theladyofwinterfell | a storm from the east

a storm from the east

The combined might of the Northern army and the sellswords rallied behind Daemon Storm (Baratheon now, in truth, as who is going to let a king have a bastard name?) had easily trumped the Lannister and Tyrell forces, the latter of which had turned toward the end of the battle when they knew they'd lost. The North won its independence by backing Daemon's claim and Stannis had withdrawn to Gods known where with his army and his Red Priestess. Sansa had no idea and she had the sneaking suspicion that everyone was fairly relieved about it; he would have been a poor king.

Daemon, however, seems a fine king thus far and he is enough of a swordsman and a charmer that every house rallies for him. He's what Robert had been when he was younger, the people whisper, and is popular in that regard. Sansa herself has a more or less positive opinion of him - he'd liberated her from the Lannisters and while he'd taken the Red Keep for himself, there'd been no raping of the women there and it seemed his men were sticking by that order. They weren't out to hurt the people of King's Landing and after years of Lannister rule, it seems it's turning for the better.

For Sansa's part, the alliance to make Robb King in the North had come with the price of Sansa's betrothal to Daemon. He's no Joffrey, she thinks and he's not Tyrion Lannister. The latter had been kind to her, though, and she'd been quick to vouch for him when the Lannisters were put to the sword. Still, the marriage hadn't been binding because it hadn't been consummated and Tyrion graciously hadn't pressed the issue, wanting Sansa free to make her own choices. She's not free, exactly, but the man she's betrothed to doesn't seem to be a bad one even if he's rough around the edges.

Sansa had been moved to nicer rooms since the coup and they're close to the offices where the King and the Hand work on the business of the day. She has none, really, but her curiosity does cause her to linger around when she ought to be making a wedding dress or walking in the Godswood or doing anything with her newfound freedom. She slips into the king's office and gives him a quick curtsy.

"Robb's with his men and I'm tired of sewing. Is the business of running this place harder than winning it, Your Grace?"

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"I didn't say I didn't like you," Sansa scoffs. "And if I didn't like what you were doing, I would have screamed again. I didn't. It's just that you can't expect a highborn woman to just...know everything up front and not be a little anxious. I have no idea what you're going to do to me, of course I'm going to be anxious."

Sansa thinks that's her right, anyway. He seems to have backed off for the moment and set her to the side though and she does appreciate that. In reciprocation, she doesn't move away and she doesn't refasten her clothes.

"I was told by Queen Cersei that my husband would force himself into me until I bled and he passed out. That's it. That's my sum total of knowledge about how babies get made. I was almost attacked during the riots on King's Landing several years ago and some men had cornered me but I was rescued. They only managed to rip my dress. I didn't grow up in a pleasure house or anything so I just don't know."

"Why not?" Daemon asked, nonplussed. "Isn't that all you highborn girls are good for, bearing a lord's brats and furthering his line or some equally ridiculous horseshit?" He shrugged his sleeveless jerkin back over his shoulders, but didn't bother with its laces. "Your mother never educated you how to please your imbecilic husband so that he didn't rut you like a beast and blacken your eyes if you looked pert his way?"

If not, then no wonder the girl was so clueless. Yet a lifetime of such "hardships" didn't explain why she held herself aloof like a marble statue.

"I was a Dothraki warslave for six years, princess. Their woman took what they wanted from their male slaves, willing or not. I wasn't asked if I wanted to stud for them, I was choked until I obeyed. We've all had our roughhousing with sex and intimacy, Sansa." Daemon snorted, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

"I bloody well refuse to believe that you know nothing about men and women and what they do behind closed doors."

"Well I don't know," Sansa says, embarrassed now. She starts tugging at her own clothes since he's started pulling his back on and somehow she's botched it even though she doesn't know what it entails. "I only got told to keep a good house, to sing and to sew, and to do what my husband asked me to do. I'm sorry they made you do things while you were a slave. I don't think it's right to force anyone into things."

She slides back into her shift and touches at the laces of her gown, trying to decide if she needs to pull it back on and lace it again. "I would have done what you asked me to do. I just don't know what to do and you seem to think that I do. I really don't. All my mother ever said was that my husband would teach me how when I got married. Queen Cersei said it was ugly and painful. Lord Baelish runs a brothel, so clearly men and women like it enough to do it without wanting children. You just expect me to know things I've never even been taught and I don't know how to just..."

Sansa shrugs and looks at him. "Do I need to go to someone to learn how before we get married?"

Daemon rolled his eyes at the mention of Cersei Lannister. "And she would know, wouldn't she? Hiding in the Holdfast, fucking her own brother to keep from giving Robert any true heirs..." He quirked an eyebrow at Sansa. "Did you believe her? Would you believe anything she said, hypocrite that she was, and still is?" He shook his head. "But enough of this. We'd best be getting back. Qotho will only wait so long before he comes looking for us."

The ride back was just as smooth as the ride out, and Daemon helped Sansa down in the courtyard, pausing long enough to keep his hands on her upper arms and take a long, soft kiss from his intended before he let her go. The awkward throat-clearing of the guardsmen didn't bother him an ounce, and there was indeed a twinkle in his eye when he lifted his head and stepped back.

"I'll see you at supper, princess." Daemon winked. "Wear the blue dress. It matches those beautiful eyes."

Sansa flushes bright red because she hadn't expected him to want to kiss her after what happened in the Kingswood and certainly not in front of everyone. It had been a very good kiss though, so she's not upset about it, and when she walks away she touches her fingers to her lips and smiles a bit.

She spends the rest of the afternoon sewing, trying to finish both her wedding dress and her trousseau for afterward, and when it's close to supper she finds Shae to dress her and do her hair. Maybe Shae knows something she doesn't.

"How do you make a man want you, Shae? Does it always hurt?" Shae laughs, but not unkindly, and tells her to be open and direct. She also says to initiate things and show that she wants them, even if she's afraid, and that bedding doesn't hurt when the man is gentle and does things right. She gives her a book with illustrations that Sansa immediately drops and puts under her pillow and it's time for supper. She does choose the blue dress because it's her favorite (and he did ask) and she's glad it's private and not in front of court.

"Your Grace," Sansa says, giving a curtsy as she always does when first greeting him. First, Your Grace, then Daemon. "I have to admit, I like these private suppers. I hate eating in front of court."

No matter how many times they laid out these frilly, ridiculous clothes, there was no way Daemon was going to wear any of them. So he dug about in the wardrobe until he located his own comfortable garments; white tunic and brown breeches, and his customary boots. He did comb his hair - with his fingers - and was just sitting down with a tankard of ale when his fiancé entered the small parlor, and his own Baratheon-blue eyes lit when he saw her indeed in that lovely blue dress.

"My lady." For once, it wasn't a tease. "Come, sit." Daemon held out a chair, and then resumed his own. "Aye, me too. I don't see the point of all the utensils. If I could, I'd eat with my own dagger, and never worry which fork goes with what dish. Ridiculous, really."

He poured her a small glass of wine with his own hands; he wasn't a damned invalid that needed waiting on hand and foot, and sat back with his own stein. "Are you hungry? I'm starving, myself."

"I am hungry," Sansa says, taking the proffered chair. When she sits, she leans over and pecks a kiss against his cheek before taking the glass of wine. Shae had said to seem eager and interested instead of shy and reticent and Sansa is good enough at playing a part to push down the shy parts of her to try. It's much easier when they're alone, anyway.

"It's not hard to learn all the utensils. You work from the outside in with each course so you know how many courses there are based on how many forks you get. It's easy once you know the rules of it. Of course, you shouldn't have to do it so very often - only at a high feast or a wedding."

Sansa laughs a little and covers her mouth. "So, you know, within a fortnight. Do you want to practice?"

The kiss on his cheek had been a nice surprise, but his eyebrow went up when she started talking about forks. Daemon sat back in his chair, booted foot propped on the opposite knee, tankard in hand.

"Practice? With forks?" He couldn't help it, he had to laugh. "I appreciate the offer, my lovely, but I think I'll skip gentleman training. It's either one fork, a dagger, or my fingers, and I can manage. I think my table manners, or lack thereof, will be the least thing everyone will be gossiping about."

The kitchen staff then came in and served both the King and his betrothed, discreetly withdrawing afterwards, and Daemon took the moment to add, "But we can practice...other things, maybe. Between here and there."

"Other things?"

Sansa tries not to get nervous but she is - but it feels different this time. It's almost anticipation rather than nerves and she supposes it's because Shae has told her to approach it differently and she's come to realize she must if it's going to work. She would very much like her marriage to work, honestly, because she's had enough of being lonely.

"I suppose I'll appreciate not being stuffed full at my wedding feast. They'll have me laced so tight I won't be able to eat very much anyway. I have to fit in the gown, after all, and it won't look proper if my waist isn't small enough. I'll just eat the tiniest bites and a lot the night before."

It was a testament to his growing prudence that Daemon let all of those innuendos simply slide right on by. Sansa didn't have nearly the sense of humor that he did, and she probably wouldn't understand his filthy outlook on the world, anyway. Which was one of the things he so liked about her. Innocent, fresh. Untarnished. A rarity in this world.

"Mmm, 'other things'." Daemon refilled his tankard then leaned back again in his chair, a slice of roast venison on his fork. "Things men and women do when they're alone together." Blue eyes glinted at her over the dishes. "Like we did earlier this afternoon, in the Kingswood." He didn't outright leer at her, but his smirk tilted just the slightest.

"We had fun, didn't we, princess?"

Now Sansa is blushing fully and she finds her plate very interesting for a few moments before mumbling a quick "yes," and taking in a deep breath. She has to act interested and forward - Shae had said that - but it's proving harder than she'd expected it to be. She's a good actress, yes, but it's difficult to act about this particular thing.

She takes a quick gulp of her wine, nearly draining the goblet, and forces herself to look Daemon in the eyes. His are twinkling and mischievous as she expected them to be and somehow that makes it both better and worse.

"Yes, I had fun."

The key here, Daemon had decided, was not to pressure the girl, not to outright shock her with the raunchier side of physical intimacies, which required a patience he wasn't sure he possessed. But he did want his wife to like being married to him, because being saddled with a woman who despised his entrails wasn't going to last very long. Take his bastard father's marriage, for example.

"Glad to hear it." He winked at her over his ale tankard, and took a healthy swallow. "So tell me, what have you and the other ladies planned for our wedding? I'm content with just standing about looking decorative, so I'll absolutely leave all of the little things to you women, because the gods know if we tried to handle things, it'd end up a righteous mess and nothing would get done."

"Oh! Well, there's a feast after the ceremony, of course. I insisted on no joust because it's genuinely an expense that we don't need to have at this time for the kingdom. The former...reign taxed the people heavily and I thought it would be prudent to be a little more conservative while still celebratory. Besides, a joust just makes everything take forever."

Sansa is in her element now so she pushes her plate to the side and leans in a bit, talking excitedly with her hands. It's nice to feel excited about something again and she is excited about the wedding and about the plans she's made for it.

"I've spent so long working on my dress and my trousseau. I made four nightgowns already," she says, laughing. "I embroidered the new stag on the hems."

All of these little details Daemon again thanked whatever miserable god was listening that he didn't have to handle. But listening to them was worth it, if only to see Lady Sansa's pale face become more animated, and a little shine come into her eyes.

But hearing her say that she'd actually taken his sigil for her gowns was surprising. "--did you? I have to say, that does me well to hear. I know of the Westerosi custom of inverting the House colors when a bastard becomes legitimized, but I have to confess that the color yellow just bores me to tears." He snorted, pushing back his empty plate.

"Reminds me of the desert. Naught a happy memory to be found, there."

"No, there's nothing happy about a desert," Sansa agrees. "Though I will say that while some people think a blank sea of snow is plain and boring but I think it's the most beautiful thing in the world. I miss the snow."

Sansa doesn't think she's likely to see it ever again now that she's Queen in the South but she doesn't voice that to Daemon. She hasn't been home in a decade and it doesn't seem likely she will ever see it again.

"It doesn't snow in the south, unfortunately."

"Only rarely," Daemon agreed. "I do remember that last winter, the snows reached Storm's End, though they lasted only a day or so. Still, seeing everything blanketed in white was, admittedly, very lovely. And Essos has snows, in the mountains to the north. Traveling in snow country is a bitch, however. Says a lot for your countrymen, that they prefer such a harsh climate."

He wasn't immune to her homesickness, however. Thus he said, "Perhaps we'll travel to Winterfell after our first child is born. She will be both of the North and the South, and should be raised to revere and respect both. Which in turn will make her an excellent Queen."

Sansa actually likes that he's changed inheritance laws. It takes the pressure off her to bear a boy and she can enjoy bearing children and not be afraid they will be the wrong sex. She beams at Daemon; there is nothing she would want more in the world than be able to go home and see her family with her new child. She beams at him.

"The wedding will be nice. I'll see my family before I become a Baratheon for true. I think the wedding will be lovely and I'm looking forward to it."

This is the first she's said as much in words.

"I believe the entire continent is looking forward to it," Daemon laughed lightly. "Any excuse for a celebration, and they're all due for one, given the hellish past few years." He'd ordered food to be shared with all of King's Landing, ale and supplies, nearly emptying the larders of the Red Keep to feed the people of the city.

"Not long afterwards," he told her, "we'll be making state visits to both Dorne and Highgarden, to set things aright and make peace. I've had more than enough of this endless bickering." The time for peace had come, and even with the looming threat of the Dragon Queen in the east, the Westerosi people deserved some respite.

"Everyone bickers in a kingdom, Daemon. You might as well get used to it now or you will continue to be frustrated," she says, giving him a little smile. "Your advisors know that well, though, and will be a great help. Still, this is a land that used to be ruled by many petty kings and has always had a great sense of identity in each region. It's hard to broker peace."

Sansa reaches between them and brushes the back of her hand against his cheek. "You'll do all right, I promise. The people do like you. You're different from most kings and I think the people are appreciative. We've had some bad ones in recent history and they are ready for change."

"It's the bickering with swords and armies and weapons that frustrates me," he told her. "If they want to shout, yell, and send nasty messages back and forth, that's fine, but I draw the line at sending assassins." The time for petty kings was long over. And no baby queen from the east was going to change that, either.

Sansa's praise and her touch took him admittedly by surprise. "Careful, Lady Stark," Daemon warned her, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. "Mind your words or I'll start believing you actually approve of me."

"I never said I didn't approve of you," Sansa says, color high on her cheeks. "I wouldn't have consented to marry you if I didn't approve of you."

It doesn't hurt that he's handsome even if he's a bit handsy and a bit...well, he's a bit forward compared to some men she's met and she doesn't quite know how to handle that at times. She also has to get used to that because he will be her husband.

"Should I stop approving of you?"

Daemon actually laughed. "You might," he warned her, "before it's all said and done. I'm a plain man, Sansa," he told his future bride, "but at least I'm not a cruel one. And I want what I want, and I seldom bother with niceties when I want something." But he wasn't bastard enough to just take, however.

"And right now, I really want to give you something I know you've never had before, and I think you'll really, really like." His eyebrow twitched. "...provided you don't throw another fit and call me a 'ruiner' again." He pushed back his chair a bit and crooked a finger at her.

"Come here." Right between him and the table. "Right here."

"You want to give me something?"

That isn't what she expects of men in Westeros since marriages are often political but Daemon has proven himself to be different. When he mentions being "ruined," though, she's got an idea that this isn't a present she can wear or carry in her pocket but something else entirely. Her knees are shaky but she does move between him and the table.

"All right?" she asks, voice a little tight.

"Mmhmm." Daemon reached around her to shove the dishes away, making just enough space for what he wanted, then leaned back in his chair once more. "And I think you'll like it, but you have to trust me for it to work. No more screeching, indignant posturing, or huffy pouting. You're a woman now, and it's time to get on with that. All right?"

He'd never in life hurt her, but she wasn't a child anymore, and if she was going to be his Queen, then she was going to be his Queen in all ways. It was time for the little bird to be a dragon.

"Now." And the King's gaze was sharp and focused as he gazed up at his future bride. "Take off your dress."

Sansa has never undressed in front of anyone before other than a maid and she squeezes her eyes shut, horribly embarrassed to be doing this in front of Daemon. She doesn't know if anyone is going to walk in on them; she certainly hopes that no one will since it's a private supper and he won't have called a servant in while he's busy.

She deftly unties her dress and lets it fall to a heap on the floor, standing in just her shift. She cracks her eyes open to look at him, too shy to look him full in the face the way she probably ought to, and manages to speak without her voice shaking.

"Is this enough? Or did you mean everything?"

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