Chapter 6: Lady of Winterfell

She was lost, deliriously subsumed in a swirl of passion and pleasure… quite willingly, to be honest. "Oh Egg… kessa, kessa…"

"Beautiful," came a quite husky, svelte reply in her ear. "Take me, take all of me, my dragon," her husband whispered in High Valyrian.

Nails clawing frantically on the planes of his back, Visenya choked down a scream - feeling his hips shift, angle changing to thrust deeper inside her. She rolled her hips to hasten the process. How is it still so amazing? Playful banter as they dressed for the day not ten minutes before grew caustic, growling insults leading to their current position. Visenya pinned to the wall of their Winterfell guest chambers, Aegon pounding into her like his life depended on it.

A position they hadn't done in a while, to which the Queen discovered she missed greatly. The melding of their skin, his still powerful strength squeezing her between himself and the wall, the delicious new angle… Visenya felt another scream bubble up.

"Seven Hells!" Aegon cursed as Visenya bit him - sinking her teeth into the meat of his shoulder. "Fuck… you're a hungry dragon."

"Mmmmhrph…" she moaned into his skin, not letting go. Sucking hard to ground herself from the explosive pleasure burning in her core.

Muscles straining, Egg did his best to fuck her into the wall. "Let go, big sister."

Mouth detaching with a pop - leaving a dark red mark on his skin - Visenya's head fell back. "No." Rhaenys often just gave in, letting Egg dominate her completely as they coupled. Hips bucking into his thrusts, Visenya was made of sterner stuff. Her husband had to work for it… even if his words of their relation made her quake with desire.

He had the stubbornness of a dragon to match hers. "Let go," he growled.

"No." She suddenly bit her lip, holding back a warbling scream.

Burst of energy overwhelming him, Aegon took her madly. "Let. Go." Words rasped in her ear, they had the desired effect.

Head falling back, Visenya's grip slackened. Melding bonelessly into her strong husband as she finally let him take her. Take her completely and utterly. "Kessa, kessa…" she kept moaning. "Take your Queen, little brother… make her scream." Only him… only ever him…

"Vis…"

Lips crashed together just as they erupted their shared climax.

Trembling, Visenya held her husband as she smiled languidly. "Are you sure you're not a man of ten and eight again?" she asked, his cock still wedged deliciously inside her.

Aegon chuckled. "I'm sure I'll feel the added years while riding, or sparring." He wasn't the youth he used to be, able to ride Balerion for days on end. No longer. "We should probably dress for the day."

"I thought we already were," Vis smirked, only to wince as Egg pulled out and let her slide to the ground, legs wobbling slightly as she stood her full height. Visenya immediately felt the sharp chill. Reminded again they weren't in King's Landing where the humidity almost required being bare in their chambers, she rushed for the smallclothes and thick woolen dress. "Fuck, how can anyone live in this cold?"

"I can't speak as to that, but it explains how rugged Lord Torrhen is. Only the tough could live here."

"I suppose that's true." Visenya slowly donned the dress, perfectly willing to forgo a handmaiden in order to spend this time with her husband. "At least I had you for warmth," she smiled, voice soft.

He smiled in return - only alone with him could she be soft and Aegon felt honored. "That was wonderful. We should couple standing up more often."

"It was one of the better couplings," Visenya grinned. "Much like our first time… or when we conceived Maegor." The grin widened. "I still can't believe you convinced me to fuck on Vhagar's back."

Aegon huffed. "Good as it was, only now does Vhagar not glare at me for that." No one would imagine these moments as being between the brooding King and ruthless Queen, but it was what it was.

Not much time later, there was no sign of their amorous activities left among the King and Queen - Visenya's dress was a snow white with a red sash and belt that held Dark Sister's scabbard, while Aegon held a black cloak thrown over his thick doublet and wool trousers, Blackfyre nestled underneath. Surrounded by Stark guards and bearing their own swords there needn't not worry about attack, but Ser Robin Darklyn trailed behind just for precaution. "You seem used to the cold, Ser Robin."

"One doesn't ever get used to the cold… just acclimated to it, your Grace," Darkrobin replied with a tiny smile. "Unless you're the Prince."

"He's thrived, I can see," said the proud father.

"Aye. And you need not worry about the Princess. Lord Brandon puts most knights to shame with chivalry." Aegon shared a glance with Visenya - on paper the two were perfect, but that didn't necessarily extend to a decent marriage. Only time would tell.

The private dining hall was quite empty as they entered. Servants and guards bending the knee to their monarchs, only four figures rose from the table. "Your Grace," Lord Torrhen Stark stated, bowing his head, joined by Lady Jocelyn and Brandon Snow.

Maegor, on the other hand, approached his parents. "Kepa." A quick hug. "Muna," a longer hug, with twin kisses on the cheek. Normally he dressed as a northerner, but with his parents and sister arrived he wore reds and blacks again. "We saved a plate for you."

"Thank you, sweetling." Visenya chuckled at his muted groan, taking her seat. "Where is Rhae? And the heir?" They were conspicuously absent.

"Touring the wolfswood," Maegor shrugged. "And meeting the dragons, I believe."

"A good start, no?" Torrhen stated, hopeful.

"Aye, a good start." The whiff of hot, fresh bread and barley porridge made Visenya's mouth water. She and Egg had… exhausted themselves. Without waiting for Egg to sit beside her, she smeared cheese on the roll and began to devour it.

"So, your Grace," began Lady Jocelyn. "How were your sleep accommodations?"

"Quite well, my Lady," Aegon replied, spooning up the porridge. "The mattress is quite comfortable."

Jocelyn nodded. "I can imagine. So was mine." Visenya looked up as she dipped a roll in her porridge to see the Lady of Winterfell smile at her husband, eyes twinkling. Perceptive. Maegor looked to rub the back of his neck, wishing he were anywhere else. "The last of the Lords shall arrive tomorrow for the wedding, your Grace. It is quite well anticipated in the North."

"I concur," Lord Snow added, himself only availing to greens and lean lamb slices. "In fact, most were surprised that the crown was actually keeping their promises."

A silence fell. "Brother…" Torrhen chided, wincing. "Forgive me, your Grace…"

Aegon didn't listen for his apologies. "Son, is this true?"

On the spot, Maegor cleared his throat. "I haven't heard anything personally, but Bran did. From Lord Bolton."

None were unaware of Lord Rogar Bolton - only one and twenty, he was already a legend from battling Dornish raiding parties in the Marches. "And what has Lord Bolton said?"

"That, quote 'northern barbarians' were likely low on the list of persons to placate with a royal betrothal… regardless of how far the direwolf… um… burrowed up father's asshole." Normally unabashed, being around his mighty parents made Maegor a bit… sheepish. Before Brandon Snow, they were the only ones who could ever discipline him.

Blinking, Aegon suddenly laughed. "I like you northmen. Never hold anything back - with those southern cunts, every word is a mask for another. Mummers all."

Brandon snorted in agreement. "I don't know how Torry stands them."

"Not easy, I'll tell you," Torrhen remarked, chewing on a slab of bacon. "Between us, Lord Bolton is right. No one wanted this betrothal going through. Lord Stokeworth wanted Jonos Arryn to placate the Faith, while Aethan Velaryon pushed himself."

"That arrogant cunt would do that," Maegor said, rolling his eyes. "Anyone else?"

Visenya nodded. "Aye, Gawen, your brother, and that septon your brother keeps around greatly lobbied for Rhae to marry the Hightower heir to placate the Faith as well. Over my dead body was my daughter getting shipped to the Starry Sept."

Brow raising, Brandon clapped once. "If you weren't already married to his Grace, I'd ask for your hand, my Queen."

"But she is married to me, Lord Brandon. And I am very much alive." Aegon slowly chewed on a chunk of bread, eyes narrowing.

The bastard of Winterfell didn't back down. "I do fear that I've insulted you. No worries, we can take it out on the sparring court - I've always wished to spar with the mighty Conqueror." He ultimately looked quite eager.

"Careful, Snow," Maegor piped up. "You may get your wish." Even when he was cocky and eager to fight, Maegor never challenged his father. That was asking to get beaten to hell. Only Muna ever challenged him.

"He'll get his challenge before we leave, son," Aegon said calmly, continuing to break his fast. "As for Lord Bolton, Torrhen, I'd advise trying to bind him to you. Perhaps a marriage alliance."

"The days a Bolton would marry a Stark are the days the Wall melts and snow falls in Dorne," Torrhen spat, the animosity between the two houses running deep to this day.

Visenya cooly sipped on her snow chilled water. "Never say never, Torrhen. They said the Sunset Kingdoms would never unite, but here we all are." Such was an item to ponder.

Times were definitely changing.

Campfire crackling and popping as each dripping of melted fat fell from the carcass, Brandon reached forward with his knife. Slicing through the sizzling meat formerly of the white-tailed deer's haunches for a proper portion. "I'm not surprised that you enjoy your meat cooked thoroughly, Princess," he told his companion. "Your brother enjoys it the same way, much as we enjoy teasing him for it."

Letting the large serving of flesh fall atop a tin bowl that served as both a plate, pot, and cup, Rhaenys inhaled the aroma of fresh-roasted venison. "Dragonblood, Lord Stark. Our mounts enjoy their flesh far more cooked than this."

Taught the manners of always serving a lady first, only now did Brandon cut a slab of his own - focusing on the portion furthest away from the fire, and correspondingly cooked only to a warm pink. "Such makes the meat dry… juiceless. Sounds mad in my opinion."

"If I wished for wet food, I'd sup on stew," she replied. Resting in bundles were the rest of the edible parts of the deer as well as the hide, all ready for the cooks in Winterfell to prepare the evening meal for the Starks and Targaryens. Of the portions unfit for human consumption, Blizzard gnawed on it with his powerful jaws. Rhaenys giggled as he licked his maw clean of blood, currently working on the head. In the middle was a puncture where Brandon's arrow punched through. "You are a good shot, Lord Stark."

"Call me Bran, Princess, and yes. One learns to be a good hunter when living in the North."

"Indeed." They ate in silence, simply enjoying the serene atmosphere of the Wolfswood. Rhaenys had been in the Kingswood with her parents and many a knight or Lordling trying to woo her. While the most prevalent memory had been how irritating and disgusting many of them were - interested in only the power they could receive for being the goodson of the King… or a wandering eye quite lecherous cast in her direction marred by rotting teeth or bad manners - she remembered how the Kingswood seemed unlike a proper wilderness. As if it was cultivated… close to humanity. Such wasn't the case here, wild, untamed. Rhaenys loved it.

And it was quickly apparent that Brandon Stark was a man unlike those failed suitors. "How soon could you bear me an heir?"

Rhaenys blinked. "Excuse me?"

Brandon shrugged. "I'm my father's only child, and he's not the type to father bastards - nor am I." He seemed insistent on that point. "With my uncle childless, I made a vow to have plenty of spares so the Stark name would be guaranteed to live on."

Her eyes narrowed. "You are quite insolent… Bran." Gruff and blunt, many of Rhaenys' friends and close circle would have slapped him by now… or found him too boorish to swoon after.

"Why? A marriage is to produce heirs, which I will need. Your mother bore two and her mother bore three, so House Targaryen is fertile - all that's left is your desire to have children, for I'm not tying you down lest you wish to sip moon tea."

"Most of those trying to woo me would prefer sweet nothings or romantic gestures to try and charm me."

"I am no fuckin' eunuch, Princess… nor do I think you wish one for a husband." He scoffed. "From what your brother has told me of those toads, they fuckin' cloak their inner slugs in such fine words and perfumed beards. What you see is what you get with me."

She pursed her lips. "You are a foul-mouthed savage, Brandon Stark." He was nonplussed - Rhaenys figured he had endured much worse insults. A chuckle left her mouth. "I'm sure many said such of my parents, so it isn't quite as much an insult from my lips."

He smiled. "I'm sure anything from your lips wouldn't bother a young lad."

"Oh?" Rhaenys raised a brow. "And you said you didn't like fine words."

"Happens to be the truth, Princess. I can't deny that."

Watching him, Rhaenys couldn't help the little flutter in her heart. Both of them slowly leaning forward… until a loud roar filled the air. She laughed awkwardly. "That's Arrax."

"Is he hunting?" Gods, Brandon hoped not. In the thick underbrush of the woods, animals could blend in easily, making it hard to distinguish them. If that beast thought them some sort of game…

Rhaenys giggled at his trepidation. "And here I thought you were braver than the craven Andal knights," she teased, rather enjoying his ashen look. "Don't be scared, Bran. Arrax is just looking for me."

Bran frowned. "How can you tell?"

"Through our bond." Smiling, she closed her eyes. Land in the clearing, sweetling. "It's the same as you with Blizzard… and believe me, direwolves are just as fierce as dragons can be." Clicking her tongue, Rhaenys watched as the purplish dragon batted his wings, descending into the clearing where Balerion or Vhagar would have struggled to enter without bashing the trees. Sleek and still rather small for a rideable dragon, when he landed it was with a plop rather than a thud. "Hello, my sweet one," she cooed in High Valyrian, walking up without a care in the world and stroking his snout. "Enjoying the cold?" Arrax snorted. "Kessa, me too."

Rooted in his spot, Brandon ruffled Blizzard's fur to calm himself. "What have I gotten myself into, boy?" The direwolf looked up at him with a silly tilt of the head. "No help at all."

Gently rubbing the scales up to his eye, Rhaenys heard Arrax grunt, hot air puffing out his nostrils. " That's my betrothed, kessa." Another snort, a rumbling growl emerging from his throat. "Want to meet him… size him up?" A bob of the head. "Lord Brandon, come here. My sweet son wants to meet you."

Gulping, Bran didn't move. "You sure he's not gonna burn me?"

"Pretty sure."

"Only pretty sure? What if you're wrong?"

Rhaenys looked at him with an innocent smile accentuated by the silver of her hair and cloak - impish charm sparkling in her Valyrian eyes. "Then it was nice knowing you, Brandon Stark."

Tongue lolling out, it was almost as if Blizzard was laughing at him. "Shut it, furball." Sucking in a breath of the cold air, burn on his lungs steeling his resolve, Brandon slowly loped forward - feeling his boots crunch over the few inches of snowfall. "Dragon… Arrax… I mean you nor your rider any harm." That earned a hiss, razor-sharp teeth baring. He flinched.

"Not a good start, future husband," Rhaenys teased.

"Should I cut my losses?"

"If you can't charm this dragon, how do you expect to charm the dragon you're betrothed to?"

He gritted his teeth. I've fought Thenns beyond the fuckin' wall. Even the tallest Thenn couldn't roast him alive on a whim. Bran then looked at Rhaenys' expectant eyes and realized he did wish to impress her. That having this woman as his bride was… something he did wish for. There was an air about her that was simply… irresistible. Made his inner wolf howl. Breathing sharply once more, he forged ahead. Watching the dragon's amber eyes look at him expressionlessly. Bran hoping that Arrax thought him more than a meal.

Want me to roast him? Would be easy - you could say beasts killed him.

Rhaenys chuckled. "No, Arrax. I believe I am growing fond of this wolf."

"Something wrong?"

She looked back at him. "He's getting impatient. Just touch his snout." Good luck, Brandon Stark. If he was roasted, then that would be quite the scandal.

Hand held out, Bran slowly inched forward until the gloved palm finally touched something hard and warm - very very warm. Arrax's maw was about the size of his head and torso, unable to swallow him whole as Balerion could, but the razor sharp teeth and persistent heat that radiated from his nostrils and mouth did create a sense of apprehension as he rubbed along the scales…

With a loud snort, Arrax surged forward and licked his face, covering Brandon in copious amounts of dragon slobber. He enjoyed the laughter that tumbled from his muna's lips. This one isn't like the others. Has a strong heart.

"I'll take your word on it, sweetling."

Wiping the slime from his face - knowing he'd likely have to burn the gloves - Brandon watched as Arrax reared his head. The dragon blinked, jaw lowered slightly and looking at the Targaryen maiden. "I have no clue what to make of this, your Grace."

Stifling another laugh, Rhaenys' cheeks were rosy with mirth, which seemed to mollify Brandon. Seeing him there, he looked even more handsome than before. "Do we have your approval, then?" She asked her son, who bobbed his head, hooting. "It means that this isn't the last I shall know of you, Brandon Stark."

Blinking, once the words registered a tiny grin curled on his face. "Is that so? Well… I'm glad. I feel that the best facets of you, my Princess, are still waiting to be unearthed." He didn't mean it sensually, but from how she blushed, Brandon realized it could be taken as such. His grin widened. "Much, to unearth."

"A bold man, you are." Giving her dragon a knowing look, she walked to him and looped her arms round his neck. "Perhaps such is only proper for a dragon."

"Perhaps so." Staring down at her, Bran leaned forward… only to discover his betrothed closing what remained of their gap.

Lord Commander Corlys Velaryon pinched the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps we should wait for his Grace to return before we judge this matter."

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Lord Corlen Blackwood, Master of Coin, rolled his eyes. "Seeking to stack the deck in favor of a full calling the banners so that your family can receive glory."

"Watch yourself, my Lord," growled Aethan Velaryon, the Master of Ships.

From the head of the table, a gentle, charming voice rang out. "Gathered Lords, let's not squabble." He waved his arms up and down, gesturing for calm. "My father and mother would only rejoice if this matter is solved before they return."

Lightly drumming his fingers atop the arms of the plush chair, Hugor Flowers surmised that now was the time he put the proper pieces into action. In spite of the arrogant glares directed his way, that is - highborns deriding his title lower than that of the High Septon whose seat he occupied… or perhaps it was his bastardy. Fools… to throw away those who may be the proudest followers of our cause. Hugor was devout, but shortsighted he was not.

He endured the arrogance and the seemingly brazen behavior for one reason and one reason only. The chair reserved for his Grace, Aegon I Targaryen, was not occupied by the King but rather by the Crown Prince - Aenys Targaryen. While the ever cunning and clever Alyssa Velaryon sat beside him, belly starting to show the swell of pregnancy, Hugor worried not. She was no Queen Visenya, and he had on good authority to know that she was a devoted visitor of the Sept of Remembrance.

Interjecting in the middle of the spat between the Velaryons and Lord Blackwood, Master of War Osmund Strong, restated the problem. "Your Grace, the whispers from Tyrosh and Lys indicate Sargoso Saan has fortified the Stepstones in such a manner that only a putative campaign would root him out. Calling the banners is the only solution."

"Not necessarily, my King." Grand Maester Gawen had no personal experience with combat, but was a student of history. "You need not call the banners if the Crown directly supports a force to assault the Stepstones. Such was how the Arrogant King achieved his assault and raid on Volantis."

"House Velaryon and the royal fleet would be behind you," Lord Aethan stated.

"We would need years to raise the proper forces for a campaign in the entire Stepstones… who would protect the Realm from Saan's attacks?"

If he was to move, he would have to do it now.

"Allow me to interject, Ser Strong," he spoke up, finally piercing the silence that kept him out of these discussions so far. "I believe I have a solution that will solve multiple problems vexing us."

Aenys seemed to perk up. "Do continue, Archsepton. I would like to hear your proposal."

"It is simple, really." Smiling with his hands folded one on top of the other, he looked quite nonthreatening and trustworthy. "Until the Crown can prepare a proper naval expedition that requires not the calling of the banners, I would be happy to deploy the Faith Militant to patrol the Stormlands and Vale - deter all potential attack from these pirates."

The councilors wore a wide range of expressions, from hostile to guardingly accepting… The Crown Prince on the other hand… "Splendid, splendid idea, Archsepton. Those of the Faith joining hands with house Targaryen to defend the people of Westeros."

"I very much agree with the symbolism, your Grace."

"Does the Starry Sept intend to finance these levies from their own coffers?" asked Colten Blackwood, scowling - given they were the last Riverlords to follow the Old Gods, their relations with the Faith were frosty to say the least.

Hugor sent a serene smile but glaring eyes right back. "We are holy men, Lord Blackwood. There is no profit for us, only the safety of the children of the Seven who are One." It was obvious that the Lord of Raventree Hall didn't believe him, but kept it to himself.

It was Princess Alyssa that challenged Hugor next. "Do you have the authority to consent to such deployment in the absence of the High Septon." Many eyes focused on him, the question on the minds of the majority of the Small Council finally breached by someone with the authority to do so. "Would he support such a move?"

"I am the High Septon's closest confidant and his chosen representative on this council in his absence." The fact he could pressure the passive idiot into anything was left unsaid.

"Does the Stars and Swords have the manpower to conduct such patrols?"

Sighing, Hugor shrugged. "Forgive me, Princess. We would devote ourself to the task without rest, but it is true that our numbers aren't as high as one would need."

Aenys' brows furrowed. The solution was too perfect a save for the Crown's finances to not rely on. "Would any increase in manpower be financed by the Starry Sept?"

"Of course, your Grace."

"Then you have my leave to increase their numbers as much as you see fit."

Hugor's eyes sparkled. "Thank you, my King." He bowed.

Osmund Strong blinked. "Your Grace… the conscription of… ably bodied men may hurt the harvest as badly as calling the banners would."

"Do not worry, your Grace," Hugor answered. "It is an idea that I was toying with for years. On the fringes of our society rest many forgotten persons clogging our cities and orphanages - bastards and orphans rejected by most. Recruiting them to serve their Faith and their King would serve a charitable purpose while also protecting the Realm from danger."

Aenys clapped his hands. "Perfect, it is settled then!" Gods, it felt good to take another problem from his parents' shoulders.

"Muna must be kicking herself," the King heard his son quip as they waited outside the chamber door. "She always hated such feminine pursuits."

Aegon chuckled, patting Maegor on the back. "Your muna…" he thought of an explanation that didn't involve their dead sister-wife - even decades later, the thought of their Rhaenys still caused his heart to ache. And Visenya's, not that she would even admit to him. "There's a thing about women, my son. No matter what personality they are, they always will fuss and fawn over their children at their weddings. Did it with your brother, and now is involved with your sister."

Maegor rolled his eyes. "Good to know."

"You'll come to grips with it when you marry."

Hitting him like a ton of bricks, Maegor rubbed the back of his head. "The council has been discussing it, haven't they? My future marriage?"

Hearing his son suck in a steeling breath, Aegon nodded. "Aye." It did not pleasure him to do so, surprise Maegor with such matters, but as a Prince of the Realm it was a must. Aenys did it, Rhaenys is doing it now, and it seemed to work out well for them. "In spite of your battles and hardships, you've been sheltered in the North, my son. The Seven Kingdoms are still quite fragile in spite of what your brother thinks."

"He always saw the best in people." Both a compliment and a curse, depending on the situation. "And so I'm a tool in order to keep the peace."

"We're Kings and royals, Maegor. With our power, so to comes duty - if we can avoid using dragonfire to keep the peace, the better."

Maegor looked up at him. "Dragons forged our throne."

A hard gaze followed from Aegon. "The dragons didn't protect your aunt, and they failed to subdue Dorne. If you resort to the worst of violence every time, the peace it brings only lasts as long as the fear does. If you have love and respect as well as fear, your rule is unquestioned."

"I know, kepa." Maegor sighed. "I only hope that I have what you and muna do. What Aenys and his wife have." Much as I dislike her, she brings joy to my brother.

Aegon hugged his son. "Gods be good, you will. I intend not to betroth you to someone completely incompatible." A wince left Maegor's lips before he could stop himself - thinking about Ralla, and how he had already found at least affection. Aegon picked up on it and pulled back. "You've found a lover here?"

Biting his lip, Maegor nodded. Proud as he was, no one could withstand a questioning of the Conqueror himself.

"A highborn of the North?" A brow rose when his son shook his head. "Bastards?"

"No, of course not."

"Good." Just as he opened his mouth to continue, the door opened to reveal a beaming Visenya. 'We'll speak of this later,' Aegon mouthed. "Is she ready?"

"So ready," the Queen replied, an uncharacteristic, gleeful giggle leaving her lips. It was slightly off putting to both father and son, more used to their wife and mother respectively cursing and cuffing them upside the forehead. "Come out, Rhae-Rhae."

Eyes widened as the Princess emerged from her quarters. Owing to her lack of extensive skills, Visenya has gone for the simple touch and it worked out quite superbly for the future Lady of Winterfell. Rhaenys's hair fell in a simple braid down her back, just the tiniest hint of rouge applied to her cheeks to accentuate the deep violet of her eyes. A cream-colored woolen dress was covered by a warm white cloak, red sash around the waist and dragon lapel serving as the connections to her house. Round her neck was a necklace of sparkling rubies set in Valyrian steel.

"Does it meet your standards, husband?" Vis asked with a grin.

Tears welled in Egg's eyes as he hugged Rhaenys to his chest. "You're beautiful, daughter. The vision of your mother at our wedding."

"Really, kepa?"

"I would never lie."

Visenya turned to her son. "Maegor, do you have something to inform your sister of?"

He rolled his eyes, grunting. "Bran is likely to keel over at the sight of you."

"Oh brother, that's your way of saying I'm beautiful." A quick hug between siblings - not completely one-sided - was ended as Maegor escorted his mother to the godswood… leaving Aegon and Rhaenys alone. "Is it alright to be nervous, kepa?"

The King smiled awkwardly. "Between the two of us, I voided my stomach twice before wedding your munas." His mortification served to ease her tension. "I'm certain that the young Stark lad cares for you."

"Arrax accepted him."

"Then there's nothing more to be said." Extending the loop of his arm, Rhaenys took it.

The wedding itself was performed without a hitch. In the soft glow of the many lanterns, light danced along the blood-red leaves of the weirwood tree as Aegon led his daughter towards the head. Lord Torrhen waited there at the foot of the heart tree, the young heir right beside him in a thick brown cloak. Bran's breath hitched at the sight of his bride, and she at the sight of him. Pure blood of the first men meeting the blood of Old Valyria, the most opposite of beings. From how warmth spread as they took each others hands, perhaps such was the most glorious of unions. Ice and Fire.

Torrhen looked up at the sky, seeing the Northern lights dancing in the dark, clear, moonless night. He beamed, meeting the eyes of his wife and the royal couple. For the lights to appear at a wedding was the most auspicious of signs to begin. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

"I, Rhaenys of House Targaryen, a woman grown and true of birth. I come to be wed in the presence of the gods." She didn't miss a word.

"And who comes to give her?"

"I, Aegon of House Targaryen," the young bear said proudly, removing his hand from the crook of her arm. "King of Westeros and father of the bride." He gingerly kissed Rhaenys on the temple and left her to the dominion of House Stark, taking his place by Visenya's side.

"And who comes to wed her in the sight of the Gods?"

Gulping, Brandon felt Rhaenys squeeze his hand. "I, Brandon of House Stark, heir to Winterfell."

"Rhaenys of House Targaryen, do you take this man?"

Looking at her husband, she smiled hesitantly. "I take this man."

"Brandon of House Stark, do you take this woman?" He reminded Torrhen of his cousin Lyanara Mormont's husband, afraid his bride would skin him alive if he said one wrong thing. We Starks are strong, but dragons are stronger.

But Brandon kept his fortitude to the pride of his father. "I take this woman," he breathed softly, never taking his eyes away from her. Stepping forward, Jocelyn Stark brought a strip of silk emblazoned with grey direwolves, tying it around their wrists. "In the sight of Gods and men, I hereby bind these two souls together for eternity."

Cupping Rhae's cheek, Brandon leaned forward and pressed their lips together, sealing the union. At the edge of the godswood, Blizzard and Sȳndor howled at the moon. In the distance, Balerion, Vhagar, and Arrax roared into the night. A more fitting serenade existed not.

The celebration soon shifted from the quiet serenity of the godswood to the smoky, loud great hall. Ale and wine flowed, servants carrying platters of chicken pies, whole-roasted boar and auroch ribs, steaming grain and potato stews, crusty bread, fresh berries, and sweet pastries. Available even to the smallfolk, Torrhen spared no expense to herald the future Lady of Winterfell. From the lowliest servant to the King and Queen of Westeros, all joined in the feasting, dancing, and merriment. Even dour Maegor, dragging Ralla to the dance floor with ale on his lips.

While Visenya enjoyed seeing her son so happy - though nothing could compare to her daughter, who was having the time of her life - she looked to her side and the smile fell to a frown. "Brooding, at our daughter's wedding?"

Aegon chewed at a leg of chicken, juices dripping onto the plate of bread. "Apparently Maegor's lover is a wildling."

"He told you he has a lover?"

"Yes."

Slightly surprised, Visenya shrugged. "So what? He's a handsome young man."

"This could complicate matters for the woman he ultimately marries."

"You're still on about this? I say we let him into one of Aenys' parties and let the cyvasse pieces play out as they may." Maegor would find someone proper out of the many maidens that would swoon over him.

The King frowned. "That's the type of woman that he'd find. It would not help our position."

Snorting, Visenya turned back to her slab of boar. None of this mattered with Egg, Rhae, and I. We were meant for each other.

That got her thinking… perhaps the best bride for a Targaryen was another Targaryen?

"Just down this hall, my Lady," giggled a rather drunk Brandon Snow… for the first time since Rhaenys had arrived not the dour taskmaster that Maegor described. Five tankards of ale could do that to a person. "The Lady of Winterfell!"

"Lady of Winterfell!" the various Lords and lordlings that hoisted her on their shoulders and carried her from the great hall cheered out. All were in various states of inebriation and having a merry time manhandling the silver-haired princess and tugging at the straps of her dress.

But none went farther as many bedding ceremonies were wont to do. "Easy… she's still the Princess." Darkrobin followed with his hand on the hilt of his blade. Tasked by the King to protect his daughter's virtue to the marriage bed that night, he kept his eyes peeled. "Still that hand on the Princess, Lord Umber."

"Princess!" Lord Hagon Umber chortled, one meaty arm holding up Rhaenys while the other brought a mug of ale to his lips. The froth covered his beard, making him look like an ice giant. "The rider of dragons, soon ridden by a wolf!" Many cheered at his bawdy claims, while Rhaenys blushed with mortification.

That a similar feminine whoop echoed out well behind them mollified Rhaenys somewhat. Her betrothed was getting it just as good from the gathered ladies of the North, and if the Ladies Mormont - his cousins - were any indication… Enjoy this, dear wolf of mine. Her grin was the same grin of her mother when her father the King was frustrated at something.

"Ere we are." Swaying, Brandon Snow managed on two tries to get the door to the marital chambers opened. "Our fun ends and hers begins." A hiccup punctuated the jape. Enduring jeers and smacks on the ass from the reveling guests, before she knew it Rhaenys was deposited on the flood with the door slammed shut behind her.

Left momentarily alone in the chambers that would be hers.

Taking advantage, she looked about the chambers, studying it with a keen gaze. It was slightly smaller than her chambers in the Aegonfort - two of them could fit into the massive rooms in Aenys' manse. Walls thick, a roaring hearth was joined by a brazier to heat it nicely. Rhaenys enjoyed the warmth as she shucked off her cloak. The bed was quite large… putting a tiny smile on her face. What to do with that…

A looking glass perched on an ironwood devan in the corner. Rhaenys leaned down to get a good look at the damage. Her hair was frazzled and dress rumpled, but the braids still held and big a part was ripped or untied. Darkrobin did his job.

The Princess suddenly turned as a chorus of feminine giggles filled the quiet bedchamber. With a plop, an equally rumpled Brandon Stark was dropped in… this time on his ass. "Ride him hard, goodcousin!" Larra Reed hooted before the door shut completely.

And just like that, they were alone.

Brandon rubbed the back of his neck, eyes taking her in. "Wife."

Rhaenys bit her lip. "Husband." Still a stranger, but her husband nonetheless. And that meant… "Shall we…" She began to move to the bed.

"Wait." His words stilled her. "Let's share a toast first - of our own accord, without the drunkards."

That made her giggle. "Northmen do enjoy their spirits." It was then that Rhaenys noticed a glass flagon of wine that Bran poured two goblets from. A tart Tarth white… my favorite. "Are your countrymen all like this?"

"Given the prevalence of blizzards and ice, I'm surprised we're not always deep in our cups." He smiled at his jape, but he seemed too eager to ease the tension. Brandon was nervous too. Nevertheless, he handed her a goblet. "To our marriage."

She raised it along with him. "To our marriage." The wine was smooth down her gullet, warming Rhaenys quite pleasantly. It was welcome, given the tension still existed. She sighed. "Forgiveness, Brandon." Rhaenys pulled at her braids, freeing the hair to spill across her shoulders and upper back. "I wish for this to go well, but we barely know each other."

His mouth dried at seeing the silver-locks framing her face like some kind of snow angel - it made it hard for Brandon to talk, so he sipped his wine. As a northman he preferred ale, but it was enough to wet his tongue. "It is my understanding that few marriages are of that nature… and didn't you tell me that those knights you've known for longer weren't marriageable prospects?"

Rhaenys shuddered. "Oh no. I only met you days before and you are still a better choice than they." An awkward laugh filled the room, both of them finishing their wine. "We have a lifetime to get to know each other, no?"

He shrugged. "Aye, a lifetime. One that can explode into passion as your parents or mine, one that settles into comfort and ease as that of far more, or one that enters resentment either quiet or loud as those who are selected based on the consideration of their houses rather than their hearts." Brandon was rambling, heart pounding beneath his chest. This gorgeous creature was actually his wife, and even as the heir to the largest Kingdom in the Realm couldn't calm the worries that filled him. "I suppose what happens tonight will give a leg up to one of those eventualities, considering that you are likely a maiden and therefore…" What? You say that? What the fuck is wrong with you… ah, fuck it.

Merely listening at that point, Rhaenys let her goblet fall upon the floor as Brandon suddenly pulled her to him - crashing their lips together. She gasped at the sudden contact, her husband's taking advantage and plunged his tongue in. Her eyes were wide and body stiff, but it didn't last long. Warm and gentle if insistent, slowly Rhaenys felt her muscles relax, her lids fluttering shut. Arms looped around his waist while her tongue started to dance with his.

It wasn't quite a dream, but close to it.

But Brandon wasn't done. Hands frantic as his need strained his breeches, the heir to Winterfell pushed her to the bed. His touch tugging at the ties and straps of her dress, the skin brushed against her nipples underneath… sending a shock through her system. Rhaenys' eyes dilated, purples darkening to near black as the lust afflicting him claimed her as well. As they tumbled on the bed, her fingers pulled at his clothes just as frantically - neither one of them once breaking their hungry kiss.

Before too long - though it seemed an eternity to the young couple - both were bare to each other. "You're beautiful." Brandon stared into her eyes, the words simply coming out. "So beautiful."

Breathing hard, Rhaenys stretched her body out, grinding their cores together - moaning as her wetness rubbed against his hardness. "You are handsome, as well." Meeting his greys, no dashing, perfumed lordling or tourney knight could compare to her rugged wolf.

Is this love? Perhaps not, but the first stirrings of it.

Brandon searched her eyes for any hesitation. He found none. "Are you ready?"

She closed her eyes before nodding. "I'm ready. No going back from this."

"I know…" He positioned at her entrance.

"I can't wait." Their lips met just as he pushed inside, consummating the pact of ice and fire.