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Chapter Text

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The crypt was pitch-dark. As a boy, this would have sent him running back to the ironwood door, but as he was now, he felt quite at home. Mortals needed light to see in dark places; Jon Snow did not. Ghosts of his childhood memories were the only things he needed to fear. The kings and Lords of Winter waited for him below the winding steps, and he took the familiar path to greet them as old friends.

How long had it been since his last visit? The years rushed by like hours, but he could recall the snow in Robb’s hair the first time they’d bid each other farewell. The young Robb Jon held in his memory was much different from the Lord of Winter who’d been laid to rest a few short hours ago.

Over the years, Jon had watched Robb’s hair change from auburn to faded copper, and finally white. Suddenly the brother he’d loved had become an old man while Jon didn’t look a day over four and twenty.

He stopped for a moment to pay his respects to the father who raised him, and to leave a winter rose in the outstretched stone hands of the mother he’d never met. One of two roses he’d helped himself to in the glass gardens.

Beside his mother was his least favorite sepulcher: his own. He scrutinized his stone features as he did every visit, wondering if he still looked the same as he did when he was human. Dany never approved of the likeness; she complained they didn’t get his nose right or the cut of his jaw.

Jon had been five and twenty when this grave marker was made. Fifty years ago, when his family turned him into the shadow of a memory. A quiet rage burned in his belly even after all these years. Part of him understood his family’s need for closure, and another part hated the confirmation that he’d always been an outsider.

But nothing pained him more than the direwolf sepulcher beside his own. Jon knelt down and patted the wolf’s head just as he would have in life. He stared into the red garnet eyes as he remembered his faithful companion. Three decades had passed since Ghost had succumbed to old age, and Jon had made the trip to Winterfell to lay his bones to rest here. He belonged in the North.

Leaving his tomb behind, he came upon the most recently disturbed pile of earth. The dull ache in his chest deepened. It would be some time before Robb’s own likeness was carved, but Jon knew it’d look nothing like the Robb he knew.

Jon had watched the funeral from afar; all of his siblings unrecognizable from the time when he was human. In the early years, he visited them all from time to time, but as they aged and he did not, he felt how unsettled his presence made them. It was only Robb and Arya he made contact with anymore.

Arya, his little sister, was now an old woman asleep in her bed. He’d wake her tonight before returning to the crypt to wait out the sun.

Jon’s ears perked up as the ironwood door of the crypt opened. He could feel the heat of a single torch and hear the muffled steps of a man descending the stairs even a few levels up. He stood beside Robb’s grave and waited.

It was Robb’s son, Edric, the newly appointed Lord Stark. Jon saw his nephew far before he reached his father’s grave. Edric too was growing old, hair the same faded copper Robb’s had been two decades before. They’d met each other once when he’d been a small boy, and Jon had been delighted to see how much he’d looked like his father.

Jon cleared his throat as loudly as a mortal in an effort to announce his presence.

The new Lord Stark whipped around. “Who’s there?”

Quietly, Jon emerged from the shadows. “Don’t be afraid.”

Edric hollered, jumping out of his skin as the torch was thrown to the dirt floor. Jon wondered why he ever bothered saying that to humans. It never helped. His nephew was still struggling for air as Jon collected the torch from the floor and helped him to his feet.

Edric groped at his belt for a sword that wasn’t there. “Who are you?”

“I’m your uncle, Jon Snow.”

His nephew gave him an incredulous look. “You’re a boy, and my uncle lives across the Narrow Sea.”

He couldn’t be blamed for his confusion, Jon looked less than half his age. “Things aren’t always what they seem,” he told his nephew. “I came to say goodbye to my brother, and to introduce myself to the new Lord of Winterfell.”

Edric gave a quick nod, and then his eyes were darting around the tunnel. “Did you come alone?”

“No,” Jon answered, feeling himself smile. “My wife always travels with me.”

“Is she down here too?”

“No, she’s elsewhere on the castle grounds. Enjoying a late supper.” Dany kept him company on his trips North, but she kept her distance where his family was concerned. “I won’t harm you, Lord Stark. I promised your father, and your grandfather before him, that I’d always protect my family. Now sit. I have much to tell you, and little time to do it.”

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Barren trees bordered the snow covered road and the moon provided a gentle light. Jon Snow rode horseback beside his father as the high walls of the Dreadfort came into view. The triangular merlons which lined the walls looked like the teeth of a harvest-day pumpkin, but nothing about the fortress felt festive.

They’d set out from Winterfell early that morning with a complement of guards, Jory Cassel included. By their somber moods and dour expressions, one would never know they were on their way to a wedding.

Jon dipped his chin as a biting wind cut across their path. As a man of the North, he could handle the bitter cold, but the chill that came when winter arrived a moon ago was something new to him. Winter came like a shroud, blocking out the sun and leaving them in total darkness throughout both day and night.

This wasn’t Jon’s first winter, but he’d never lived a day where the sun didn’t rise.

“It could last weeks or moons; possibly a year or more,” Maester Luwin had said.

Bran had been sullen and Rickon cried. Arya was thrilled by it and Sansa wondered if it would affect the winter festival. Like himself, Robb didn’t know what to make of it, and neither of them liked it.

Lord Eddard Stark broke the silence as they rode on toward the gate. “Do you know why we’re here?”

Jon considered his words. “You thought it best for the North to accept Ramsay Bolton’s invitation. The Bolton fortress is strong and well provisioned, and their House has created problems for the Starks in the past.”

Ned grimaced. “I never much trusted Roose Bolton, and from what I’ve heard of his bastard son, I like him less. I accepted this invitation to his wedding to maintain peace, and to meet this new Lord Bolton. Do you know why I brought you instead of your brother?”

You wouldn’t risk your heir, Jon thought. He kept his face straight while his body tensed. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

His father kept a steady gaze on the Dreadfort like one would an opponent in the training yard. “Aye,” he answered. “It would have been an insult not to bring one of my sons, and your other siblings are too young. The man would be a fool to try anything, but by all accounts, Ramsay Bolton is as foolish as he is cruel. Be on guard while we’re within those walls, and even more so when we’re on the hunt tomorrow. Jory will stay close, and I plan to keep this visit as short as possible. Best keep Ghost with you too.”

Jon looked down to see Ghost’s red eyes glowing in the dark from where he loped alongside them. “Yes, father.”

The foul banners of the flayed man came into view and Jon suppressed a shiver.

“I’m glad it’s you going and not me,” Robb had told him. “I’d rather not visit a hall where they hang human skin on their walls like animal pelts.”

The sickening image would not leave Jon’s mind as they dismounted, and he wished they could turn around and return to the warmth of Winterfell.

A group of men stood before the gate to greet them as Jon walked beside his father. Snow crunched beneath their feet, and as they approached, Jon found his worry replaced by curiosity.

He knew Ramsay at once by the pale pink cloak of House Bolton, and deathly pale eyes. Roose Bolton’s eyes. He wore a cheerful expression that rang false as he greeted the Warden of the North. “Lord Stark,” he said with a bow, “you honor me with your audience for my wedding. The Dreadfort is yours.”

In an instant Jon knew he didn’t like the man. He stood straighter as his shoulders tensed. The Bolton men were no better, and Jon sized each of them up as they exchanged pleasantries.

There was Ben Bones, an old man and the kennel master; Yellow Dick, thickset and diseased; Damon Dance-for-Me, a boyish looking man with a greased whip coiled at his belt; Sour Alyn with a decayed mouth and foul breath; and finally Skinner, the most normal looking one of the lot - and the one that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

The grave expression never left Ned’s face. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s untimely passing,” he said to Ramsay. “And so soon after your brother’s.”

Ramsay’s features turned down. “My family has been met with much misfortune this winter - a fact I hope to remedy with my beautiful bride.”

“Your bride is a girl from Essos I’m told.”

A queer smile spread on Ramsay’s lips. “A lady from Lys. Daenerys of House Maar.”

The name caught Jon’s attention. The bride shared a name with the unfortunate Targaryen Princess lost across the Narrow Sea.

Ned gave a tight smile, the first since they’d left home. “I wonder how such a lady found herself so far North.”

Lovely Lys, Jon thought. The island’s name brought to mind beautiful women with golden hair and sunny shores. How could any lady, let alone a lady from the Free Cities, find happiness in this ill omened place?

Ramsay was unbothered by the Lord of Winterfell’s question. “A chance meeting in White Harbor,” he said, “and a happy one. I’ll be glad to tell you all about it during the wedding feast.” His cold eyes fell on Jon and he felt himself bristle. “This must be your bastard. Jon Snow is it?”

“The hour is growing late,” Ned cut in. “We would not wish to delay the ceremony.”

“Of course,” Ramsay answered, clasping his hands together. “Ben, show them to their chambers.” Jon’s stomach turned when the man’s eyes met his again. “My bride is being readied as we speak.”

Ben Bone’s eyes grew wide when he saw Ghost. “That’s a real direwolf. A man doesn’t see them often. Lord Bolton had me train his girls to kill wolves. They’d have their work cut out for them with this one.”

Jon narrowed his eyes at the man. “His girls?”

“His hounds,” Ben answered, “mean tempered bitches. Your wolf would be good sport for them.”

The white direwolf bared his teeth in a silent snarl, and Jon rested his hand in his white fur. “Won’t be much of an exercise when all his hounds are dead.”

Ghost stuck close beside Jon as they walked behind Ned and Jory. Ben led them through the strange halls, and Jon clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. His heart beat faster with every step they took from the door, and he tried to remember each turn they made in the unfamiliar fortress.

He nearly stumbled when he noticed the torches. “Seven hells,” he muttered under his breath. Skeletal hands protruded from the walls to hold them in place. It’s all true, he realized. Every grisly rumor.

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Jon’s attention was focused on the red leaves of the weirwood of the Bolton godswood. It was a small eerie place within the walls, and Jon couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The weirwood was plain, untouched by the Children, and much smaller than the one at Winterfell. Jon never planned to marry, but if he did, he’d want to say his vows before a true heart tree.

The moon shone brightly overhead making the ceremony more beautiful than it had right to be. Lanterns lit up the path the mysterious lady from Lys would be taking. What sort of father would arrange a marriage to a man like Ramsay?

Rumors of House Bolton’s depravity probably didn’t reach the Free Cities. Stories of the Boltons hunting women in their woods, and of the torture chamber in their dungeon. What had she made of the skeletal torches when she arrived?

Ramsay Bolton stood beneath the tree waiting for his bride, and his men stood beside Jon, his father, and the other Stark men. The bastard’s boys he’d heard they were called. Occasionally he cast wary glances in their direction, and wished he didn’t have to overhear the conversation they were having.

“Ramsay is a lucky man,” Sour Alyn gloated to his comrades. “His bride’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Skin white and pure as snow.”

Yellow Dick wheezed. “Won’t be so pure after tonight.”

Damon Dance-for-Me rested a hand on his whip. “Just wait until he has her again after tonight’s midnight hunt.”

Jon furrowed his brow. “I thought the hunt was on the morrow.”

He regretted speaking when Sour Alyn gave him a black grin. “This hunt isn’t for you, bastard.”

“Too bad,” Skinner interjected, eyeing Ghost. “I’d like to see what his wolf can do.”

Sour Alyn flapped a hand in dismissal. “He’s much too soft for it. He’s almost as pretty as the bride.”

“How long before Ramsay introduces you to his new wife, Skinner?” Damon Dance-for-Me asked with a wide grin.

Skinner smirked. “It will be a long while if she has any sense.”

Jon exchanged a look with Jory, as his stomach turned. He was about to say something when the captain’s expression went slack. Following his gaze down the path, he saw the bride come into view.

She burned in the darkness like a star in the sky, and the rudeness of the men was forgotten. Jon’s mouth fell open, and the gathered crowd went silent. The silver silk of her gown was adorned in dragon scales and it hugged her slender figure in a style he was sure the North had never seen. Moonlight was caught in the waves of her silver hair, and she floated toward the weirwood, the embodiment of grace.

The girl was without an escort, an oddity Jon had never seen, and she wore no coat to protect her from the bitter cold. Nor did she wear a cloak to signify her House. Jon pushed down a sudden urge to cover her in his own.

Maester Luwin had taught them that some descendants of the Targaryen bloodline lived in Lys, and this bride was everything he imagined a princess should be.

She locked eyes with him without warning.

Jon’s pulse jumped and he sucked in a breath. Her eyes were violet like the color of the sky in the twilight hour. He was invaded by the scent of lavender and a sweetness he couldn’t name, and he felt a pang near his heart.

Ramsay’s henchmen were gone and all his father’s men. The only thing remaining in the godswood was the silver bride framed by the golden glow of the lanterns. The world seemed to slow, and every step she took down the path stretched out forever.

A smile graced her pink lips, and the mad notion that it was for him entered his thoughts. Jon licked his lips as his body flushed. It took every ounce of his sanity to keep himself from moving closer.

A gentle voice kissed his ears, but the lady’s lips did not move. “At last we meet, Jon Snow.”

Jon gasped and at that her smile grew wider. He shook his head to regain his senses. Tearing his eyes away from the violet eyed beauty, he looked to his side to find his father and Jory unmoving, as though frozen. Ramsay’s men were just as still; their ugly mouths twisted in laughter over their crude jests. No one moved but him and the mystery lady.

She kept her eyes on him as she slowly passed.

“We shall speak again soon,” the disembodied voice spoke again.

In an instance, the world came back to life. The laughter of the crowd restarted as if it had never been interrupted and then died again as all eyes turned to the weirwood tree. The silver girl stood there now, her long hair falling behind her in soft curls.

Jon’s chest burned to see Ramsay, in all his unworthiness, take her hands as they said their vows. He stared intently at the bride, willing her to look at him again. Maybe time would still once more and this time he’d find the courage to speak.

But she didn’t look at him again.

It wasn’t real, fool.

Real or not, he didn’t stop himself from scowling as he watched the new Lord Bolton kiss her. Nor did it leave his face as the groom carried his bride down the path and to the wedding feast.

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The great hall was alive with the sounds of laughter and music when Jon entered with his father and Jory beside him. He stopped to admire one of the tapestries hung beside the doors as Robb had told him the Boltons made them from human skin. Cautiously, he reached his hand out and brushed his fingertips along the surface and breathed a sigh of relief when he only felt fabric and thread.

“Jon,” his father called. He turned to find Ned with his brow furrowed and lips pressed in a thin line. “Do not linger around these halls,” he warned. “Come, Jory has found a table for us,” his father said, gesturing to a spot below the dais where Ramsay and Daenerys sat.

“Yes, Father,” he said. Jory greeted them with horns of ale, and though Ned permitted Jon to accept the cup, the look he gave him told him that he should not indulge himself too much.

Jon hadn't realized how famished he was from travel and the ceremony until the first course. He greedily dug into the creamy soup with bacon and potatoes, all the while stealing glances at Daenerys.

Next came the honeyed chicken with roasted carrots and parsnips; though the chicken was moist and well seasoned, Jon considered Winterfell’s version of the dish superior. As he stuffed a bite of chicken in his mouth Jon noticed that Daenerys barely ate, taking only small bites between sips of her drink, pushing the food around her plate until a servant came to clear the tables.

Last came the desert of baked apples with cinnamon and a dollop of sweet cream. Ramsay had barely acknowledged Daenerys during the meal, as he was deep into his cups, filling his mouth with food and engaged in what Jon suspected was obscene conversation with his boys.

Daenerys looked sullen; her eyes lacking the joy of a woman in love on her wedding day. However, Jon knew most marriages were not born of love but rather duty and security. Though Jon knew little of the Lyseni woman, she seemed kind and the thought that her kindness and light might be extinguished by the likes of Ramsay made him sad.

Just as Jon took the last bite of an apple, Ramsay stood and motioned for the band to stop their rendition of “My Lady Wife.” The hall grew quiet as they all waited to hear Ramsay’s speech.

“Good evening. I hope you’ve enjoyed the fine drink and food tonight,” he said as he raised his glass in salute. “Lord Stark, you have honored me with your presence to celebrate my marriage to Lady Daenerys,” he turned, smiling down at her. “Though my father is not here to celebrate this momentous occasion, I’ll do my best as the new Lord of the Dreadfort to honor his name.”

The hall rang out in a clamor of cheers and cups banging on the tables. Jealousy burned in Jon’s chest. Ramsay, a former bastard, now had a trueborn name and a keep and land of his own. And Daenerys, the poor gorgeous creature. It was everything that Jon had ever wanted but never dared dream of.

As Ned and Jory were deep in conversation, Jon stood and walked along the perimeter of the room, observing the art and tapestries that hung along the walls. He wished Robb had traveled with them so he wouldn’t feel so alone in this strange and dreadful place.

“Would you like to dance?” Daenerys’ soft voice asked. Jon flinched; she had been so quiet he hadn't seen or heard her approach."

Jon stared at her dazedly, his mouth opening and closing before finding the courage to speak. “I don’t dance very well.”

“Well, I’m an excellent dancer, and I can teach you,” she countered as she grabbed his cup and placed it on a nearby table along with her own. She took his hand in hers and tugged, “come.”

Jon looked between their joined hands and Ramsay who was still sitting on the dais. “I’m not sure your husband would approve, My Lady.” The narrowed glare that Ramsay directed toward him confirmed this suspicion.

Daenerys glanced over her shoulder at Ramsay, who was now speaking with Damon-Dance-for-Me. “My husband won’t mind,” she assured him. Before he could think of another excuse to decline her invitation, she was pulling him onto the small dance floor.

A new song began to fill the room: “Two Hearts That Beat as One.” Daenerys raised one hand and placed the other on Jon’s shoulder, and Jon mirrored her, grasping her hand and placing the other on her hip. He felt his cheeks redden and his palms moisten, and he hoped she could not tell.

Slowly, they began to turn and twirl, Jon following Daenerys’ lead. “See you’re a natural dancer,” she laughed. He knew she was only being polite as he’d stepped on her feet at least twice already.

“You’re an excellent teacher,” he said. Despite his own ineptitude, she glided across the floor with ease.

A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes, and she leaned in and whispered, “I can teach you many things, Jon Snow."

Heat coursed through his body at the suggestiveness of her tone. When he pulled back he saw that the room was still, save for him and Daenerys.

“It’s much better this way, isn’t it?” her voice echoed in his mind though her lips did not move.

Jon felt a shiver run up his spine. “This is just like at the ceremony. You’ve frozen time.”

Daenerys circled around him, like an animal stalking its prey. “Yes, it’s one of the many tricks that I know.”

When he looked over at his father, Ned’s face was in grimace, his eyes clearly trained on him and Daenerys. “Fucking hells.”

Daenerys followed his gaze, “You needn’t worry about your father. He won’t remember what happened tonight.”

She resumed her dancing position and once again they twisted and twirled on the dance floor. Jon’s head spun and his stomach turned, the mixture of stillness and movement disorienting to his senses. “Please stop this.”

“Don’t be frightened,” she closed the space between them, her chest flush with his. She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear even though she didn’t need her lips to speak, “we can be alone here.”

He could smell the sweetness of her skin. It was almost as if she smelled of sunlight, though the sun hadn’t shone for weeks. “No, this is wrong.” He pushed away from her.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll find you again soon, Jon Snow.” The room was alive once more, the laughter and music suddenly seeming overwhelming to the quiet of only a few seconds ago. He looked up at the dais to find Daenerys whispering in Ramsay’s ear, a leering smile crossing his face. Bitterness burned in Jon’s belly at the sight of them together, overwhelming the confusion of only a few moments before. Jon hurried back to his father and Jory, unsure of what to make of this encounter.

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Jon knelt before the hearth, his eyes trained on the flickering flames and his mind occupied with thoughts of Daenerys. Ghost was curled up and asleep beside him. Over the last few hours he’d determined that she was as mysterious as she was beautiful. He had no logical explanation for what transpired between them at the ceremony and feast: how they could communicate through their thoughts and how she seemed to stop time. I must have been tired from the trip and too deep into my cups. I barely finished my horn of ale, though.

He threw another log into the fire and then extinguished the candles around the room, leaving the one by his bedside for last. As he lay in bed, unbidden he thought of Daenerys’ own marriage bed that she would share with Ramsay. She’s not yours, he reminded himself, though jealousy burned in his chest all the same. He turned and buried his face into his pillow and prayed that sleep would take him soon.

“Jon,” he heard, a soft whisper pulling him from his dreams of violet eyes and silver hair. As he blinked sleep from his eyes he noticed that the candle beside his bed was lit. That's odd. One of the servants must have re-lit it when replenishing the firewood.

Just as he was resettling himself he noticed a silhouette beside the door. “Who's there?” he called, his hand clenched and he wondered if he had time to reach for his sword that rested on the wall beneath the window.

“It’s only me,” the voice announced, revealing herself as Daenerys when she stepped further into the room, her hands raised beside her face.

“Careful, Ghost is by the fire. He doesn’t take kindly to intruders.”

“Ghost isn’t here,” she said, motioning toward the now empty carpet by the fire. “He wanted to hunt, so we’re all alone.”

Jon’s pulse quickened in his chest. “Daenerys you cannot be here. Ramsay….”

“Is sleeping and you needn't worry about my husband.” Her hair cascaded in soft waves down her shoulders and she was dressed in a sheer, sleeveless nightgown. When she stepped in front of the hearth he could see the outline of her nipples.

Gods, she’s an angel, he thought, unable to tear his eyes away.

She smiled, her tongue running across her teeth, “I promise you I’m no angel, Jon.”

“How is it that you can read my thoughts?”

Daenerys smiled coyly, “Just another trick.”

“That’s not possible.” He glanced around the room, “this is a dream. I’m only seeing what I want.”

Daenerys got on the bed and slunk toward him on her hands and knees. He pressed himself back against the headboard, a poor effort to put distance between them. When she reached him she straddled him. Instinctually his hands moved to her hips; the silk of the nightgown felt so soft against his coarse fingertips. He wondered if her bare skin would feel the same.

Her hand softly stroked his bearded cheek, then she moved lower, and skimmed it across his bare chest. Daenerys’ skin was cold to the touch but it contrasted to the heat of his flesh. “What do you want?” she asked through their secret connection. As a bastard with no hope of a future or House name to carry on, Jon had never allowed himself to want. Yet in the moment, having Daenerys in his arms, he surrendered to his desires.

Jon reached out and brushed his thumb across her lip. “You,” he said aloud. He needed to feel her and to hear his own voice in order to hold on to some semblance of sanity. However, everything sounded and felt real in dreams so what did it matter?

She leaned in. “Then have me,” she whispered against his lips as she ground down on him. He groaned, feeling the heat of her center on his hardening cock through his breeches.

His hands gripped her hips to stop her movements. “We can’t…you’re married… Ramsay is my father’s vassal.”

“No one will know,” she countered, returning to their connection. “No one can hear us. The only man I want inside me is you.”

At her confession, Jon’s restraint snapped and he captured her lips in a kiss. There was a part of him that urged him to stop and tell her to leave. This is wrong, you cannot bed another man’s bride. On his wedding night. In his own castle. This isn’t real, it’s only a dream, Jon reminded himself, giving in to this fantasy.

The faint taste of the Arbor Gold she'd sipped at the feast still lingered on her tongue. Jon kissed along her neck and chest as his hands pushed her nightgown straps down to reveal her breasts. She arched her back, guiding him toward her teats. He sucked a pert nipple into his mouth, laving the tip before pulling it between his teeth. He paid the same attention to her other breast before he reclaimed her mouth.

Jon flipped them so she lay beneath him. He pulled away, once again still uncertain that this was not just a dream. She looked ethereal: her silver hair splayed across his pillow like silk, her amethyst eyes nearly blown black from lust, her cheeks and chest flushed a rosy red.

He peppered kisses along her neck and stomach as he moved down her body, removing her dress until she was bare before him. He settled between her thighs, and brushed his nose against the silver patch of hair on her mound, his senses flooded by the smell of her arousal. He looked up to find her staring at him. “Is this all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. Though her lips didn’t move, her face was contorted in pleasure: eyes closed, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

At her consent, he dipped his head and swiped his tongue along her slit. “Oh Jon,” she moaned, her hands threaded through his hair. He wished they didn’t need to stay quiet; he wanted to hear all her sweet sounds. Though hearing her through their bond almost felt more, like she was a part of him and he was a part of her. He alternated between lapping and sucking on her nub, letting her guide him through her affirming words and tugs on his curls. “Yes, that’s right. So good,” her praise spurred him on as he delved deeper into her core. She came with his name on her tongue, uttered like a prayer. He continued to lap up her juices, working her through her climax.

Jon rested his head against her stomach and tried to still his beating heart. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and their labored breaths.

“Come here,” she commanded, as she pulled him toward her. Jon slipped out of his breeches and then settled over her, his weight braced on his arms beside her head, his cock nestled in the wetness of her cunt.

He reached between them, aligning himself with her center, and slowly pushed in until he was fully seated. “Fuck.” She was so tight around his cock he felt as though he could have come right then.

He began to thrust in and out, and she moved her hands to his hips, to stabilize and guide his movements. Daenerys began to plant kisses along his jaw and neck, her tongue darting out to suck on his pulse point.

Then, he felt her teeth graze his skin. "Careful," he warned. The pressure continued to build, and he felt a sharp pain as her teeth broke through flesh. He tried to pull away at first, unsure what to make of her affections, however, that only caused her to tighten her hold on him. Jon felt wetness along his neck, and when Daenerys sucked, it sent a jolt straight to his cock. The simultaneous push and pull between their bodies transformed the pain into euphoric pleasure.

Tension built at the base of his spine, taut like a string ready to snap. “I’m close,” he groaned.

Daenerys didn’t answer, her mouth still sucking at his neck. His hips snapped into her with quick strokes, and he reached his hand between their bodies to stroke her nub. Her cunt clenched around him, and her nails dug into his shoulders. He followed right behind her, spending his seed.

Fuck. A wave of regret washed over Jon as he came down from his high. He shouldn't have spilled inside her. It’s only a dream, she cannot become with child, he reminded himself.

Jon nestled his head in the crook of her neck, his breath coming out in hot puffs against her sweat slicked skin. Daenerys was still lazily lapping at his neck, her hands soothingly running up and down his spine.

After a moment, he rolled off of her and pulled her against his side. She propped herself on one arm, and looked down on him, her fingers lightly brushing against his lips. “You’re mine now, Jon Snow,” she said as she leaned down and kissed him, and he tasted the metallic tang of blood on his lips. He should be frightened and wary of her, yet he wasn’t. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. Jon knew that he wanted this beautiful creature more than he’d wanted for anything in his life, no matter the consequences that awaited him at daylight.

“Sleep now, my love,” she murmured and he felt himself slowly pulled into the darkness.

Chapter Text

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Jon awoke slowly, memories of the night before on the fringes of his mind. His cock was throbbing and a smile played on his lips as he remembered the softness of her skin and the way she tasted.

His hands groped across the bed to find her, but he knew she was already gone.

A rough pounding at the door hurtled him into reality.

He jumped out of bed naked as his name day, her scent on his skin now a liability instead of a fantasy. His heartbeat was thrashing in his ears. I bedded another man’s bride on her wedding night.

His father would have him sent to the Night’s Watch or worse, executed. Or perhaps Ramsay’s men would find him first and he’d end up a tapestry on the wall. Lady Stark would rejoice in it, and say she always knew what he was.

No, he reasoned. It was just a dream.

A soreness at his neck had him bolting to the looking glass. Two small puncture wounds were visible at the side of his throat.

“Seven hells! Seven fucking hells! It was real!”

The pounding on the door came again, and he thought he might be sick. There was nowhere to run. He was guilty. He’d brought shame to his father, and to House Stark, whether he carried their name or not.

With shaking hands he gathered his clothes that had been strewn about the floor. He’d face death with as much dignity as he could. Let them say he did not die a coward at least.

“Jon?” Jory called outside his door. “Are you awake?”

He slumped back down on the bed. “Thank the Gods,” he muttered to himself. “I’m awake,” he called back, pressing his palms to his eyes.

“The kitchens will be out of food if you take much longer,” his father’s captain replied.

Jon glared at Ghost as he lay sleeping by the fire. “How could you let her in last night? Some ferocious wolf you are.” The direwolf was unbothered as he followed Jon into the hall.

Jory’s brow furrowed as soon as he saw him. “What’s the matter with you?”

Jon's limbs were still shaking as he wiped sweat from his forehead. Perhaps he should tell him, but what was there to say? If neither he nor Lady Bolton breathed a word he had a chance of getting out of the Dreadfort alive. “I didn’t sleep much,” he finally said.

“Neither did I,” Jory replied, looking around the ominous hall. “This place unnerves a man. Come, let’s not keep your father waiting.”

Jon clenched and unclenched his fists as they entered the great hall, his stomach an empty pit. He spotted Ramsay sitting with Skinner and Ben Bones, but Ramsay’s lady wife was absent. What that meant he did not want to think about.

His father scrutinized him as they sat down. “You look pale. Are you unwell?”

He couldn’t lie to his father, surely he would know, but he couldn’t tell him the truth either. “I don’t like this place,” Jon told him. “We should head for home instead of entertaining this hunt.”

It was a rare thing for Jon to speak so plainly to Lord Stark, and that fact did not escape his father’s notice. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

There was no good reason for his desire to leave, ast least no good reason he could say. “I don’t like the idea of hunting here in the darkness.”

Lord Stark’s cool grey eyes scrutinized him. “I don’t like it either. We’ll hunt in his woods, and leave in the morning. We’ll be away from Winterfell one more night.”

🩸🩸🩸

They gathered outside the gate, the Stark and Bolton men divided. Jon sat horseback near his father and Jory, closer to Ramsay’s unsavory men than he would like. He peered up at the dark grey cloud cover, and wished the sun would break through. Weeks had passed without light, and it had never been as distressing.

Jon’s stomach was rolling. He clenched the reins in his fist to keep from fidgeting. Hunting already had its own dangers, but hunting in the dark with the man whose wife he’d lain with was something else. His eyes darted to the road that would take them home. We leave in the morning. I just have to make it until morning.

Jon jumped when Jory spoke.

“Stay close,” the captain whispered. “We don’t need you to have a mysterious hunting accident.”

A sour taste filled Jon’s mouth. “All the more reason we shouldn’t be out here,” he answered with irritation.

Jory gave him a strange look. “I never thought I’d see you balk at the chance to do something reckless and dangerous.”

Jon’s mind raced. Would it be better to tell him? Make some excuse to leave? His half-mad plans were interrupted when Lady Daenerys appeared.

An angel of winter, she wore a long fur coat, and red leather gloves. She exuded confidence as she climbed into the saddle of a silver mare - beside her husband.

“Lady Bolton will be joining us?” he asked out loud. The sight of her flooded his being with warmth, but also made him yearn to ride hard for home.

Damon Dance-for-Me was leering at her. “Lord Ramsay has seen fit to indulge his bride to mark their union.”

“She claims to have learned to hunt wherever she’s from,” Skinner added, unimpressed. “Let us hope she won’t get in the way.”

Jon stole glances at the silver lady as she examined her bow. Arya would be thrilled when he told her.

Sour Alyn gave a decayed grin. “She must have pleased him well last night.”

“He seemed quite agreeable this morning,” Damon Dance-for-Me said, then snickered. “But his bride had trouble rising to break her fast.”

Their crude laughter offended Jon’s senses. “I don’t think Lord Ramsay would like the way you’re speaking of his bride.”

Damon Dance-for-Me stared him down. “I don’t think Lord Ramsay would like the way you’re staring at his bride, bastard.”

Jon’s stomach burned. He wanted to tell them exactly who wore Lady Daenerys out last night.

He sat up straight in his saddle as Ramsay approached his father. Jon kept his eyes trained on the new Lord Bolton even as Lady Bolton’s eyes bore into him.

“Lord Stark,” Ramsay addressed the Warden of the North with a bow of his head and a humble facade. “You have honored me with your presence. I pledge my fealty to you just as my father before me. I will rule over my lands in your name. Any who break the king’s laws will be met with swift justice.”

Ned Stark was not a man easily fooled or impressed. “When your father spoke,” Ned answered, “he talked more of peaceful lands than he did of justice.”

Lord Ramsay did his best to hide his displeasure. “We must serve justice to maintain peace. Those who would make a mockery of our laws will be shown no mercy.”

His father did not like this man, of that Jon was sure, and no more words were exchanged between them. Ramsay’s dogs were brought out to start the hunt. Ghost watched them curiously and they proved smart enough to give him a wide berth. The hounds, whom Jon heard referred to as the Bastard’s Girls, were all muscle and ferocity. Jon pitied the game they were sent to locate.

Riding with the Stark men, Jon wanted nothing more than for it to be over. Hunting in the Wolfswood always filled him with excitement and a thirst to best Robb and Theon. In this eerie forest, Jon thought of nothing but home.

His melancholy thoughts were scattered by the voice of Lady Daenerys. “Come and find me, Jon Snow.” Her words were so clear and so loud that Jon looked about the party to see if the others had heard. No one else was alerted, and her voice came again. “Your wolf knows where to go.”

Jon met Ghost’s glowing red eyes in the dark beside him, and then the wolf slunk away from their party. Neither his father nor Jory seemed to be paying him any mind, and he veered off and followed after.

Ghost’s white fur shone in the darkness, the only light to go by. Jory and father had warned him to stay close, but all fear faded when he heard her melodic voice. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but his shoulders slumped when he met up with Ramsay and his men.

Damon snorted in disgust when he saw him. “Did you lose your party, bastard?”

Daenerys appeared on horseback beside Ramsay. “Won’t you join us, Jon Snow?”

Lord Bolton pressed his lips together and then forced a smile. “Yes, join us. We’ll show you how real men hunt. A red hart has been spotted thrice in the past fortnight. It will be a blessing to my marriage and lordship when I make the kill.”

Bitterness flooded Jon’s heart to see her near him. “I thought white harts meant good fortune.”

Daenerys was quick to interject. “Red is very lucky where I’m from.”

Ramsay gave an ugly laugh. “Jealous, bastard?”

Anger lanced through him. Yes.

Before he could say anything stupid, her calming voice flooded his brain. “You would slight my husband? Was taking his wife’s maidenhead not enough?”

Jon’s blood froze as his eyes darted to her. Her pink lips curled in a knowing smile. All the men and horses around him were frozen just like the night before in the great hall. Seemingly, they were the only beings alive in a frozen world.

Anger turned to fear. “I did not take your maidenhead,” he protested.

“No,” she admitted. Urging her horse toward his, she came to stand beside him. She brushed a hand down his arm, and it seemed all of his nerve endings stirred. “You were not my first lover, but it was your bed I fell apart in last night, was it not?”

Jon swallowed. “What are you playing at? Are you trying to get me killed?”

Her beautiful eyes widened. “Never,” she insisted. “I’ll let no harm come to you.”

In an instant, the suspended men and horses returned to life, blinking.

Jon shifted in his seat. “How are we meant to find the hart without light?” he asked in an effort to divert their attention.

Ramsay’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “My girls can see in the dark. Do you imagine we’ll not hunt until the sun returns? Are all the sons of Winterfell afraid of the dark?”

Jon was too unnerved to acknowledge the slight, and he stayed back as Lord Bolton and his men advanced further into the woods. Daenerys stayed back too.

He felt her stare and returned a sideways glance.

She tilted her head to one side. “Have you ever hunted in the night, My Lord?”

“I’m not a lord,” he said, doing his best not to look at her, “and no, I much prefer to hunt when I can see where I’m aiming.”

She breathed in deeply, gazing around with her violet eyes. “A forest is so full of life in the night. I find that’s when my senses are most heightened.”

He was watching her when snowflakes appeared in the grey sky. Grumbling to himself, he pulled up his hood. If this hunt wasn’t impossible enough, now they’d have snow to contend with.

Daenerys's lips were parted in a bright smile, her hand outstretched to catch the airy flakes as they fell. Even in the gloom, the snowflakes catching in her hair made a lovely sight.

“Is this the first time you’ve seen snow, My Lady?

“Not the first time,” she answered. His heart fluttered in his chest when she turned her smile toward him. “But it’s dazzling all the same. So cold and yet so pure.”

The moment was shattered by the raucous barking of the Bastard’s Girls.

Lady Daenerys’ smile turned mischievous and she kicked her horse into a canter after the sound. Jon did the same, drawn to her rather than the prospect of game. Her silver mare glowed in the dark like Ghost, a beacon to follow through the barren trees.

She stopped abruptly, her mare silent as a grave. Jon halted beside her with less grace. The lady pressed her fingers to her lips as she readied her bow and drew a white feathered arrow from her saddle bag.

Jon had to stain his eyes to see where she was looking, but there it was, the red hart. The beast was still and alert, though it gave no indication it was aware of them. At least ten points to its rack as far as he could tell. An impressive trophy for Lord Bolton, he thought indignantly.

He was surprised when she drew her bow.

They faced its broadside, some thirty to forty yards away, but it was hard to be certain without light. “It’s too far,” he whispered. “You’ll spook it.”

Her eyes flitted to him with a wink before she loosed her arrow. It whizzed through the air and hit the hart right behind the shoulder. Blood erupted like a grisly flower, and it dropped to the ground.

“Seven hells…,” Jon whispered in wonder.

He didn’t notice Ramsay and his men approach until they were gathered all around.

“You killed it,” Yellow Dick grunted.

Daenerys shrugged. “A lucky shot.”

“A lucky shot?” Damon contested. “It dropped like a stone.”

Skinner dismounted and examined the fallen creature. “She must have got it’s lungs and liver.”

Ramsay was still and his eyes were hard on his bride. Jon fought the urge to move in front of her. “That’s not how the game is played, dear wife,” he told her, his voice a deep rumble. “I was meant to kill it with a spear.”

Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh, was that the hart? Forgive me, I thought your girls must have had him. They barked so savagely.”

Ben Bones pulled at his collar. “The bitches caught the wrong scent. Ran down a doe instead.”

“Oh my,” Daenerys answered, covering her mouth with her gloved hand. “Forgive me,” she beseeched Lord Bolton. “This is my first time hunting across the Narrow Sea.”

Without waiting for his reply, Daenerys climbed down from her mare and went to examine her kill.

Ramsay’s mood had turned so foul Jon could feel it around them, and see it in the way his men drew into themselves like scolded dogs. And all of their lord’s rage was directed at his lady wife.

Damon whispered to Skinner as the man returned to his horse. “I think you’ll be acquainted with Lady Bolton sooner than you thought.”

Skinner cast a wary glance at Ramsay before responding. “I’d wager my life it will be tonight.”

Jon dismounted and went after Lady Daenerys.

The snow was falling harder, but she didn’t seem to mind as she knelt before her fallen prey.

“A quick death,” she said as she knelt beside him. “Better than what these brave men had planned.”

“You have a good heart, My Lady.”

The look she gave him was sad. “You might be the only person alive to believe that. I am not the angel you think I am, but I do not wish to cause suffering. All things die. Men and beast alike hunt to live, but needless cruelty - that, I can’t abide.”

“You’re not safe here,” he told her in hushed tones.

“What do you mean?” Her haughty smile returned. “I’m the victor of the hunt.”

Jon had enough of her flippant responses. He held her gaze straight on. “You must know you’ve angered him. You must know he’s a dangerous man and this is a cursed place. Especially for women.”

She lay a hand on his shoulder. “You’re worried for me.”

Keenly aware they were being watched, he brushed her hand away. “We can’t take you with us - it would start a war, but you ride well. If you find yourself in an intolerable situation or if you are frightened, ride to Winterfell. My family will protect you. I know they will.”

Her smile was bright as she rose to her feet. “How gallant you are, Jon Snow. I think I’d like to see Winterfell.”

Jon sighed, his jaw sore from clenching. “He’s going to try to hurt you tonight.”

Daenerys wiped the melting snow from her coat. “He’s thinking about it,” she said nonchalantly. “Right now he’s detailing gruesome plans.” A shiver ran up Jon’s spine as she continued. “He wants me to scream, and not from pleasure.

“He had plans to bed me on my wedding night, and whose bed did I lay in?” Boldly, she stepped into him and he backed away. “He’s never touched me - for pleasure or pain - and he never will.” A glimmer of anger flashed across her face. “Ramsay Bolton hurts women for sport. When the time is right, I will stop him, and I won’t need the lords and sons of Winterfell to help me do it.”

Jon forgot the men behind them. “What are you? Why did you come here?”

She beamed at him, disarming him further. “I am Daenerys,” she brushed his arm again, “and I came here for love,” The lady leaned in closer. “I’ll find you tonight.”

🩸🩸🩸

Jon looked out over the frozen Bolton lands, the path they’d take home set out before him. He half wondered if he’d manage to leave this place with his life and freedom. Could he make it beyond the gate without anyone finding out what he’d done with Lady Bolton? He blew out a breath and continued pacing the battlements.

He’d kept his father’s men up playing dice for as long as he could, and now he trekked back and forth up here, longing for Winterfell.

“Get some sleep,” the last one to bed told him. “We ride out tomorrow.”

No one but him knew that sleep was not what he’d find behind his chamber door. Danger and desire were hunting him, and if she caught him unawares again, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her. He’d walk all night if he had to.

Fear wasn’t all he felt no matter how he tried to ignore it. He wanted her as badly as he wanted her to stay away. Perhaps she’d put him under a spell - one of her tricks. She talked to him as a lover, as if they’d known each other longer than they had - and as though he wasn’t leaving at first light.

His scalp prickled before she spoke.

“My, you’re out late, Jon Snow.”

The way she said his name had his apprehension melting away even as his mind screamed at him not to give in. He raised his chin. “I might say the same for you.”

She gave him a knowing smile while his eyes drank her up. She wore a long fur coat like she had during the hunt, but a violet silk hem was peeking out at the bottom. Was she dressed in a nightgown?

Without speaking she took a step toward him and he stepped back. “Would you rather I were in my marriage bed?” She asked him silently.

Heat flushed through his body. “No.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she moved closer again. When he backed away this time, he found himself pinned against the stone wall. “On that we can agree,” she spoke, stroking his arm.

Jon’s heart beat throbbed in his ears as he thought about what he might find when he opened her coat. He didn’t have long to think before she was pressed against him.

“I must admit,” she murmured. “I’m not ready for you to leave.”

All thoughts of self-preservation were gone, as he caressed a thumb across her cheek. “You don’t belong in this place.”

Her eyes sparkled, and then her hands were on his chest. “Where do I belong? Would you take me home to your Winterfell?”

His belly turned into knots. “You’re mistaken, my lady, I’m only a bastard.”

Dany shook her head. “I’ve made no mistake.” Jon’s lips parted as hers came closer. “I know exactly who you are.”

He didn’t know which of them made the final move, but he was utterly lost in the taste of her mouth. She made a sound of approval as he turned them around and pinned her against the wall. Jon’s breath quickened and blood rushed to his cock pressing into her lower belly. He needed to touch her, and feel her soft skin.

He didn’t hear the man approach. “Get your hands off her, bastard!”

Jon whipped around to find a Bolton guard upon them. His face was red with outrage and he was drawing his sword. “You’ll beg for death before Lord Bolton’s done with you!”

Instinctively, Jon’s hand went to his empty belt.

Dany marched forward and cut the guard with a glare. Seemingly entranced by her gaze, the man’s face contorted in fear. “This is my Lord husband,” Dany declared. “How dare you interrupt us?”

The man trembled. “Apologies, m’lady.”

She swept an arm toward Jon. “Apologize to my husband.”

His face was pale white as he bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Lord Snow.”

Jon felt rooted to the spot as he watched her. “I’m not your husband.”

She gave him a demure smile. “Not yet,” she told him without moving her lips.

A heaviness settled over Jon’s entire being as reality set in again. “No amount of tricks will change the fact that you’re Lady Bolton.”

Dany raised an eyebrow. “You think not?” She set her sights back on the guard. “Drop your sword,” she commanded.

Wearing a blank expression, the man dropped his steel as though it were nothing.

“Climb onto the ledge,” she ordered next.

Fear coiled around Jon’s heart as he watched the guard do as she said without hesitation.

“Now,” Dany continued, crossing her arms. “Hop on one foot.”

Jon held his breath, barely able to believe his own eyes. The man did as she commanded, hopping on the ledge as though certain death was not a slight misstep away.

“Stop!” Jon shouted. “That’s enough! Let him down!”

“Climb down,” Dany said. “Pick up your sword and resume your duty. Do not trouble me again.”

A vague look was still plastered to the guard’s face. “Yes, m’lady,” he answered, before doing as she bid.

Jon’s heart was pounding in his chest. “Do you do that to me? Use your tricks to make me do or think things?”

Hurt shone in her violet eyes. “No. Never.”

“How do I know that?”

“I suppose you don’t,” she said, and then curled her hand around his. “But I don’t want that from you - what I want from you is far more real.”

The simple touch of her hand was enough to make him forget himself. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he insisted weakly. “At least - not here.”

Standing on her tiptoes she kissed him again. “Your chambers then.”

Taking him by the hand, she boldly led him through the halls as though this indiscretion couldn’t cost them both their lives. Jon’s eyes were wild, scanning for guards, but to his relief and surprise, they encountered no one.

She was on him the moment they were behind his closed bedroom door, her hands making straight for the fastening of his cloak. “For so many nights, I wondered what you’d be like when I finally met you,” she said, tossing his cloak aside. “You’re so much more than I could have imagined.” Kissing his mouth, she slipped her hands underneath his shirt.

Her touch weakened him and he used his remaining resolve to fumble at the clasps of her coat. Pushing his hands away, she lifted his shirt up over his head.

Jon’s heart was pounding as she undid his breeches. “Wh-what do you mean you finally met me?” he asked. “Were you looking for me?” His head was spinning as she wrenched down his small clothes with his breeches.

“No,” she answered. Her eyes feasted on him and he suddenly felt like the hart she had hunted down. “I knew where you were, I only had to wait.”

Her answers only confused him more. Before he could reach for her coat again, she undid it herself, fingers and hands worked so swiftly it made him dizzy. Before he knew it both her coat and the nightgown he’d barely glimpsed were a pile on the floor.

“Seven hells,” he muttered, struggling to comprehend what he thought he saw coupled with the captivating sight of her naked body.

Daenerys’ eyes lit up with amusement and she pressed both her hands against his chest, gently guiding him backward to his bed.

Her lips pulled into a provocative smile. “Lie on your back,” she said in a silent command.

Jon’s belly was doing flips. All thoughts scattered as he complied, not taking his eyes off the mysterious beauty as he felt his way over the furs. She wasted no time crawling over him, peppering his chest with wet kisses.

For a moment, all he could do was stare. “This can’t be real,” he stammered. “You can’t be real.”

His heart sputtered when she stopped and stared. “Who says it can’t? Don’t I feel real?”

Jon’s mind blanked again when he felt her wet center grind against his cock.

“Gods,” he groaned. “Your husband is going to murder me.” The words felt hollow, though he knew them to be true.

“Hush,” she whispered in his ear before kissing along the length of his jaw. “I’ll never let anyone harm you.”

He felt a shiver of pleasure as her lips took to his neck. “He’ll discover us,” he forced himself to say.

Her gaze turned tender, and she kissed his cheek.“What happened when the guard outside discovered us?” Jon’s pounding heart began to settle as she cradled his head in her hands, her unexplainable tenderness irresistible. “Trust me,” she murmured, and despite his better judgment, he did.

Jon felt like he must be in the brightest of the seven heavens with the soft curves of her body pressing into him. His eyes and fingers greedily explored her smooth skin and the roundness of her teats while the pointed tips of her fingernails scratched pleasantly against his scalp.

She left a long lick in the crook of his neck. “Is this all right?” Her mind asked his.

Jon stilled. He knew what she was asking. It was madness but he found himself silently consenting. Did it matter if it was madness when being wrapped up in her felt this good? The sharp sting at his neck had more blood rushing to his groin, a confusing blend of pleasure and pain he didn’t want to end.

Dany hummed as she pulled away. “Only a little taste,” she said out loud. Perhaps a reminder to herself.

Besieged by the sensations of her warm lips and attentive fingers, he was helpless beneath her.

He’d laid with one girl before, the stable master’s daughter. It had never been something he’d planned, and after a few months of foolishness, he'd made himself end it, thanking the Gods he’d not gotten her pregnant. He wasn’t a green boy, but even if he’d laid with half a hundred girls, he wouldn’t have been prepared for Daenerys.

Teasing touches migrated down chest and abdomen, and he sat up on instinct when her dainty fingers brushed the length of his shaft. His body flushed with anticipation and fear as her mouth drew near his hard cock. “Not there,” he blurted out. “I mean - don’t bite me there.”

Daenerys giggled. “No, love,” she said. “Never there.” He felt her delighted eyes on him while his eyes were trained on her fingers stroking up and down. “Has a girl ever taken you in her mouth before?”

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him when she blew a warm breath against his tip. He managed to shake his head no. A girl had never touched him as intimately as this.Tricks or no, she had him mesmerized.

Soon her perfectly full lips were leaving soft kisses at the base of his shaft, and climbing higher. His head was swimming. “You don’t have to…” he panted. Nothing about their coupling was right, but letting this gorgeous creature dote on him so fully felt entirely selfish.

Her sweet voice sang in his mind. “Believe me, love, I want to.”

One long wet lick sent vibrations down his spine, and he knew he would not protest again. “Seven hells,” he swore. “I have to be dreaming.”

Daenerys filled his head like a soothing lullaby. “We dream together now.” She surrounded his cock with the wet warmth of her mouth, and his head hit the pillow with a groan.

Her tongue led a euphoric assault on his senses, flicking and swirling, reducing him to a useless puddle. The pressure of her mouth could be the sweet end of him, and he’d never complain. “Gods be good,” he moaned. “You’re really good at that.” Every inch of him was tingling when she used her free hand to tease his stones. “Oh fuck.”

Curiosity gave him strength to push himself up on his elbows, and he was enthralled with the sight of her mouth full of him. Bewitching violet eyes weakened him, and he was at her mercy just as his body was gripped by urgency.

Jon was left wanting when her heavenly lips disappeared and he found her looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

She giggled when he groaned in anguish. “Have you never been teased this way?” Her soft curves settled over him again and he circled her with his arms. “You have much to learn,” she added before kissing his mouth.

Her touch was so tender, like how he imagined a true wife might be, or a long time lover. She made him feel at ease in a way few in his life ever could, and he’d known her only two days. It was confounding that such a beautiful woman would take such a keen interest in him, a bastard with nothing to inherit.

Her eyes softened. “You think so little of yourself,” she said, brushing unruly hair away from his face. “You let the worst of those around you tell you who you are. I know who you are.”

Jon took one of her hands and held it. “You keep saying that. Who is it you think I am?”

She was radiant as she lay her head on his chest. “One hungry to prove his worth with more bravery and loyalty than care for himself.” Jon’s belly was fluttering when she raised herself up like a lioness ready to pounce. “Who you are is a story for another time. I’m rushing ahead faster than I meant to.”

His thoughts were still catching up when she kissed him again and then tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth. “Tonight, I don’t wish to talk,” she told him, handling his cock and teasing him with her soaked center. “I only wish to give you pleasure.”

Jon sighed when she finally sunk down on him. Time slowed and there was nothing else in the world besides him and the beautiful woman above him. Her face contorted in pleasure as she moaned and rolled her hips. She kept an unhurried steady pace that was as torturous as it was tantalizing.

Desperate for more friction, he sat up and gripped her hips. Lighting-quick Jon found himself laid on his back with his hands pinned above his head.

He blew out a breath. “Seven hells…” Her strength was a marvel and he became keenly aware he couldn’t overpower her.

Daenerys glowered at him, and the tender look in her eyes turned predacious. “Don’t move until I say.”

“Why?”

Humming sweetly, she released his arms and resumed her grinding. “Because that’s the mood I’m in tonight.”

Sweat broke out at his hairline, and he drove his fingers into the furs to keep himself from touching her. It was torture to watch her teats bounce as she sighed above him. “What if we’re both in the same mood?” he managed.

Skimming her fingers up his torso, she took his mouth. “Then I should think those will be very long nights.” She nuzzled her nose against his. “Oh, how I wish we had more time. I’d tie you to this bed and torment you this way for days. Would you like that?”

Gods, yes. Jon swallowed, resisting the urge to thrust and forcing his hands to remain still. “So long as we take turns.”

Her cheeks flushed and she bit her bottom lip. “I shall expect no less.”

Jon hated and loved this game in equal measure, but he needed to touch her. Keeping his hands at his sides, he leaned forward to capture her lips. If she was going to be the death of him, he would enjoy every minute.

When she didn’t protest the advances of his mouth, he sat up in a swift motion and seized her hips again. His triumph was short lived and he found himself on his back and restrained again.

This time she looked more amused than angry as she tilted her head to one side. “Keep them here,” she ordered, giving his wrists a squeeze. “Or I’ll have no choice but to tie you down.”

Jon’s heart froze and then throbbed. “What are you?”

Daenerys sat up straight as a slow smile graced her lips. “I’m yours.”

She rode him again, faster than before using his chest for support. Her eyes squeezed shut as she used him to take her pleasure, and her soft moaning was taking him to the brink of his sanity.

“Need to touch you,” he panted. Jon had never felt more real as he felt himself hurtling toward the edge.

Daenerys stopped abruptly.

Jon clenched his teeth. “Damn you.”

She was unaffected. “There are some who say I’m already damned.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Releasing himself from her order, he took her hand and lay it over his chest. “You’re not damned, you’re free.”

Her eyes shone in the candlelight. “Would you like to be free as well?”

Suddenly it felt like his heart was shrinking. “How could I be?,” he asked, “I don’t have your tricks.”

“What if I teach you?” She asked, guiding his hands to where he wanted them on her hips all along. “Then we can both be free.”

A jolt ran through his body, and he was ready to believe anything this goddess told him. Let him be whatever she needed him to be. Pulling her down for a kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth before rolling her onto her back.

She laughed in delight. “Yes, Jon.There’s the fire in you.”

He sighed as he buried himself in the wet heat between her legs. Starting slow, just as she had, he found he didn’t have the resolve. Her nails scratched down his back and into his backside as he slammed into her. It took every ounce of strength not to come until she had, her nails digging in painfully as she cried out louder than a woman in her situation should. He barely lasted three pumps after her, and collapsed beside her.

Jon half expected the castle guards to break down the door, but couldn’t find the strength to care. And then his heart began to ache. “This has all been a mad dream,” he breathed. “Tomorrow, I ride for home, and you remain here - as Lady Bolton.”

Daenerys kissed his temple and curled an arm around his waist.“Yes, we must part - for a time. And I shall ready our home.”

Eyes heavy, Jon couldn’t bring himself to ask all the questions her words created. Exhausted, and at peace, he fell into a deep sleep.

🩸🩸🩸

Jon woke the next morning eager to return to Winterfell, to leave this dark and strange place behind. A heaviness settled over his heart as he packed the last of his belongings. I don’t want to leave Daenerys. He touched the marks on his neck where she’d bitten him, the skin still tender. Gods, this was madness. Jon knew what they were doing was wrong, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to stop. He’d let her drag him into the depth of the Seven Hells if it meant they could be together - if he could have her every night.

However, Jon’s hopes of returning home were dashed when he entered the great hall to break his fast. His father informed him a sudden winter storm had hit, and they would remain at the Dreadfort until it passed.

Now, Jon was sat in the great hall with Ramsay, Daenerys, Skinner, Damon Dance-for-Me, and Sour Alyn, playing a game of dice.

“Seven,” Skinner hollered when the dice landed. “I win again,” he said, as he leaned forward to collect the small pile of coins at the center of the table.

Ramsay placed his hand over the coins. “Your dice bounced on the edge of the table. Roll again.”

“No, it didn’t. They’re all in the center of the table,” Skinner countered, pointing to the dice.

Ramsay took a sip of ale, his pale eyes trained on Skinner. “Damon, you saw Skinner’s dice bounce on the table, right?”

Damon’s eye flicked nervously between Ramsay and Skinner. “Aye, I saw it bounce.”

Ramsay’s wormy lips pull into a smile. “See, Skinner. We’re all here to play fair, aren’t we?”

“Aye, My Lord,” Skinner mumbled as he grabbed the dice and rolled again.

“Snake eyes,” Ramsay laughed. “That’s too bad. Better luck on the next roll,” Ramsay said with feigned sincerity.

“My turn,” Sour Alyn proclaimed as he accepted the dice from Skinner. Jon’s nose wrinkled from the waft of Alyn’s foul breath.

“Jon. Did you enjoy the hunt?” Ramsay asked as he took another sip of his ale. “ I noticed that you had wandered off with my wife, and I had hoped we would hunt together - to get to know each other better.”

Jon’s pulse quickened. There is no way Ramsay knows what happened last night or the night before - we didn’t speak aloud in the woods. “Aye. Lady Bolton was a fine shot at acquiring the red hart,” Jon deflected, as he lifted his cup to toast Daenerys.

Ramsay’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “My wife is quite the huntress, indeed. However, in the bedroom she prefers to be my prey,” he said as he lifted Daenerys’s hand and pressed a kiss to it.

Jon gripped his drink, needing to keep his hands occupied.

“Jon,” Daenerys’s voice pulled Jon back to the moment. When he met her gaze the slight tap of her finger against her lips reminded him of their secret connection. “This is only for show,” she continued. “He hasn’t touched me. I’m only yours.”

Her words did little to calm Jon. “From the way he talks, it sounds like he’s touched you plenty.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrowed. “Have I given you reason to doubt me or my affections for you?”

“I don’t know what happens when you leave my room. You do go back to him.”

“Patience, my love.” Ever so slightly her fingers flexed where her hand rested on the table. It was as if she was reaching for him. Jon balled his hand into a fist to stop himself from taking her hand.

“Being the lord of my own keep. Having this beautiful woman to warm my bed at night,” Ramsay said, interrupting Jon’s secret conversation with Daenerys. “Not much more a man could ask for in life.”

“Aye,” Jon muttered, taking a swig of ale as he turned his attention back to the game, watching Damon roll.

“Must be quite hard, the Bastard of Winterfell. Seeing your brother trained to take over for your father, while you’ll always live in the shadows,” Ramsay smirked.

Jon gritted his teeth. “I do my duty. I serve my House in whatever capacity that I can.”

“But it’s not your House. You’re not a Stark - only a bastard named Snow,” he taunted. Damon, Sour Alyn, and Skinner broke out in laughter, the sound was deafening as Jon’s rage grew.

“If I recall, so were you,” Jon countered. The laughter died, as Jon met Ramsay’s gaze.

“Come again?” Ramsay asked. Jon knew Ramsay had heard his comment and that he was trying to intimidate him.

Jon leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. “You were also a bastard named Snow.”

“That I was. Yet, my father saw fit to legitimize me. Would your father do the same, Bastard?”

Jon stood, looking down on Ramsay whose face was now frozen in a sinister, mocking smile.

When Jon looked around the table, the other men were the same.

Jon turned to Daenerys, her lips pressed in a tight line, her nail tapping on the table. “You shouldn’t let them speak to you that way.”

“What way?” Jon deflected, though he knew what she meant.

“Calling you a bastard and belittling you for it.”

“It’s what I am, and always will be,” he said, as he slumped back into his chair.

“You are more than that, Jon. You’re destined for great things, I feel it.”

“Can you please stop this,” Jon bit, as he gestured toward the frozen figures. “I’d like for this game to end so that I can leave.” He didn’t want to hear her false promises of a life together. On the morrow he would return to Winterfell and she would remain here as Lady Bolton.

In an instant the sound of the men’s laughter was once again filling the room.

🩸🩸🩸

They'd left the Dreadfort as soon as the snow had cleared enough for safe travel, and now, Jon and his father and Jory were back at Winterfell. Both Ramsay and Daenerys had seen them off in the early morning gloom. The look that Ned gave Jon when Daenerys said she had enjoyed his company unsettled Jon. Luckily, Ned did not question Jon about Daenerys’s meaning during the ride home.

As he lay in bed that night, he felt relieved to be home, however, he missed having Daenerys in his bed. She had come to his room after the dice game, and though he was still cross with her he couldn’t refuse her – especially when she wrapped that warm little mouth around his cock.

He was now in the library with Old Nan, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Old Nan sat before the fire with Arya, Bran and Rickon on the carpet before her, all enraptured by her stories. Sansa sat on a nearby chair, focusing on her embroidery.

Jon and Robb had found a corner of the library where they could not be overheard.

Robb leaned forward. “So were the tapestries made of human skin?”

“No,” Jon muttered. His eyes were trained on the page of the book before him, though he was not focusing on the words.

“What about the dungeons? Did you see them?”

“No. Why would they show me the dungeons?” Though Jon knew that if Ramsay had ever found out what transpired between him and Daenerys, his flayed skin would surely be hanging in the dungeon by now.

Robb huffed. “Did anything interesting happen while you were there?”

Jon opened his mouth to speak and then closed it.

“Well?” Robb prodded, with an upturned hand.

Jon glanced over at Old Nan and his siblings, confirming that their attention was still focused on their respective activities.

Jon lowered his voice. “There was a woman. Gods, she was gorgeous -- silver hair and purple eyes.”

Robb smiled. “Go on.”

Jon felt his cheeks warm. “We were together.”

“So who was she? Some serving maid?” Robb laughed as he clapped Jon on the shoulder.

Jon averted his gaze. “Lady Bolton.”

Robb nearly choked. “Seven hells, Jon.”

“The first time was on their wedding night,” Jon groaned.

Robb shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re fucking with me, now.”

“I swear I’m not. She… she came to my room. What was I supposed to do?”

“Not bed her!” Robb nearly shouted.

“Keep your voice down,” Jon commanded, as he looked back to the others.

“Jon, Ramsay is father’s vassal. If he ever found out…”

“Aye, I know,” Jon replied as he buried his head in his hands. “But I’ll never see her again, and you are the only one who knows. I need you to promise me you won’t say anything to anyone. Not even Theon.”

Robb scrubbed a hand across his beard. “Aye. I promise. She must be quite the woman, to tempt you.”

Jon closed his eyes, trying to picture Daenerys. “She is. More than her beauty, there was something between us. A connection - I can’t explain it.” Jon couldn’t tell Robb about how she could stop time and how they could communicate through their minds. If he did he’d surely be locked away.

“I worry for her,” Jon said, instead. “Ramsay is not a good man.” Daenerys had said that she was capable of handling Ramsay. Jon hoped that was true.

“She is not yours to look after,” Robb admonished. “The best thing that you can do now is forget about her and what happened while you were there.”

Jon’s shoulders slumped. “Aye, you’re right.”

“Next week is the Winter Festival. Perhaps you’ll meet someone there,” Robb said with a wide grin.

“Aye, perhaps,” Jon replied, with feigned enthusiasm. No one can compare to Daenerys, and she’ll never be mine.

Jon overheard the last bit of Old Nan’s tale, “...when the Long Night comes, creatures of darkness emerge from the shadows, those that steal life from the blood of the innocent.”

Darkness. Blood. Jon felt a chill run up his spine at the seeming similarities between Old Nan’s story and Daenerys.

It’s just stories, he reminded himself. Only stories.

🩸🩸🩸

Jon was in the yard practicing with a training dummy. His father and Jory were standing on the sidelines engaging in idle conversation, occasionally glancing at Jon's movements.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon noticed Maester Luwin approach Ned and hand him a scroll. Ned’s brow furrowed as he looked down at the scroll before he dismissed Luwin. He spoke with Jory for a few moments and then headed toward the keep.

Jon set his sword against the dummy and walked over to Jory. “Is everything all right?”

Jory looked around the near empty yard before answering. “The raven was from the Dreadfort. Lord Ramsay is dead.”

“What? How?” It had only been a few days since they’d returned to Winterfell.

“Lady Bolton writes that it was a hunting accident.”

Jon’s eyes widened, the pieces falling into place in his mind. “We must part - for a time. I will ready our home.”