theladyofwinterfell | 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 The North won its independence by backing Daemon's claim and Stannis had withdrawn to Gods known where with his army and his Red Priestess.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 like when you call me that."

Sansa quiets, though, and focuses on what he's told her to do and how much better it feels when she moves with him, how it feels that he goes deeper on each pass. She buries her face in against his neck and when it feels particularly nice, the soft kisses she'd been laying there turn into nips of her teeth.

He'd promised her that she'd like it and honestly, she does. She really and truly does like it even if she's not brave enough to do this where others might hear or see. She's his wife and she thinks this is special enough to be shared only with him and that she's only for him. Just him and just her until their last days.

His scimitar grin flashed, hearing that, and filed it away for later perusal. She was learning quickly, and that pleased him, which in turn smoothed out his temper and kept him on a relatively even keel. And fucking his wife for the first time hadn't been as difficult as he'd anticipated, particularly when she'd been a virgin.

"You are a good girl," Daemon assured her, lowering his head to kiss her even as they moved together. "This is what it's like, Sansa...between men and women." But his breath was coming a little faster; even he only had so much tolerance. And she was soft and slick and wet all around him, and pressure was beginning to build at the base of his spine.

"...move a little faster. Not too much, but just enough...like that."

There's just enough friction where they join that Sansa has another orgasm but it's different this time. Instead of a quick rush like it'd been before it felt more like a deep wave and she moves her hips through it, trying to make it so Daemon might feel as much of it as possible while he's inside her. She has no idea how that must feel for him but for her it's absolutely extraordinary to have his cock to clamp down on while her body fluttered in pleasure.

"Daemon!" she cries out, a little sharper than some of the other times she's said his name, and she screams out the rest of her pleasure before falling back against the bed.

Gods, is it always supposed to be like this?

He'd felt her oncoming climax five heartbeats before it hit, and Daemon had to clench his teeth and his entire body to not immediately tumble over after her, but instead he gave her enough time to relax before taking his own. While not quite as intense as he'd had before, it was satisfactory enough, and the point wasn't his pleasure in the first place.

But hearing her yell his name was reward enough, and it was with a rough chuckle that the King of the Seven Kingdoms dropped to his stomach beside his spent wife, feeling his heartbeat finally start to slow and his breathing begin to even. Daemon flopped to one side, tugged a pillow beneath his head, and sighed low and long.

"Satisfied?" It was a lazy inquiry, and he already knew the answer.

"Very satisfied," Sansa says softly. She feels a little shy now and tugs the sheet up a bit so she doesn't get cold. She reaches her hand out and traces idle patterns against the skin of his back. She's utterly fascinated with him - how he looks, how he moves, how he feels under her hands. She thinks she's very lucky to have him for a husband, king or not.

"Are you? Satisfied?"

It seems that he very well is, if his smile is any indication. He seems relaxed and happy so far as she's concerned and that's overwhelmingly important to her in a way she cannot explain.

"Very." His voice was lazy and laconic, and his crooked smile was true. Daemon didn't stop her from reaching out to touch; his skin was nice and warm under hand, if marred with the hardships of his life, written there in leather.

He hadn't come to King's Landing to rule it, but rather to exact justice, or vengeance, either one; it didn't matter with him. But rather than stand by and let lesser men squabble over power they'd never be able to control hadn't really been the best option either.

So here he was; a bastard-born King, with a wife from the North, both of them brought together by fate. And while there might not be love, not yet, there was at least companionship, and life really wasn't so bad, judging by his current mood.

"Not so bad, is it?"

No, it isn't bad, and Sansa enjoys herself many times over in the next little while. Still, Daemon wants a tour and Sansa spends a lot of time preparing for it. They're to head to Highgarden first and meet the Tyrells in all their glory. Sansa knows a bit about them, having been in King's Landing under the reign of the Lannisters, but she'd like to know more about them and their home.

It will take a week by the Rose Road to get to Highgarden and Sansa knows traveling will be less comfortable than it is in the Red Keep; she well remembers the trip south from Winterfell. She has her own horse this time and she's not riding on The Black with Daemon, which makes her long for him all day.

At the end of the first night, she dismounts and rubs a bit at her lower back. "Have I told you how much I hate riding? I think I'm sore from top to bottom."

All of his councilors had been against this idea, but Daemon had insisted. He was going to make a state visit to every major city in all Seven Kingdoms, and his advisors could just shut up whining about it. He had his reasons, and while he obliged their opinions on the matter, he was still determined to follow his own agenda.

Highgarden was the closest House, and it was there that the King's party headed; no gilded carriages or frivolity. This was business, and as such it required long days in the saddle to make decent time. He'd invited Sansa along, thinking she might enjoy the excursion, and he had to grin as they stopped to make camp that first evening, saying as he unsaddled his own horse, "Well, you did agree to come along. I warned you there'd be no carriages or soft accommodations on this trip, Your Grace."

"I know, you did. I think it's better than spending a lot of money on a wheelhouse and all these followers. You shouldn't empty the treasury in order to see the people. You should...I think you're doing well. I think the people will appreciate a king who is less about the show and more about the work."

Still, she is sore and she reaches for Daemon's hand. "It's too bad I cannot have a big, warm bath here on the road. If we were going to an inn tonight, yes, but not tonight. All I get is a river if I choose it."

Sansa bites her lip a bit. "If I rub your back will you rub mine?"

Daemon took the offered hand, lifted it to kiss her knuckles, and squeezed it briefly. "Of course I will. But first, there's the horses to feed, the tents to strike, and supper to cook. Irran and Agga are setting up our tent now, sweetling, and I'll join you when the chores are done." Not content with just a kiss to her hand, Daemon tugged his wife close so that he might kiss her lips, lingering a little.

"Now off with you, and we'll eat within the hour, then we'll see what we can do to hasten Her Grace's comfort, hm? I won't be long, I promise."

He'd brought damn few servants along on this trip, and had never been shy about pulling his own weight. Even though the idea of an early-evening romp with his wife was appealing, Daemon put his responsibilities before his pleasures, and expected all of his subjects to adhere to the same mindset.

Sansa feels badly that everyone is working other than her but she doesn't know where to start. She cannot put the tents up, she doesn't know about feeding horses, and she doesn't know how to cook.

She ends up lingering around the cooks and asks one if there's something she ought to be doing. They seem a little shocked that Her Grace is asking for a chore but one eventually gives her a pile of vegetables to skin and chop and while the work is something she's not used to, it isn't difficult.

"I'm slightly less useless," she says to the cook who laughs softly and shakes her head. "Queens aren't supposed to cook but I'm glad for the help."

a storm from the east

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