theatrum | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

While they were ticking by, Jon was absolutely certain that these were the very best seconds of his entire life. Daenery's lips were soft and full against his and he had no idea that a person could taste sweet, but she did to him and there was a there was a sound like drumbeats that had to be his heart. It was so very right that he nearly cursed when forced to tip his head back and breathe.

"I'm... I'm sorry for not waiting for you to tell me if that was all right to do or not, but I'm guessing now it was."

Jon could have slapped himself for saying such a fool thing, but he wasn't thinking well, even for him. All he knew in that moment was that he'd just done something he'd been wanting to do for ages without knowing it and would never regret that he finally had.

Jon's lips were rougher, no surprise, but they weren't as rough as could be imagined, and the relative delicacy with which he moved them against hers could make up for anything. This -- this was the sort of thing that caused all of the sentimentality in the songs, all unexpected and simple and sweet as it was.

She had to smile at his apology, murmuring, "Thank you, though you're correct in that guess." After all, the fact that he'd think to apologize, albeit after the fact, even knowing he didn't really need to, was something that reflected what she treasured about him. He wasn't much for words and expressing feelings, but he was better at understanding some things than he might think. He certainly could understand her.

She scooted even closer, fumbling for one of his hands to hold onto. "I don't know what happens now," she admitted shyly. Now in their specific case, that was (she'd long understood the technical progression of things). "What this means for... us." Even referring to them so had a different tone now.

He was happy to take her hand-- another small revelation, as a young Jon could never really understand why a small gesture like that could have been important between lovers, when there were supposed to be so many more interesting things to do. But to hold Daenery's hand, to show her support and connection and affection through that simple thing was a wonderful, singular pleasure.

"I think... I think we're probably going to have to enjoy every last bit of anything we can get from now on." After all, hadn't their conversation begun with the speculation that they'd soon be separated? And how heartbreaking that was a thing to contemplate now. "But to be honest? If that kiss is the last thing I take with me to the Wall, I'll never be cold again."

It was one of those things, Daenerys supposed, that couldn't really come clear without evidence, that perhaps you didn't think about wanting or needing to do until there was someone to do it with. Surely, there were other things that could be done, but sometimes this was -- not enough, but what a moment needed, and considering the nature of this moment it seemed only right.

In the light of this development, the fates they would soon be meeting seemed crueler than even they had already, but in that way he didn't realize he could be, Jon was right once more. "We will," Daenerys agreed. "Borrowed time, isn't that it? But we can -- we can take advantage of that, I'm sure."

That last undoubtedly got her blushing, though, and she ducked her head to keep from showing her silly, girlish smile (it was probably a futile effort) and squeezed his hand even tighter. "You're not off yet," she murmured, suddenly bold. If they were having to fit an entire affair into who knew how long, there was no point being too shy. "I'm making it my objective, then, giving you plenty more to take with you."

"Borrowed time," Jon repeated. It was a good way to put it, even though it was now the absolute worst thing he could think of. Looking at Daenerys as she hugged him close, he decided that wasn't true. The worst thing, now, would have been to never realize how he'd come to feel about the girl and how she felt in return.

His smile widened, suddenly feeling playful and lighthearted. She was absolutely right-- if the time was running out, then they couldn't waste a bit of it. Jon leaned back to lay on the ground, taking Daenerys with him. "Is it now?" he said, looking up at her. "And exactly what are you proposing?" His hand reached up and found her cheek before he kissed her again, this time with more confidence. "More of that, I hope."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Daenerys wondered if maybe she wouldn't regret this some, knowing it was due to be ended. They were meant to be split apart, ripped from this place they'd always known and used as little more than pawns, and who knew when they'd so much as see each other again. But -- no, that line of thinking wouldn't do. She was as glad of this as she could be.

She'd started it, but it still took her a bit by surprise when Jon laid down like that and his expression suddenly turned almost mischievous. Good, sweet Jon -- maybe for this little while her good, sweet Jon -- was rarely so bold, though she certainly didn't mind. She returned the kiss almost hungrily, murmuring approval against his lips. "Much more of that," she agreed.

And then, because she couldn't help herself, she added, "And now that I think of it, I might need a few nice thoughts to keep me company in that city I'm set for, too."

He noticed that Daenerys was surprised by what he did, and Jon supposed he couldn't blame her. Never once had he been accused of being the spontaneous, playful one in the family, but never before had he felt anything like what this revelation between them was making him feel, so he reckoned he had an excuse to be a little wild.

That wildness seemed to be infectious, as Daenery's kiss was tinged with it, too. Jon responded in kind and once more, he was on the verge of breathlessness from it.

Jon's hands found her tiny waist and he held her close that way. "Name it," he told her, as earnest and honest as he had ever been. "Anything I can give you, Daenerys, it's yours."

It wasn't in keeping with his usual demeanor, no, but it was very welcome just now. She didn't know quite what to expect from this new, considerably more passionate Jon, but that was half the fun: he could surprise her, but she trusted him.

And besides that, wildness was much preferable to the melancholy that had been surrounding her before they had kissed. Now that they had a whole new plan for filling the time, she couldn't worry about what was going to happen in the future, she could only concentrate on what was going to happen in the immediate present.

Daenerys swallowed a breath, rested her forehead against him for a moment. She hadn't thought about it before this moment, but suddenly she realized she'd always sort of expected what she was about to mention would come to pass; it only made sense, the bastard boy and the not-princess, it was practically expected. It's not as if that's not where they were headed anyway, but discussing it was something altogether different. "If you would -- would give me all of yourself, I would give you all of myself in return," she whispered, raising her eyebrow in such a way to suggest her true meaning.

It was so amazingly easy to be this way with Daenerys, especially now that the way he'd apparently always felt about her had finally hacked its way through his thick skull and made itself known. Maybe, Jon thought, it was always meant to be this way and those silly court romances of Sansa's really did know something about destiny. Whatever the reasons, Jon was glad they were so.

He gulped hard when Daenerys spoke. Jon wasn't so dull that he didn't know where relations between a man and a woman went. Theon was often boasting of his prowess, and he had suspicions that Robb had a little experience by now, and Jon spent enough time around retainers and grooms and the like to have heard plenty. But none of that prepared him for the reality of a beautiful girl suggesting...

"You'll have all of me that I can give," Jon answered, simply and honestly. "And yes, I know what you mean. Although... perhaps we should make more... comfortable arrangements."

Daenerys was, as a general rule, rather wary of intimacy. She was aware of how lucky she was to have never been made an unwilling conquest of by anyone (be it by some arranged marriage, whisk the dead king's daughter off and wed her to the highest bidder since she was only even alive by the living king's mercy, or be it in some other, even more horrible way) but that didn't mean she wasn't aware of the possibilities or that she hadn't been subjected to all manner of insinuations. A noble lady she may be, but as those went she was about as low down as they came, and she was made all too aware of that.

It had always been different with Jon, though. Oh, she'd never been made uncomfortable by any of the others; even Theon had always been respectful enough, at least to her face. But maybe because they were so similar in so many ways or maybe because she knew he'd never do any of the things she feared the most or maybe just because, she'd always trusted Jon in a way she couldn't trust others. She hadn't quite put her feelings for him together before this, no, but really they were no surprise.

"Perhaps," she giggled, shifting just minutely. "Have you any notions?" The obvious things that came to mind for such a thing, bedchambers and the like, seemed -- well, rather out of the question in this case.

In the back of his mind, Jon wondered if she knew what awful things had passed through the heads of so many of the men in Winterfell when she would pass by. More than once, he'd gotten into a scuffle with one of the grooms or a castle guard when they'd let slip a few choice suggestions regarding Daenerys. Thanks to training with Robb and the swordmaster, Jon was a match for any of them, and they soon learned to at least keep their thoughts to themselves. The other Starks frowned on any displays of enmity toward the silver-haired girl, but mostly out of it being the honorable thing to do. Until now, Jon had thought that his motivation as well.

His dark thoughts were pushed back at the sound of her laughter. It was like bells, Jon decided, and he liked that idea. Jon's brow creased as he thought the question over, an expression he was often teased about.

"There are some very soft looking bales in the hayloft," he offered at last. "A few blankets or cloaks would help, and it's well out of sight."

She'd been fortunate enough to escape most of it, but not all; she'd catch stray whispers or -- well, unseemly glances from them, she'd even been approached once or twice (small miracle that there was always a distraction of some sort). She wasn't so naive as to not know what a prize she'd be to a bragging, conquering man; it was one of the reasons she felt such a sense of dread about the prospect of King's Landing, where she could only imagine she'd be less-respected and more-coveted.

All the more reason to enjoy this little whatever-it-was with Jon now, to have something to hold onto, to have a bit of agency over this part of her. She didn't quite know how to say it so directly, but perhaps she'd find the words in time. Perhaps not, and it would just be something they shared now and could remember later.

His thoughtful face may have earned him teases in the past, but really, Daenerys thought it charming, and his suggestion seemed sound. "All right," she agreed. It was a good thing he liked her laugh, though, because she couldn't help but start again at her own bluntness. "I mean, all right, that sounds -- well, perhaps not to everyone's standards, but I think it'll suit our purposes quite nicely."

"Yeah, it's not quite as romantic a spot as I'd wager you might've imagined," Jon said with a smirk. "But it'll do for our... purposes." He can't help it. He laughs at the word, and at the idea that they're discussing this particular subject in the way he'd expect to arrange a trade for a new saddle. But, he thinks, he's clearly not laughing at all at Daenerys. Because when his eyes settle on her for more than a moment, his laugh fades and all Jon can do is smile at her.

"I'll do what I can to make sure it'll be deserted for the night as soon as I can. Once that's done, I'll let you know." He leans closer to her again. "Until then, I don't think we're expected back until supper time. Got a suggestion for passing the time?"

To be honest, she hadn't really imagined it one way or the other. Some girls, she knew, dreamed of falling in love and expressing that in such a way as this; she'd never paid it much mind. She hadn't thought clearly that she even could have some sort of say in how and when this happened and with who, at least until now. She wasn't sure how to say any of that, really, but it was felt.

That same practicality, she figured, was why she couldn't help but discuss this so. More flowery, lyrical terms -- well, they belonged to someone else, maybe, because for all she cared about Jon and for all she felt for him, she knew neither of them were exactly much for poetry. It wouldn't have suited. "I think it sounds wonderful," she murmured, grinning.

Then, more mischievously, "I'd say there are plenty of things for us to learn about each other before we..." It trailed off, suggestive, as she tipped her head to press a kiss to the column of his throat.

"Yeah," he answers laughing. "Yeah, it sort of does sound wonderful." And then finally, because Jon always gets there eventually, he understands why. They could have their first time in the most terrible spot in all the Seven Kingdoms, but as long as it was him and her, it would be wonderful.

Jon groans a little as Daenerys' mouth makes contact with his neck. It's a surprise he's so sensitive there, not that anyone's been interested enough to try. With a silent hope that he was doing things the right way, his hands make their way over Daenerys' dress, one of them coming to rest over a breast which it's thrilling enough to feel through the layers.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only