Rumor had followed him for much of his life. Baseborn sons, especially those of a nobleman with honor as impeccable as Ned Stark's, often inspired such gossip; for a long time, such talk had bothered him terribly. Every boy eventually becomes a man, though, and the sting of such whispering had faded as he did. At the Wall, dissatisfied men had whispered that his mother was whore, that he was half wolf and half wildling, that he was as much a traitor as his Lord Father had been. Lord Slynt and Alliser Thorne were notorious for spreading such talk. There was nothing to be done but ignore it. Responding to it would only encourage more men to speak it, giving it life again and again until everyone believed, no matter how untrue it might be.
It was inevitable that his cravings for her would overtake him before too long; desire for her was writ into his bones and his blood now, an elemental part of him that could not be suppressed, stopped, or ignored. His lips parted as she quickened the pace, soft, throaty groans spilling freely as he squirmed about, pleasure swelling like the crackling of a fire. His eyes watched her, a pair of wolf's eyes, dark and hungry, tongue wetting his lips in mute approval as she moved to touch herself as well, her fingers slipping past her dark curls and teasing the overly sensitive spot just above her cunt. Gods. He wanted her so badly then, wanted to tear away her fingers and his and slam his cock inside her, to fuck her brutally hard and fast until they both dissolved into orgasm. "Yes," he whispered back, subtly shifting the grip around his cock, fingertips applying more pressure to the sensitive underside. "Ne-next time. We'll play a game. And I'll win." His lips quirked into a knowing smile; with these games, they'd both win, no matter who won.
And that was exactly what he wanted.
"Not everyone thought that, but it hardly matters now." His Northmen were a suspicious lot, and mistrusted southrons as a rule of thumb, but they were good men. And they knew him. The rumors circulated, true, but Lord Cerwyn had grown up only several days from Winterfell and had often visited. He knew that Jon was not the sort to freely take a lover nor was he likely to shirk his duty. The men and women here knew him. They knew the Starks. What was now spreading across the court had been gossiped about, true, but only idly and not by the most important members of his court. "Some will take issue with it, but you are not our prisoner, Margaery, nor do we have any claim to decide who you must wed. I have reminded certain Lords of that before. I will do so again." He didn't doubt that some would certainly take the chance to spread talk of insult, to say that he had weakened their positioning by taking the Lady of High Garden to bed. "As I said before, alliances do not always require a marriage to be sealed. At best, they'd wed you to one of bannerman's sons. You do not need a wedding to be sealed to our cause. At least, I'd like to believe that you already are." Jon smiled softly. They would find a way through this. "Do not worry. Whatever egos are bruised, we can soothe them by announcing our intention to go to Dorne. I will tell them you convinced me of it."
That ought to give Littlefinger and his sister something to chew on for a while yet.
"She must keep most of it for herself, then. Perhaps in reserve at High Garden. She already controls it, so there'd be no point in moving the extras. No doubt she'll keep an iron grip on it, using it as a way to purchase loyalty and punish traitors." With the Freys controlling the Riverlands, there were few other places that could yield the amount of food that the Reach could. War had left many places short of food, and with the oncoming winter said to be an especially harsh and long one, a stash like the one they'd acquired would go far in assisting with ruling the realm. "When we strike our deal with Dorne, High Garden may very well need to be the first place they attack. If we can cut off their food supply and rally your countrymen, we may stand a better chance." Especially if the Redwynes and their fleet could be counted on. Stannis had nearly taken King's Landing using a fleet and armies and Tyrion Lannister was no longer there. Still, it would be a risky gamble; the enmity between Dorne and the Reach was well known and he did not know if they would love him for setting the Dornish loose into their land.
Jon sighed at her pronouncement. "I had hoped that she might have used up her stores with the Sept, but that was too much to hope, wasn't it? Very well. We must need find a way to avoid a protracted siege. And to take it before she realizes what's happened." It was a tall order. Cersei would have whispers pouring in while they marched towards her. All they could hope to do was defeat her swiftly and surely or find someway to... ensure she fell or fled before the battle could happen. It was a terrible thing to consider, but it might be necessary. It was not the option he would pursue unless there was no other recourse available to him.
Desire swept through him, burning away all other thoughts and concerns, as he felt her fingers replace his, the soft, warm skin of her fingers making him gasp softly against her mouth. Sweeping his tongue along the seam of her lips, Jon gladly welcomed the deepened kiss, plunging inside of her mouth to taste her and to explore. In reciprocation, he draped an arm over her shoulder and traced the curve of her breast with rough, calloused fingers, touch surprisingly delicate. After, he filled his palm with one and gently pinched a tight nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it as he pressed closer, closing any distance that lay between them.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2017-01-08 07:43 pm (UTC)It was inevitable that his cravings for her would overtake him before too long; desire for her was writ into his bones and his blood now, an elemental part of him that could not be suppressed, stopped, or ignored. His lips parted as she quickened the pace, soft, throaty groans spilling freely as he squirmed about, pleasure swelling like the crackling of a fire. His eyes watched her, a pair of wolf's eyes, dark and hungry, tongue wetting his lips in mute approval as she moved to touch herself as well, her fingers slipping past her dark curls and teasing the overly sensitive spot just above her cunt. Gods. He wanted her so badly then, wanted to tear away her fingers and his and slam his cock inside her, to fuck her brutally hard and fast until they both dissolved into orgasm. "Yes," he whispered back, subtly shifting the grip around his cock, fingertips applying more pressure to the sensitive underside. "Ne-next time. We'll play a game. And I'll win." His lips quirked into a knowing smile; with these games, they'd both win, no matter who won.
And that was exactly what he wanted.
"Not everyone thought that, but it hardly matters now." His Northmen were a suspicious lot, and mistrusted southrons as a rule of thumb, but they were good men. And they knew him. The rumors circulated, true, but Lord Cerwyn had grown up only several days from Winterfell and had often visited. He knew that Jon was not the sort to freely take a lover nor was he likely to shirk his duty. The men and women here knew him. They knew the Starks. What was now spreading across the court had been gossiped about, true, but only idly and not by the most important members of his court. "Some will take issue with it, but you are not our prisoner, Margaery, nor do we have any claim to decide who you must wed. I have reminded certain Lords of that before. I will do so again." He didn't doubt that some would certainly take the chance to spread talk of insult, to say that he had weakened their positioning by taking the Lady of High Garden to bed. "As I said before, alliances do not always require a marriage to be sealed. At best, they'd wed you to one of bannerman's sons. You do not need a wedding to be sealed to our cause. At least, I'd like to believe that you already are." Jon smiled softly. They would find a way through this. "Do not worry. Whatever egos are bruised, we can soothe them by announcing our intention to go to Dorne. I will tell them you convinced me of it."
That ought to give Littlefinger and his sister something to chew on for a while yet.
"She must keep most of it for herself, then. Perhaps in reserve at High Garden. She already controls it, so there'd be no point in moving the extras. No doubt she'll keep an iron grip on it, using it as a way to purchase loyalty and punish traitors." With the Freys controlling the Riverlands, there were few other places that could yield the amount of food that the Reach could. War had left many places short of food, and with the oncoming winter said to be an especially harsh and long one, a stash like the one they'd acquired would go far in assisting with ruling the realm. "When we strike our deal with Dorne, High Garden may very well need to be the first place they attack. If we can cut off their food supply and rally your countrymen, we may stand a better chance." Especially if the Redwynes and their fleet could be counted on. Stannis had nearly taken King's Landing using a fleet and armies and Tyrion Lannister was no longer there. Still, it would be a risky gamble; the enmity between Dorne and the Reach was well known and he did not know if they would love him for setting the Dornish loose into their land.
Jon sighed at her pronouncement. "I had hoped that she might have used up her stores with the Sept, but that was too much to hope, wasn't it? Very well. We must need find a way to avoid a protracted siege. And to take it before she realizes what's happened." It was a tall order. Cersei would have whispers pouring in while they marched towards her. All they could hope to do was defeat her swiftly and surely or find someway to... ensure she fell or fled before the battle could happen. It was a terrible thing to consider, but it might be necessary. It was not the option he would pursue unless there was no other recourse available to him.
Desire swept through him, burning away all other thoughts and concerns, as he felt her fingers replace his, the soft, warm skin of her fingers making him gasp softly against her mouth. Sweeping his tongue along the seam of her lips, Jon gladly welcomed the deepened kiss, plunging inside of her mouth to taste her and to explore. In reciprocation, he draped an arm over her shoulder and traced the curve of her breast with rough, calloused fingers, touch surprisingly delicate. After, he filled his palm with one and gently pinched a tight nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it as he pressed closer, closing any distance that lay between them.