#e fics

One of the girls behind her shifted, reminding her that some of them still felt uneasy in the presence of any of the men onboard. “Tell your captain I appreciate his attempt to make me think I have a choice.”

The pirate grunted and turned to leave. “He wasn’t wrong about that tart mouth o’ yours.”

“I assume my brother will be attending?” she inquired.

The pirate didn’t halt. “Ya sure that’s somethin’ to be happy about?”

The captain’s quarters that night was the same as it was the week before- spacious, with the same large table spread with foods that were luxuries to have on the high seas. There were the same candles set in their silver candlesticks, the small flames adding a rosy glow to the area around the spread.

And there was the captain himself, with that same look on his face as she was escorted through the door by a couple of his crewmen-- part indignant and part pleased.

“Was the dress not to your taste, Highness?” he asked, his voice inscrutable.

“I’m afraid that our taste in clothing is quite different,” Daenerys said as she took a seat, the material of her weeks-old dress brushing against the rough wood. “Though I am flattered that you thought of my comfort.”

He chuckled. “Not at all.”

She wasn’t fooled by his outward congeniality, but decided to hold her tongue. Her brother would surely make his appearance soon, and she didn’t want to sour the captain’s goodwill even further than what Viserys would no doubt accomplish.

It seemed the captain was not satisfied with the moment of respite. “Would it please you if I had my men bring you a dress to select for yourself, Highness?” He nodded at the two men near the door, and they exchanged looks with each other before exiting the cabin.

And leaving them alone.

“Surely your men have better things to do than ponder over a woman’s clothes.” Daenerys fought to still her panic. Why wasn’t Viserys here yet?

The captain leaned back slightly in his chair to further regard her. His fingers were tented before him and his legs crossed, looking for all the world at ease. The dark silk of his shirt and trousers seemed to absorb the candlelight that fell across his features.

Then his mouth quirked. “You needn’t worry, princess. I may be a terrible rogue, but I have my honor. You need not fear debauchery from Captain Jon Snow.”

She held his gaze, both indignant and disbelieving. How strange, she thought. He killed my men and threatens my country, and yet he acts like he’s concerned over my virtue and comfort.

The captain lifted his knife towards a large platter of fish in the center of the table. “Why don’t we eat?”

“My brother?” she inquired.

“Won’t be joining us this fine evening,” he supplied. “I would like a night of intelligent conversation for once.”

“He is the heir to the throne,” she reminded him.

Captain Snow lifted his goblet. “Then God have mercy on Portugal, for its next king certainly won’t.”

Daenerys stood from the table. Even for all the horrible and stupid things Viserys had done, he was still her brother. She could not let their enemies talk about him this way. “I demand to be returned to my quarters.”

The captain looked up at her from his seat, regarding her as he chewed. His dark eyes seemed to soften at her attempt to stand straight and tall under his perusal.

“I am sorry for any insults you have gathered from our conversation so far,” he said, surprisingly humble. “Won’t you please eat? I dislike having my guests go without.”

It still surprised her how this man could be rude and insulting in one breath and unfailingly polite in another. She almost was determined to go straight to her room anyway, but then remembered that it was now on her shoulders to discern a means of navigating her and Viserys’ current predicament.

“I thank you,” she said, nodding as she took her seat once more. Without hesitation she reached for a slice of meat covered in unfamiliar sauce. She felt the captain’s eyes on her as she took small bites, but when she lifted her gaze from her plate he was tucking in to some leafy vegetables with gusto.

For a while the only sounds were those of chewing and the clink of silver against delicate porcelain. She wondered if it had been stolen from one of her father’s ships. If she asked Captain Snow, would he give her a straight answer? Or find her concerns amusing, as he so often seemed to do?

She kept her eyes on her plate, but found her curiosity drawing their attention to the walls of his cabin. They were sparse, with flags from several different nations tucked in one corner. A small chest rested nearby, and a small table rested at the foot of the bed.

“Is the food to your liking, Princess?”

Captain Snow was staring at her again. She tried to hide her discomfort. “The food is to my liking, yes.”

He smirked. “I thought it was only your brother making you so quiet. Are you usually so unwilling to engage in conversation at the dinner table?”

She took a deep breath. “What do you want?”

The captain’s smirk was unmoved. “The same as before. The gold you two will fetch will go a long ways towards helping me and my men.”

“Surely you don’t expect me to believe that the Crown’s stolen gold and our ransoms will go towards altruistic purposes.”

Captain Snow chuckled. “And what would you know about that, lass?”

“I know that there is something you want more than gold and more than the humiliation of Portugal’s crown prince and princess.” She tightened her grip on her knife and fork as she took the plunge. “You want an end to the war.”

Captain Snow stopped chewing. He put down his knife and leaned back in his chair. Silence fell to fill the space between his contemplation and her anticipation.

“Are you trying to tell me that you know a way of ending hostilities between Scotland, England, France, and Portugal in one fell swoop?”

“I know I am but a young girl, unused to the ways of war and inexperienced besides.” Daenerys lifted her gaze. “But yes.”

“Is that a fact?” The captain didn’t bother to restrain his disdain. “Please, princess, do tell what magical solution you have that grown men twice your age have yet to come up with.”

“It’s all simple really. All you have to do is marry me.”

Of all the things Jon anticipated when inviting the princess to dinner tonight, an offer of marriage had no place on that list.

“Did I hear you right just now?” he asked, just to make sure.

The princess scowled. “Surely you are familiar enough with the implications of holy matrimony, despite your unfortunate occupation.”

“Holy matrimony usually ends in disaster for those in my unfortunate occupation, princess.” She really wasn’t joking. “What sort of madness is this?”

“The sort of madness that will peacefully end the discord between our persons and our countries,” the princess countered. She straightened in her seat, a habit Jon found to signal her attempt to be imposing. “Surely even you must consider that a better prize than gold.”

“I must consider nothing, especially when it’s a plan concocted by a lass who clearly has her corset laces too tight.” He couldn’t help his smirk at the thought. “Were you not my honored guest, I would gladly offer my services to relieve you of your obvious suffering.”

“You could relieve me of far more than that, were I to be your wife.”

His amusement stopped cold.

“Though of course there are certain things I would expect of my husband.” She stood up from her seat.

Seven hells.

Princess Daenerys wandered to a corner right to his left and began rummaging around. “Do you have a pen and paper available? It would be best to have our contract in writing.”

Seven quiffing hells, this woman was serious!

He pushed back from his seat and grasped her hand to halt her intrusion. It was slender and soft in his grip as he pulled her in to his form.

“While I’m flattered that you’re not too upset about jumping into my bed,” he murmured, his nose almost touching hers, “I think you should reconsider before we both do something we regret.”

To his satisfaction, a small quiver ran through her lips to her fingers. Those pretty eyes of hers darted to his hold, their feet, then finally back to his face. Was this her closest encounter with a man who was not that idiotic brother of hers?

“I did not expect you to regret Scotland being removed from a costly war,” she eventually said.

If demanding an alliance between Scotland and Portugal was all it would take for her to consider falling into his bed, he would’ve abandoned his plans for golden ransoms a long time ago. But he couldn’t help laughing as he stepped back to look her more fully in the eye.

“I wonder how you plan to announce your happy nuptials without all of Portugal declaring you mad,” he said. “Because I can tell you for a fact that all the houses and clans of Scotland would be bouncin’ with joy to have me kiss the gunner’s daughter if I breathe even a word of this.”

And that was the snag that the princess simply couldn’t see. Did she truly believe that either of their countries would suddenly accept a bastard lordling marrying into a house as pure-blooded as that of Targaryen?

“It is true that heads will turn,” Princess Daenerys admitted. She was looking down at her hands, clutching at the cloth of that ragged dress she insisted on wearing despite his attempts to allow her otherwise. “But I’m sure that several of my noblemen would change their minds at the betrothal gift you will bestow upon me. My father and king, most of all.”

“And what gift would that be, Your Highness?” Jon asked. The countries’ entire weight in gold? The Fountain of Youth? Or perhaps she thought a map of the city of El Dorado would not be too paltry a gift.

“Scotland’s complete and utter removal from the slave trade,” was her answer instead, and for the second time that night he could feel the wind knocked out of his body. 

“I am...unsure as to how a union with me would be advantageous for you,” he eventually confided. “I am a bastard. I have no family name, no inheritance, no lands or provinces under my control.”

“And yet your brother has seen fit for you to be placed as lord of the lands you have conquered so far.”

His breath stopped for a moment. How did she know this? How extensive her network of spies?

“A mere suggestion at my brother’s table for now, Your Grace,” he warned, anger at this unforeseen circumstance darkening his tone. “Nothing more, as you would have known if your informant had seen fit to tell you.”

Her smirk was unyielding, a whisper of the warning to the very real danger she portrayed to many on this continent. “I also recall that your brother has named you High General of all his forces. A wise decision, seeing as you have been the leader and victor of several key battles in your war so far.”

“The old gods look kindly upon our exploits, Your Grace.”

“The gods don’t win wars,” she retorted, voice calm. “People do. I am about to fight a war that will shake this continent, Prince of Winter. It would do me great good to have a man by my side to help ensure my best chance of success.”

Many rebuttals flowed through his mind, and the first to make itself known was, “You can have me by your side without marriage, Your Grace.”

“Can I?” she asked. “And can you have my ships and crew without a similar promise? Or will our armies both pillage the land side by side, then devolve into infighting as we squabble over what belongs to you or I?”

“You assume too much.”

Her brow quirked. “Do I? I may not know the heart of a Westerosi, but I know the hearts of people. It is in our nature to squabble where control is absent.”

He let his silence fill the void after her declaration. Her statements were bold, but not without well-intent or reason. How could he adequately answer to such a queen, much less enter her bed?

She stood and traversed around the table until she was right before him, her violet eyes boring their determination into his. Slowly she reached out a hand to cup his jaw, and he did not flinch or move away.

“Marry me,” she said, her voice a near-whisper, “and I will put a crown on your head. I will be Queen of all kingdoms, Prince of Winter. And you will be a king.”

The touch of her soft hand against the rough hairs of his jaw sent a blinding white mist to settle over the plains of his mind. He fought against the feeling, his throat working against both attraction and awe.

“Could you trust me to be your King?” he murmured, voice low, “When you threaten my brother’s own kingdom with your ambition?”

Her answer was a slow, soft slide into his lap. Her breath fanned out over his lips, and her arms loosely encircled his neck. Her thighs rested against his, full and firm, as her eyes looked back and forth between his own.

Then her face broke into a smile, and any breath he had left was robbed.

“If it is your brother’s kingdom that you want,” she said, “then take it. With the blessing and might of your Queen.”

He reached for her, and her lips against his was promise and dark bidding, heat and wanton fulfillment.

A small breeze puffed its hot breath across the clearing. It fluttered the edges of her dress, the ivory cloth waving its flags across her ankles. He let his gaze fasten there.

“Are you?” he asked.

“Constantly taking other women’s lovers for my own?”

His eyes lifted at her mocking tone. Her smirk curled at the edges of her mouth.

“I suppose I’m safe with you, then,” he said, voice gruff. “As I have no lover to speak of.”

Her brow lifted. “I seem to recall a fearsome woman named Ygritte who would say differently.”

He couldn’t help the tightening of his jaw. “What is fact and what she says are two different things.”

“Oh?”

“Perhaps it would do me some good to stay in your presence for a little while longer, my lady,” he continued. “If that means getting her hands off my cock for one night, I would consider it a boon.”

This time Daenerys’ full attention was on him. “You’re saying that you don’t appreciate her attentions?”

“I don’t appreciate attentions that are clearly unwanted.”

She sat down. “I must say I’m surprised to hear that. She is a lovely girl.”

“She’d be more lovely if she actually respected my wishes and kept herself from my bed,” he nearly spat.

“You’re saying that she...forces herself on you?” Her tone wasn’t mocking this time. He looked at her face, and found only a need to understand.

It softened him up enough to speak more. “It’s not that I don’t want a lover. I just don’t want a lover who doesn’t at least have the courtesy to ask first.”

“Perhaps this girl is shy,” Daenerys suggested. “What if she asked, and you said no?”

“Then the answer is no. I don’t owe her my body, just as she doesn’t owe me hers.”

Daenerys smiled, and looked down at the moss-carpeted ground of the clearing. “It’s strange, hearing a man say that.” She looked back at him. “But not unwelcome.”

“Do you have problems with lovers who won’t accept the answer no?”

“Oh, many times. But they never became my lovers.” Her voice hardened to iron. “After my first experience, I made sure to never have a boor for a lover ever again.”

He watched her face, beautiful in the moonlight. The sounds of revelry still echoed throughout the air. What did she go through, exactly, he found himself wondering. How did she really get to where she is today?

Would it be a crime to follow her, after everything?

“I imagine a woman of your status is always wary of men who won’t listen to the answer no.”

“Always.” She turned her smile to him again, and his heart again skipped a beat.

He cursed his affectation at her outer loveliness. Why was he here? Mance’s crew was probably not looking for him at this moment. He could easily slip away, perhaps even find a way off this island. He turned to leave.

“So if a woman wants to be your lover...how would she ask?”

His heart nearly stopped in his chest. What?

She was standing now, her lovely form made even more lovely by those words she just uttered. But no, it couldn’t be… “Is that a question you truly want the answer to?”

“Of course not.” She drifted closer. “But you can’t blame me for being curious. I’ve never once had to ask someone to be my lover. I suppose I’ve always been drawn to men who have begged me instead.”

He swallowed. “I suppose if the woman knew where she stood in my eyes...she wouldn’t have to ask either.”

“Oh?” Her steps brought her right in front of his body, the heat of her skin rolling in waves across his own. “How would she know?”

“For one thing, her touch wouldn’t bother me.”

Slowly, she lifted her hands to cup his face. She quirked a brow, half-challenge, half-assurance. When he didn’t move to put them away, her smile widened. Her fingers inched down his neck, her palms smoothing over his shoulders and chest.

He was a fly caught in a web that trembled and alerted her to his lowered defenses.

When he suddenly gripped her waist, she let him draw her in.

“Is there something you want?” she whispered, her breath puffing across his lips.

Is that all you want to steal from me? A smile? "Surely Lann the Clever has more pressing concerns."

They turned into the dance, the brocade of her skirt sweeping over the hand on her hip. It was rooted there as opposed to snaking its way past impropriety.

“Few men have more pressing concerns than dancing with the woman who rejected his offer of marriage.”

She almost stumbled. Almost. Despite going over several ways that they would confront this issue, his blunt approach was rather low on her predictions.

Instead she met his stare. “Many women in this room would be happy to relieve those concerns, if you so desire. I’ve seen you dance with at least a few.”

His dark eyes flashed before he lifted a brow. “My lovely sister Rhaenys? Perhaps so, if her brother wasn’t so vigilant at her bedside.”

Dany barely kept her teeth from clenching.

“Or our dear cousin Elaena, who can’t seem to decide if she wants me in her bed or out of her sight. I’m not sure I would be too upset about whatever decision she comes to, honestly.”

Her hand at his shoulder flexed, but she did not look away, even as his tone grew more insolent. More knowing. More keen.

“Or perhaps you were speaking of Margaery Tyrell? I can imagine she would find little to reject. And I the same.” Jon leaned down further so that his mouth was near her ear. “Do you think her neck would bruise easily if I sucked on it a little? Or if she’ll squeak like you do if I lick below her breast?”

A sudden roar erupted, deep within her skin. She couldn’t control it, no matter how hard she tried. All she could think of was pain, and rage, and a need to destroy.

She lifted her foot and stomped on his toes with all her might.

At once he stumbled with a hiss of pain, but his hands held on to her even tighter. “Do my words disturb you, dear aunt?” he questioned through gritted teeth. Pain streaked across his face in squinted eyes and strained brows. “Does the thought of another in my bed inflame you so?”

Her tongue was thick in her mouth, so palpable was her rage and humiliation. “I hope you die, Jon Sand. And I hope to be the one who chokes the life out of you.”

She pushed away from him just as the dance ended. Other couples curtseyed and bowed as she turned and strode off the dancefloor without sparing a glance to anyone within her line of sight. Even with several pairs of eyes on her, she could barely find it in herself to care.

The door to her room had just closed behind her when a hand grasped her wrist and twisted her around to Jon’s forbidding scowl.

“Is it because you think of me as Sand?” he demanded. “Am I too low for nothing but languishing between your legs?”

“Your legs would be my only affair, if you had your way.” She jerked her wrist away in a sudden motion. “You would control me. You would use me.”

“As you would use me,” was his guttural response. He stepped into her, and she did not back away. “I am more than your stool for that godsdamned iron chair.”

“And I am more than your means for revenge!”

For a brief moment Jon faltered.

Then in the next his hands pulled her face to meet his in a bruising kiss.

She bit his mouth, and he bit back. Their teeth clacked together, harsh and angry, until Jon curled his tongue around hers and moved his hands to squeeze her shoulders in a painful grip. She gripped at his hips as they swayed backwards, then moved one hand to squeeze at the front of his trousers. He groaned and bucked as his hands moved to squeeze her waist.

She did not relieve the pressure, and neither did he. His mouth moved to her neck to suck and bruise as a hand fumbled under her skirts. His fingers scrabbled at her smallclothes until one brushed against her sex, then without warning pushed deep inside. She moaned and bit his silk-covered shoulder, toes flexing, then bit harder when he shoved in another finger. Her hips snapped, then strained and snapped again.

With another push they were both on the bed, Jon haphazardly on top of her and her grip momentarily dislodged from his cock. His fingers kept pushing, and pushing-

Ah.

She barely felt him withdraw his fingers as she writhed, could hardly hear the squelch they made. He did not move his gaze from her own as he unraveled the cloth near her bosom and tugged it down her shoulders, even as she kept quivering from pleasure. He left it to pool at her waist as he all but tore off her corset and licked one long stripe down the valley of her breasts. And despite her anger and indignation and determination, a small high-pitched note left her throat.

His smile was wide against her middle.

She did not know he had removed his trousers until she felt his length tease her entrance. Then he bucked into her, and she groaned at the feel of him, hot and hard and determined.

“Is this where you want me to be?”

Jon halted. Silence fell between their bodies, and she could suddenly hear how they both puffed and strained to drag the breath from their lungs.

He twisted, and she found herself slumped on top of his still-clothed chest.

“Is this where you want me to be?” he echoed as his breath rose and fell.

Yes. She moved her hips, and he pistoned upwards. No. Their hips clashed again.

“Oh,” she sighed, and Jon sat up to increase his thrusts. Her hand reached to grip the headboard as her hips circled. His hand joined hers, the grip slippery with sweat.

His release came shortly before hers. His head leaned back and his pelvis lifted higher, his hand failing to find a tighter hold on her bottom.

As their breaths slowed and his seed slipped down her thighs, Dany knew he got his answer.

She looked off to the side, where several revelers were enjoying wine of Dorne and the Arbor all at once. "I do hope you were not as direct with your other dancing partners. They might not have been as accepting of your observations."

"I would think a compliment easy to accept."

"Easier than a threat, I'm afraid."

His hand curled on her waist, fingers securing a stronger grip. "You think I'm threatening you?"

"It is not uncommon of a man to deliver threats by listing his opponent's arsenal." She looked up at his contemplative expression and slowly, deliberately, smiled. "Though I am pleased we both agree that my arsenal is not a poor one."

His eyes darkened. "I am pleased that you are pleased." He leaned closer until their heads almost touched as they twirled, stepped, twirled once more. "Though I must confess that pleasure somewhat lessened by the knowledge that we are opponents."

He straightened, even as his hand slipped below her waist to linger on the upper half of her bottom. She did not startle. Instead she moved even closer, taking satisfaction from the begrudging admiration that raised his brows.

"Can a crow and hawk share a nest? Can a tomcat and his rival feed on the same game?" His chest was a warm wall against her own. "Can wolf and dragon both be king of the same den?" she asked, her voice a soft caress.

He tightened his grip on both her hand and rear. His frown was a victory that sparked the surge in her blood.

"It’s not too hard to discern your motives, dear nephew. Not when they coincide so greatly with my own. Like calls to like.”

“Do not presume to know me,” was his warning response.

She paid it little heed. “You think I don't know of what it is to be denied the best, refused your own potential, merely because of the circumstances of your birth?" This time as they twirled, their faces were properly directed towards the opposite sides of the room. "You had the great fortune of being born a second son. I had the great fortune of being born without a cock. It's not so similar, but in some ways it's not so different either."

"You reach for what you cannot have."

"As do you, King Across the Sea."

The next turn they took was sharper, cutting across the path of another pair whose startled movements reminded her of geese frightened into taking wing. "You're not as smart as you think you are," he said baldly, "telling me this. Not even your loveliest smile would persuade me from taking what I want."

"Perhaps not my smile," she admitted. She moved closer until their forms were full against each other's, the hand on his shoulder now moved to the edge of his jaw as she stared deliberately. "I imagine it would take much more than that to get you out of my way."

His smile was mocking. "Are you threatening me, darling aunt?"

"I would think a compliment easy to accept."

The last strains of music faded, and the dancers separated so the men could bow over the women's hands. Jon was slow to detach himself, exhaling once more so she could feel her breasts move against his own chest.

"You intrigue me, lovely princess," came the low intonation over her hand as he bowed. "It would honor me greatly if we could continue this discussion at a later time." He straightened and looked at her with purpose. "Perhaps a morning ride, after breakfast?"

She curtsied, proper smile in place. "It is you who honor me, sweet prince."