first in winter

“Good night, my Lady…” He didn’t say another word, and simply left the her title hanging in the silence, purposely used to place distance between them, as he always did. The air turned heavy in the small cottage, and Lyanna eyes wandered shamelessly over his tense body. “Good night Arthur.”

request: arthur/lyanna + spontaneous love-making (maybe a bit awkward) please??

The road between Selhorys and Volantis has nothing intriguing or exciting.  So this all situation, even if really pleasant, is strange: pressed into the soil, the snap of breaking twigs, mossy, damp smells in the air, high birdsong in the shade. The scrape of forest floor is against Arthur’s back and Lyanna can’t quite keep rhythm, riding him; she’s off beat –on every beat tho, too fast or too slow, erratically shaking and panting her breath. But still, gorgeous.

Arthur looks up at her and grabs her hips; she leans further forwards, braces herself differently, both hands on his torso for balance. They stutter. He thrusts up, makes Lyanna groan, and eases her downwards. And she seems to take stock of her pleasure.

“Lya,” he mutters, and rocks up where they’re already tight together. He envies Lyanna, completely owned by this moment, enjoying slowly every second, locked into here and now –whilst Arthur is always in before and soon.

“Lyanna,” he says again, to ground her back.

She stares down at the man straddled beneath her, vision blurred.  “Oh… yeah, sorry.” She is like that, his wolf-lady. Wild and impulsive.

She is the one who requested a halt for an urgent need. He imagined a halt to rest their horses, or to pee, or to feed her one year-old son –who is still asleep in his cradle, carefully attached and hanged to the saddle of her horse. It didn’t cross Arthur’s mind she was talking about that kind of need.

Lyanna lifts up and pushes down, little pulses morphing into longer, heavier, deeper beats. Arthur’s pulled along with her, almost all the way. Lyanna’s face is damp and flushed; a bead of sweat dripping from her forehead and down her neck, smudges of earth mingling with forest shadows on her skin. She could have grown here, something of the land, not quite human. Almost supernatural. Her delight in open-air exercises is properly noted in the back of Arthur’s memory.

He pulls up so that that they’re sitting, Lyanna still locked around him, arms around his neck, legs around waist, her whole body shivering. He takes in all over again; the trees, the patches of sky, the whispering leaves, the birds, the forest smell, Lyanna –skin, heat, mouth and breathe. So beautiful. Arthur kisses her and presses her down, thrusts hard.

“Yes –yes, like that.” Lyanna mutters against his lips, with something deep-down and dried-blood dark in her voice, something that sticks and catches. “Arthur,” she breathes.

Arthur dredges up what like that is and thrusts deep to drag out another moan. He keeps going, and he forgets, for an overflowing handful of moments, that he cannot live only for the before and soon. Lyanna urges him along. They find a beat.

There are many things about Arthur that Lyanna can’t help but love: the cocky grin when he calls her My Lady despite her protests to call her Lyanna; the little pinch of skin that forms between his eyebrows when he is thinking critically; the way his arms wrapped around her son when the boy solicits a hug; or the warm expanse of golden skin she has the privilege of seeing and, sometimes, touching.

Yet, when the day is over, when Jon’s bath is done and is sleeping in his crib, and the conclusion of their day leaves them pliant and weary, what Lyanna really loves about Arthur is the way he allows her to touch –as they sit side by side by the fireplace. Soft touches, barely there, nothing more –for he is still a sworn Knight and she, his Lady– touches over shoulder blades and sensitive skin and scars healed pale and pink beneath her fingers. It’s wonderful, comfortable.

But nothing beats the moments when Arthur is docile enough to let her slip her hand up the back of his neck, tug very gently against the hair at the base of his skull, and then thread her fingers through the thick, dark mane.

The way Arthur sighs deeply, breath ghosting while looking at the flames, eyelids fluttering with the effort to keep them open and stay quiet, that makes Lyanna smile. The big tough Sword of The Morning humming like a cat or a big dog at the prospect of having a petting session. But it is the moments following, when her long, thin fingers curl and caress the soft, dark strands; when Lyanna’s short, blunt fingernails scrape gently across Arthur’s scalp that the she-wolf feels the Knight relax completely. The thought that she alone gets Arthur like this, can watch his face smooth out, his shoulders raise as the tension falls off of them, makes her heart flutter. She is the one who melts the day under the heavy Essos’sun away; who soothes him to sleep with the gentle skill of her fingers and listens to their heartbeats slowing together and the breaths slowing, deepening until sleep is about to overtake.

It is those moments just before sleep, between wakefulness and dosing, moments no one else invades that Lyanna tucks away in her memory for safe keeping. She makes every moment count, holds tight, even if in these moments, she must fight to restrain herself to press her lips on Arthur’s neck –for she is still his Lady, and he, her sworn Knight.

When Lyanna’s own eyes close, fingers loosen in Arthur’s hair, it is the moment he moves away and stands up. “It is late.” There is nothing to dispute, so she nods. “Good night, my lady,” A heavy whisper, and he leaves the main room of their small house.

When Arthur closes the door behind him, Lyanna leans back in the chair and began to sip the too-sweet Volantis wine in her cup, looking at the dancing flames in the hearth. She wonders just how late the hour is and how many evenings it will take her to kiss him.

*(from the AU where Lyanna has to marry a son of Starfall and to live there)

Lyanna lounges on her bed in nothing but a light tunic. When will this insufferable heat stop?, she sighs. Four months and the daughter of the North is still unable to accustom to the Dornish weather.

One day, Arthur appears at her doorstep, and he takes Lyanna by the hand. What in the Gods’ names, she starts, but Arthur only shrugs, and he tugs her down the decorated corridors, back through the kitchens and past the servants’ quarters. They end up in a luxuriant field of date palms by Starfall, growing wonderfully despite the heat. She frowns at him, puzzled.

A breeze. Dark clouds above them. And she suddenly feels it.

First there’s one drop, then two. Then it turns into a deluge, a downpour, and rain drips off Lyanna’s nose, clinging her light tunic to her skin. The first rain in five months. She laughs and opens her hands to feel the fresh drops falling in her palms. Arthur, imperturbable, smiles.

What?, she says.

the ‘Everybody-Lives’ Essos!AU + Arthur & Lyanna & little Jon on their mare as they owe just one horse, this is what happens when they all have to go to Volantis or to the market by the shore, and it is usually Arthur who holds the reins -to Lyanna’s regret. (yet, one day she will take the mare without telling him and will participate in a race gathering some of the best riders of Essos… but this is another chapter of this AU :P)

Arthur hates the cold —and the cold seems to hate him

note: this fic takes place in the AU created by @lyannas and seen in the fic Hold On To Your Heart (fic i wrote and post with her permission), so the dynamic between arthur & lyanna is not idyllic –read her fic if you haven’t yet–, and idk… maybe we can call this one-shot as ‘filler-episode’? XD lol

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Nobody questions how Lyanna was able to find him in a snowstorm. She is daughter of the North, and when Arthur wasn’t back at the gates of Winterfell at the planned hour –knowing his military’s concept of schedule and his promise to return at twilight– Lyanna knew something happened. 

Men were sent to seek him out and she led the research. A couple of hours later, they –she– found him, unconscious by a river, freezing droplets trickling off his clumped strands of dark hair, lips & tips of fingers starting to turn blue. “Over here!” she screamed.

( request by @theangelsity : Arthur seeing the she-wolf for the first time )

part of this squire-AU  |  fic + one moodboard

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When Arthur wants to teach something, henormally goes the painful route of “try and fail until your limbs can no more carryyou and your fingers bleed”, and Lyanna’s gotten used to equate lessonsfrom him with bruises and muscle aches in places she didn’t know have muscles.

This morning is different.

Arthur holds the bow with reverence,gentle and almost unaware of Lyanna’s presence, except for how he keeps up asoft monologue.

“The secret to shooting a recurve bow,lies in the nature of the relationship between you and the weapon. A swordbecomes a part of you, an extension of your arm, but the bow is different. Ittakes you over, makes your body a part of it, and you become the weapon.”

Arthur moves like a large cat, sensuous,silent, with no effort at all. He looks golden -no, bronzed- and powerful in the darkness of the courtyard.Lyanna swallows and concentrates on the meaning of the words despite the tiredness, and the way Arthur’s voice send shivers across her skin.