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 The North won its independence by backing Daemon's claim and Stannis had withdrawn to Gods known where with his army and his Red Priestess.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?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

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?"

"It'll do." For a start, at least. Reaching up, Daemon took Sansa by the hips and guided her to sit back atop the table, and slowly but firmly worked her knees apart. He was prudent enough to reach down and pull off her shoes; he had no desire to have her kick him in the head while he was working.

Then, with the same nonchalance that he did most everything, the King of the Seven Kingdoms hitched his betrothed's plain cotton shift up over her knees, baring just the tops of her thighs for his gaze. Roughened palms slid over that pale flesh, thumbs stroking the tender inner skin brazenly.

"Wider," was all he said, voice gone guttural raw, an odd light beginning to burn in blue eyes.

Did he just want to look? Sansa has no idea what he's about but when he asks for her to spread her knees wider, she does so, and looks down at him quizzically. She braces her hands against the table, too, so she isn't in any danger of falling off of it. She doesn't think she is but she has no idea what is about to happen.

"No one has ever looked there. Not even a maid. Not even myself. You'd be the first person to...see anything."

Sansa isn't a complete idiot and she does know that her husband is meant to push himself inside her there so Daemon would have to look eventually but she thought he'd save it for the wedding night.

Daemon flicked a glance upwards, mildly chastising. "Mouth closed," he ordered quietly, then returned his gaze back to his work. "Just feel, Sansa. It's not a crime to enjoy things like this." Then he held up a silencing finger. "Hush." He wasn't interested in words, not right now.

The King was more interested in pale, pure skin, skin no living man had ever before touched. His hands were the first. A heady realization, when he thought about it. And to that effect, Daemon leaned forward and began to press soft, but firm kisses to that zaftig flesh, marching his way upwards along Sansa's long thighs, utilizing both lips and tongue to make it flush a lovely pale shade for him.

First the right, then the left, then he began all over again; this time adding just the gentlest scrapes of his teeth, wanting to see the mild red marks glowing against her skin.

Sansa bites down on her lip to keep from making any noise and she wants to say so much but he told her not to talk. She lets herself feel, instead, and focuses on his dark head between her thighs and the things he's making her feel. She never knew that a man would even be interested in just kissing there.

Why would he just want to kiss? Sansa supposes that he is honoring his promise to keep her a virgin until her wedding night but honestly, her mind is going in a thousand directions. She puts her right foot lightly on his shoulder and spreads herself a little wider.

Daemon rolled his shoulder to slide her leg over it, to rest against his back, and he slid further forward in his chair, the better to reach more of her skin. Rumbling approval to the widening of her long legs, the King of the Andals traveled higher still, finally reaching the apex of his intended's thighs. And Daemon didn't falter.

He brazenly licked a slow, wet line over virgin folds, retreating only to do it again, and again, and again. Firm hands at her hips held her still, and Daemon patiently kept up his devilish ministrations, determined to give her the first orgasm of her entire life right here on the dinner table.

What is he doing? Sansa whimpers a little under her breath and squirms even though she doesn't get anywhere with the way Daemon is holding her hips tight. She inhales sharply when his tongue touches her folds, though, because no one has ever touched her there besides herself and then only to watch. No one has ever done anything filthy like this.

There's a dim fear in the back of her head that someone is going to walk in on them and what's going to happen if that happens? What would Daemon do if someone interrupted him? Would she recover? Those thoughts are held in her head but for a moment and then she feels everything start to shake a bit. Is that normal?

"Oh!" she cries out sharply, sliding a hand into his hair and tightening it. "What..."

He hissed slightly when she pulled on his hair, but Daemon let her hand remain, although he'd do something about it if she started yanking too harshly. He knew this was her very first taste of true pleasure. He didn't let up, either, situating both of his shoulders beneath Sansa's knees, the better to splay her further backwards over the table and work at her a little firmer, a little deeper.

While his tongue worked its serpentine way between slick lips, he made sure to keep his nose bumping against the little nub above, even bringing a calloused thumb over her thigh to give it a few rough flicks as he worked her over with his mouth. It was a heady thing, being a woman's first, and he gave no though to being interrupted, as no one in the entire castle would dare.

Everything seems to pile upon her at once and the feeling she'd felt tickling at her since Daemon started touching her has finally come to a peak and she doesn't know if she will survive feeling any more. Then it happens and she starts cresting down over a wave she didn't know existed and, in spite of her desire to be quiet, a high pitched noise passes her lips even as she's lifting a hand to cover them.

If she'd been standing, she'd have collapsed and she's grateful she's on the table just now. Is this what he'd intended to do in the woods early? Or something else? Sansa had no idea this even existed so she has no idea what else exists either. All she knows is that this is the only time she's felt it and she'd like to feel it again.

"Daemon? What was that?"

"That's a woman's pleasure," was the quiet drawl as Daemon lifted his head and slowly sat back in his chair, sliding Sansa's bare legs down over his arms. "It's a man's responsibility to give it, as often and as many times as she wants."

He drew the back of his hand over his mouth, chuckling lightly. "And this, my little wolf, is only the beginning." The King's smirk became wolfish, itself. "There's so much more I'm going to teach you, after this."

Sansa's brow furrows a bit and her lips pout as she tries to work through the logic of that. Nothing of what they did gets her with child and she knows that men go to whores without that intention but men go to wives with that intention too? It seems odd to her and against everything she's ever known.

"I thought...well, clearly what I thought was wrong. I just didn't think men went to their wives with anything but the intent to make children. Or, I guess, if they loved one another but you hardly know me."

She smiles then and tucks her hair behind her ear nervously. "You said you were jealous of what's yours. Can I be jealous of what's mine too?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject