophy, forced into a marriage with little regard for what she wants at all. Life isn't fair, no, and people like them especially have to take what they can get however they can get it.

She sinks down at his prompting, knowing her smile has gone impossibly shy. She's less naive than one might think though by no means truly knowledgeable in these matters, since all of what she knows is intuited and overheard and she's never been able to ask anyone about anything even resembling this; she doesn't expect it to be all up to Jon (she doesn't think she'd be comfortable just letting him take over entirely, at least yet) but she mostly just trusts that they'll figure something out. It can't be so complicated.

Kisses aren't complicated. Laying back isn't complicated. Winding her arm around his shoulders isn't complicated. In the back of her mind, she's wondering if they should worry about undressing, a little bit or all the way, but she doesn't mention it or even allude to it save the way she tugs just slightly at the fabric of Jon's shirt.

[blackbastard]

He feels the pull at his clothing, and Jon reluctantly unattaches his lips from hers to look at Daenerys and make sure that she seems sure about the gesture. She does, and he nods, so he's quickly and less clumsily than he was fearing undoing the laces of the shirt and pulling it over his head. Jon shivers a little, but with the way his blood is pumping and as flush as his skin is feeling, he knows it's not from the cold.

Jon reaches down to her, then stops. A sudden and almost terrifically funny realization strikes. "I, uh... I'm not quite sure how a dress works," he confesses, unable to resist the smile that accompanies it.

[ungentle]

She's sure as anything, and it takes some willpower to keep from running her hands over his skin as soon as it's bared. She holds onto her own hands to suppress the urge, thumbs stroking over each other in something resembling a nervous gesture though she's not nervous in the strictest sense, no. It's anticipation.

And she can't resist returning that smile, finding the fact that he's honest about it somehow charming. "I'll show you," she promises, and she turns just slightly, guiding his hand to the seam along her side. "This one's simple. A few little ties to undo here --" A coy smile as she pulls on the first little bow -- "And then once they're open, off it slips."

[blackbastard]

"Then whatever Gods govern dressmaking are very generous to clumsy types like me," he mutters, before putting his full attention to the task. Sure enough as Daenerys promised, once he's started to pull at the ties, the dress which previously clung to her frame loosened considerably.

Feeling particularly inspired a moment later, Jon starts to tug the garment down off Daenerys' shoulders, leaning down to kiss the pale, soft skin as it's exposed, inch by inch. His lips draw a line down the center of her chest, and he can feel her heart beating through his kisses. When he's got her bare to the waist as well, he sits up slightly, staring in awe.

"Gods, you're beautiful..."

[ungentle]

With a giggle, Daenerys agrees, "It's fortunate. Sometimes it's all little hooks or such things, though I imagine that you'd be able to manage them with enough incentive." To say nothing of corsets -- she's not much for them, and she'll skip them if she can, but she's a woman grown, that luxury isn't always allowed.

She shifts to allow him to undress her a bit easier, instinctively arching up when he begins to kiss her, murmuring, "Oh, oh, Jon," urgingly. All she can think is that she'd be happy to have his mouth on her forever.

The compliment makes her blush, turning her head just slightly to the side to avoid his gaze for a moment -- something like humility, not the pretended modesty of some but instead a genuine confusion about how to respond to such a thing offered so nicely. "Thank you," she whispers, but then she figure it best to just pull him down into a kiss and let that serve as gratitude instead.

[blackbastard]

"If it were you inside," he laughs, "I'd tear my way through plate armor with my bare hands." It's an amusing image and a lightly said thought, but once he actually begins undressing Daenerys, he knows he means it and would doubtless have the strength to do it as well. Incentive is a very small word when he looks at her.

When she kisses him, it's clearly a response to his words. Jon wonders if he should say them again, convince her of how truthful he was. But really, he'd rather just keep kissing her for a bit longer and then move on.

Moving on becomes a question of which one of them will be the first completely exposed, in so many ways, to the other? Jon's instincts, as always, are to be the one that protects and defends and right now, there is no one in the world he cares for more than Daenerys, so the choice is clear. He shifts and turns and fidgets until breeches and smallclothes are cast aside.