theatrum | (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.

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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.