Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Daena sighed in boredom as she played with an arrow, balancing it on the tip of her finger as the bright light of the warm summer morning gleamed into her chambers through the open shutters, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the city and everything more interesting than staying inside the forsaken castle. It was the perfect day to go for a ride in the countryside with her friends, or go on a thrilling hunt through the depths of the Kingswood with her trusted bow in hand....but her "husband" would not let her do so, no, he wouldn't let her do anything of the sort, having confined her to her chambers from dawn till dusk every day to ensure he would never have to deal with the risk of succumbing to his entirely natural lusts and break his precious vows as a septon. Damn his vows. He is supposed to be my husband, and he does nothing with me. He doesn't even try to sire an heir. No, he didn't even enter our chambers on our wedding night for the bedding, he went to that forsaken sept so he could pray to the Maiden that I never get bedded. It'll keep me "pure" he says, and guarantee me a place in the the heavens when I die...

...but I don't care about the heavens, I couldn't care less about them if I tried to. I want to live. I want to...I want to travel the Seven Kingdoms and see all these lands have to offer, I want to see the shadow of Casterly Rock, look down upon the world from the top of the Eyrie and see the Wall in all its glory with my own eyes...I want to be wanted by a man, I want to feel his embrace at night and the warmth of his seed inside me after we make love together...I...I want to have children of my own, some day. I want to have a life, not just...waste away in this damn chamber...

She sighed, brushing away a tear rolling down her cheek and downing half a cup of wine in one go. Baelor cared nothing for how she felt, for the life she dreamed of living, for the journeys she wished to take and the children she hoped to give life to, no, all he cared about was his damnable Faith, loving it more than he could ever love her, his own sister-wife. 

"You are a Targaryen, Daena," her father had once said with pride all those years ago, when her brave brother Daeron still lived, a time when it looked as though she would become her elder brother's bride and have the chance to live the life she had always wanted to have. "As stronghearted and as brave as any could ever dream of being."

Father...brother, I wish you were both still alive...neither of you would ever have let him do this to me. Seven hells, I shouldn't even be letting him do this to me.

She rose from her seat and took her quiver of arrows - a gift from Daeron for her thirteenth nameday, made from the highest quality leather and carefully embroidered with beautiful golden dragons - before striding over to the balcony of her apartment. It was the one and only thing she was grateful to have been given by her husband, since it gave her a perfect view of the courtyard, from the gatehouse all the way to the entrance to the great hall. She sat upon the stone edge, looking down and watching the guardsmen carrying out their daily drills with envious eyes. I wish I could be down there, shooting at the targets...but that pious cunt says he wouldn't want anyone tempted by the sight of me. She watched as a knight in all white armour stepped out of the sept, his white cloak fluttering behind him in the warm breeze...then she saw him, her captor, the man she hated the most in the world, her brother-husband.

Her lithe fingers slid into her quiver and drew out a single arrow, eying the distance and knowing she could make the shot, making a small smile spread across her face as she thought. I would only need to put a single arrow through that bastard's blackheart and my cousin would be king. He'd pardon me for certain, he might even thank me for it in private... She nocked the arrow and narrowed her eyes as she worked out the range, ready to draw and ready to put an end to Baelor. "...whatever you do, my sweet little dragon, look after your brothers and sisters..."

The words of the father she loved echoed through her mind as her fingers twitched - one shot, she would only ever need to take one shot at him and it would be done, not even Aemon the Dragonknight could save him then, but she had sworn a promise...she sighed, taking the arrow and returning it to her quiver and dropping her bow ontop of her table. Damn you, Baelor. If you weren't my brother I would riddle you with so many arrows they would think you were a tree and not a man. She slumped back into her chair, contemplating for a brief moment of throwing herself off the balcony so as to not have to deal with such horrid boredom any longer, or perhaps drowning herself in wine so that she could learn whether or not Baelor could even feel guilty for the things he had done to her. If the Father is as just as he says he is, Baelor will be in the deepest, darkest pit in the worst part of the seven hells.

She sighed again, taking another drink of wine, a rich and sweet red from the vineyards of Old Oak in the Reach. Dornish reds are too sour to be worth drinking, and Arbor golds aren't sweet enough for my tastes. But this...this is just right for -

There was the clatter of horseshoes as the gates of the Red Keep clanked into life and opened. She rose from her seat again and walked onto the balcony, peering down into the courtyard again and watching a procession of fifty or more men, all of them mounted upon good, strong steeds, barded in white and grey with direwolf banners flying above. Starks...? What are they doing here? She watched as the leader of the group, an old man who could only be the Lord Paramount of the North himself, Cregan Stark, perhaps one of the most influential men of their generation and as skilled in the melee as he was in the high halls of Winterfell and King's Landing. Besides him was another man, younger and bulkier, perhaps a year or two older than her at most, not that she would be allowed to meet them, lest he somehow deflower her from across the room as her brother Baelor seemed to believe was possible.

There was a knock on her door, light and quick. She smiled, she knew who it was even before they entered. "Elaena, you can come in."

Her sweet little sister stepped into the room, eleven namedays old and nearly a woman grown, she was looking more beautiful every year and boys were starting to pay attention to her, but she was still small and fragile when compared to Daena, who stood over a foot taller than her, whilst Rhaena was perhaps an inch or two even taller than Daena was, with a larger bosom and a larger rump, too, though her hips weren't much wider. Elaena wore her silver-golden hair in a long braid, but Daena knew she was thinking of cutting it off to try and shame Baelor, just as Daena herself had stopped wearing all of her black clothing and replaced it with white...though, she had a feeling Baelor liked her more that way. If he does, I'll just start walking around naked and we'll see just how he reacts then.

"Daena," her little sister said with a sweet smile, "It'll be time for court in an hour or two."

"Will it?" And here I am, getting drunk in my chambers...oh, the perks of being a princess locked in a tower. "Have the Starks come to bugger our good king with a wierwood branch?" 

Elaena laughed. "No..." she smiled at Daena widely. "They're here for you."

Daena set her cup down on the table and stared at Elaena in disbelief, knowing she couldn't be so drunk as to have misheard her. "You...you can't be serious?"

"It's true," Elaena continued, "I heard about it from some of the other ladies...Cregan Stark wants to get your marriage annulled. The Pact of Ice and Fire, he calls it."

Daena bolted to her feet grinning, and she walked over to her hearth, packed with logs ready for when the night came, taking the flint and iron she always kept close at hand for whenever she went on a hunt and lit the firewood with a single strike. Every word she said was filled with excitement and hope, hope for a chance to leave the castle, to leave Baelor, to have a life she thought she might never have. "Elaena, can you find me some water? I'm going to have a bath, then I'll need your help to brush my hair...and help me pick out my prettiest dress, too."

Maybe the one that pushes up my teats and makes them look bigger...

"...do you really think he'll be able to get me out of here?"

Elaena smiled softly. "I do, Daena..." her little sister's smile melted away to a sad frown and a sigh. "I can only hope someone comes to get me, too."

Daena smiled at her closest friend and gave her a warm, comforting hug. "I will do everything I can to bring you with me. You can be my lady-in-waiting at Winterfell, and we'll go riding together whenever we want."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Jonnel sighed as he waited inside the beating heart of the Red Keep...and indeed, the Seven Kingdoms as a whole - the throne room. The Iron Throne stood tall, the light of the stained glass windows gleaming off the countless swords that Aegon had fused together into one throne with the flame of his dragon, Balerion, whose very skull stood above the Iron Throne itself, looking down upon the gathered nobility with his monstrous maw opened, as if ready to swallow the entire court whole. He put the throne together just as he put the realm together. 

His father had brought him along to King's Landing - riding long and hard across the North and through the Riverlands at a pace more often seen in times of war - as soon as they had learnt that Baelor Targaryen had become king and had no interest in consummating his marriage, something that would give them an opportunity they could never pass by. They were escorted only by the very best of the household guard, chosen as much for their perfect appearance as they were for their skill at arms, and his father had sent ravens to his friends in the court from every castle they had stopped at whilst on their way to the Red Keep, one message at each holdfast so as to avoid drawing too much interest in what they were doing. 

His father spoke quietly amongst the crowds, everyone waiting for their king to finish his morning prayers before holding court, giving them precious time to discuss their goals and plan. "Remember, give the princess your best impression. Be noble, be courteous, and most of all, be gallant."

"Father...I'm not quite sure this is such a good idea," he said quietly in complaint. "This princess...Daena...the king must have a reason for not wanting her. Perhaps she's ugly -"

"If she's ugly, then you'll simply have to bed her with your eyes closed," his father said sternly as he stepped closer and looked his son in the eye. The years had not been kind to his father, but he was still strong and resilient, like an old fortress that had seen a hundred battles beneath its walls. "There is more to marriage than having a pretty girl to plough whenever you want to, you should know that enough by now." 

A cold stab went through him at that, and instantly he glared towards his father with a bitter expression.

His wife, Robyn Ryswell, had died only six moons before after her third miscarriage made her blood turn to poison, and he watched helplessly as the sweet and loving woman he had grown fond of over the few years of their marriage passed away in her bed, nothing more than a shadow of her former self. ....she would have been a wonderful mother, but it was not meant to be.

"I would not have you speaking ill of Robyn like that, dead or not, she was my wife and I cared for her as any husband should."

His father smiled ever so slightly at his son's reaction. "Make sure the princess sees and hears of that respect when she arrives..." his father stepped over and quickly adjusted the bronze clasp holding Jonnel's cloak together, placing it perfectly in line with the rest of his body. "And make sure you are dressed flawlessly. First impressions are everything, and I won't have you turned down merely because you cared too little about your clothes to dress well enough for the moment at hand."

Jonnel sighed. He had changed from his travelling clothes into the most expensive ones he had, freshly made entirely for this one day at court on his father's suggestion, a finely made doublet sewn from white cloth with two great direwolves facing each other on either side of the buttons, surrounded by an even more intricate pattern of blue thread made to look like falling snowflakes. I like good clothes, but this...I wasn't even wearing clothes this fine on the day I was married, and I probably won't be wearing them when I'm buried in the crypts, either. Ontop of his doublet was a cloak of the finest cloth that could be found within the Seven Kingdoms, so expensive and so grand was the dyework that the entire cloak rivalled a good suit of armour in price, but to his father if it gave him even a slightest bit of a greater chance of winning the hand of a princess, it was worth the expense. My father got plenty of gold thanks to the Pact...and this is the last part of it : for me to be married to a princess...gods, I hope she's pretty.

He had never seen women with the full Valyrian look before, not once; he had spent most of his life so far inside the very heartlands of the North, a land that was far away from any of the great Valyrian conquests of Essos and the the Narrow Sea and a months ride away from King's Landing and the Red Keep. No, the closest he had ever come was when he had been in White Harbour with Ser Wylon Manderly four years ago when he was still but a youth of fifteen namedays. His friend had dragged him into an expensive brothel near the city's harbourfront, saying that they had the best ale he had ever drank and women who were as beautiful and as wet as mermaids. Everyone says that about a whore if they've had enough ale...but that brothel, seven hells, he was telling the truth. It was the most expensive whorehouse he had ever seen in his life, costing half a gold dragon to tumble one of their girls, but they came from the lands across the Narrow Sea and catered exclusively to captains and lords, not to common sailors or townsmen. He had felt the warmth of a woman's body for the very first time that day, to a Lysene woman who had the silver hair of the Valyrians mingling with the black of the Stormlands, and deep blue eyes the color of still water, but when his father found out he had clipped him around the ear and made him work in the kitchens for three months for being so stupid as to risk catching a pox from her. Still, it was worth it.

"Get rid of that silly smile," his father commanded. "She may have been pretty, but you cannot let her distract you. Not now, when you need to focus on the princess..." Cregan's glare was as hard and as cold as ice. "I promise you now, if you make a mistake that costs us this marriage because of that forsaken wench the next time you see her will be in hell. Do you understand?"

Gods, was it that obvious?

"Yes, father, I understand," he replied as he matched Cregan's gaze and watched his cheeks twist into a small and proud smile. 

"You'll do well, Jonnel," his father said warmly as the court started to quieten down as the bulk of the Kingsguard entered the room, King Baelor the First of his Name behind them and no queen standing besides him. "There is no woman in the Seven Kingdoms who could resist your charms, I'm sure...but remember, she will be a southron princess, soft and fragile. Treat her as a winter's rose and you cannot do much wrong."

...I would have preferred a Mormont. A woman with fire in her heart, or at least someone who would be at home in Winterfell. If she's as southron as he says, she'll freeze at night and complain or...she might climb into my bed more to keep warm...

The king ascended the mountain of twisted metal and took his place atop the Iron Throne, looking down on the entire court with warm eyes and a blissful smile. He was a small man, thinner than some peasants thanks to the constant fasts he undertook in the name of his faith, with little muscle to speak of...and with his crown of flowers and wines and his roughspun robe of white, he looked nothing like the way Jonnel had imagined a king to look and more like a mad servant who had walked into the throne room and stolen his seat. The king on the Iron Throne should be strong and powerful, like the kingdom itself. The Targaryens made the realm by conquering it, not by sitting in front of an altar and praying till the throne. He doesn't even have a crown...gods, if this is what the Targaryens are now it won't be long before the realm falls apart. 

Besides the king, stood in a position usually reserved for the Hand of the King, was the High Septon, a man whose piety could only be rivaled by that of the king himself, but almost everywhere else he looked he saw familiar faces, those of men he had seen meeting his father at Winterfell when he was little and had wooden swordfights with the sons they brought in tow, watching and waiting in silence for Cregan Stark to begin before they would speak up in support of his arguments and try to help him get whatever he wanted, as any man would do whenever they had the chance to help out an old and trusted friend. He looked around the room, trying to see how many he could recognize, but then he noticed something odd, something that would be utterly bizarre in any other court of the Seven Kingdoms...if not the entire world.

There's not a single woman in the room. No princesses on the dais, no queen near the throne...there aren't even any ladies in the crowds, or any serving girls passing through.

He looked to the throne, towards the king as an idea quickly took shape. He hasn't bedded his wife, he doesn't like to fight and he doesn't have any women in his court...gods have mercy, the king on the Iron Throne is a sword swallower. 

The king smiled at him, and Jonnel immediately looked away in horror. ...oh gods...I'm meant to be charming his wife not him.

The High Septon spoke with a kindly voice, and Jonnel was grateful for the distraction. "May the Father lend his judgement and the Crone her wisdom to our gracious and beloved king on this day of court."

"I thank you for the blessing, your holiness," said the septon-king gratefully with an unending smile. "I could not have said it better myself."

...could they be lovers?

King Baelor announced with a loud but calm voice. "I, King Baelor of the house Targaryen declare this court to be open. Please, bring forth any issues you might have, so that I might resolve them if the Seven are willing."

The court's herald looked down at his papers in surprise, hesitating for a moment before turning back to the court and to the king he served. "It would seem there is only one petitioner today, your grace, the good and honest Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North and the crown's loyal Warden of the same."

Father must have found a way to get all the other petitioners to put their issues aside for the day. He's always known what to do, but that has to be a feat even for him.

The king's eyes narrowed slightly. "Step forth, Lord Stark."

His father stepped forward, the only sound in the entire hall being those of his footsteps as he stood before the throne and bowed deeply in deference to the king. 

"Tell me, my lord, what issue is so troublesome so as to bring you so far from Winterfell?" the king asked, his voice echoing through the silent halls. 

His father stood as tall and as straight as a statue, never once losing the lordly demeanour that made him look more like a king than Baelor did.

"Your grace, I have come about the pact of alliance that was signed in the days of your father - may his soul rest peacefully at the side of the gods. I am of course referring to the Pact of Ice and Fire, which I am sure you are familiar with."

The frail king smiled and nodded. "Of course. House Stark and the North were recognized and rewarded for their part in the war and in my father's regency."

"However, there is but one matter of the agreement that has been left unattended to for far too long," his father said carefully with a lordly flourish of his right arm towards his son and heir. "The marriage of a royal princess to my son and heir."

"I am afraid I cannot arrange that," said the king sadly. "I have no daughters and I shall sire none, so as to keep to my vows of celibacy."

"Aye," his father began again, "But you have three sisters. One, I understand, is considering the vows to become a septa, the other has yet to flower. With all of this in mind, I would ask for the hand of your eldest sister, Daena Targaryen, so as to fulfill the pact made in the eyes of the gods new and old."

Murmurs rippled through the crowds as the king considered his words for but a moment, giving Torrhen Manderly - the realm's Master of Coin - a chance to step forward and speak. 

"Your grace, the Starks of Winterfell have always been loyal to your family and to the realm, and my own son would count Jonnel Stark as his closest friend and a man of honor and courage. Who could be a better husband for a princess of Targaryen blood than he?"

This is where I come in.

Jonnel stepped forward, so as to give the king a better look of him. "It would be the highest honor to be your good brother, your grace." Thank the gods the right of the first night is long dead. The last thing I want to find out is whether or not the husband can be bedded instead of the bride.

"I have to echo the sentiments of Lord Stark and of Lord Manderly," spoke Lord Brynden Bracken. "The Targaryen line has always been known for upholding their sides of any bargain they might make, I see no reason to change that now."

"Indeed," Cregan added with a smile, "This arrangement was made before the eyes of the gods as well as those of men, and as a godly man, I am sure you, your grace, will agree that the gods smile upon those who uphold their promises."

King Baelor finally replied. "As much as I might wish to carry out the Pact to his fullest extent and give you a daughter, I am afraid I cannot in good conscience do such a thing. My sisters are mine to look after as the head of my house, and in the interest of looking after their immortal souls I shall keep them unwed and chaste, so as to please the Maiden and guarantee them a place in the heavens. Daena herself is my lady wife, and even though our union is unconsummated and indeed, unwanted, I have no choice but to -"

It was not any of the Northern lords or even his father who interrupted the king, but the High Septon himself. "Pardon my interruption, your grace, but that is not necessarily true. The Seven-Pointed Star makes the will of the gods known, and in the Maiden's Book it is clear that whilst a woman can gain entry to the Seven Heavens merely by staying chaste, it is stated in the Mother's Book that a woman can just as easily be given a place in the kingdom of the gods by being a loving and faithful wife, just as the bride of Hugor of the Hill was."

"In addition, it is clearly stated and well known that a marriage is not a marriage unless it is consummated - indeed, it is more like a betrothal without the creation of children, and like all betrothals, it can be broken if one partner has sworn the vows and become either a septa...or septon."

For the briefest of moments, his father smiled a predatory grin, like that of a direwolf baring its fangs before reassuming his lordly veil. "I must admit, news of southron affairs takes time to reach the North and even longer to reach Winterfell...but are you not a septon, your grace, or have I misheard?"

He's got him already.

The king fidgeted in his seat, the tiny scales of the Father dangling on his septon's chain tapping against the Iron Throne before he spoke. "Indeed I am...and it would seem I do not know the Mother's Book as well as I thought I did," the septon-king swallowed before continuing with a lower tone. "Very well, with my marriage to Daena null and void, and the urgency of an agreement sworn in front of the Seven-who-are-One, I will uphold our end of the Pact to it's completion. I betroth my sister Daena Targaryen to you, Jonnel Stark, and shall start making arrangements for the wedding as soon as the moon turns full once more. I would have you meet her today once the hall is empty, now that court for the day seems to be over and done."

Jonnel bowed as his father did, smiling at his father's display of cunning and skill. If the Targaryens had never conquered the Seven Kingdoms my father would be a King-in-the-North worthy of legend. There's no one else in the world like him.

"Thank you, your grace," his father said finally, with the slight hint of pride in his voice. "I have nothing else of importance to discuss."

"Then I shall bring the day's court to an end, as the herald has no more petitioners for the day," Baelor turned his attention towards the High Septon. "And if it would trouble you, I would hope to have you come to the sept with me, so that you might further...illuminate me about the Mother's Book."

Jonnel and his father returned to their place in the court even as the king stepped down from the throne and left, the High Septon nervously following him out and the rest of the lords starting to leave after a few words to his father, but he paid them no heed. He was to be married again so soon after the death of his first wife, and to a royal princess who he knew to be a few years younger than him and little more; he knew nothing about the way she acted or the things she might like to do, and all he knew of her appearance was that the dragonlords of the Freehold had been inhumanly beautiful, and that the Targaryens were no exception. 

The court emptied out, and he turned to his father to ask a question that had been picking at him ever since the court's herald had said there was only one petition for the day. "Father, how did you manage to make all the other lords and the smallfolk drop their issues?"

"You can get more of what you want with a kind word and a bag of gold than you can with just a kind word," his father said quietly as the crowds grew thinner and thinner. "Most of their problems were simple enough to be solved by my friends here, whilst the harder ones were mostly caused by people trying to get an advantage over old rivals and even a small bag of gold is often enough to make them consider coming back another day."

"But what about those who didn't want gold? If they were too honest to take bribes?"

"There are very few people in the world with weaknesses that can't be exploited by men, Jonnel," his father said, looking towards the Iron Throne. "The king is one, he's not tempted by wine, women, gold or a hunger for glory. No, his passion is for the Faith and it alone. There aren't many men like him in the world, and whilst it might be impossible to find a weakness you can use against him, the people around him are not quite as strong and willing to resist temptations."

"You bribed the High Septon, didn't you?"

His father laughed, a low chuckle that echoed off the walls of the empty throne room.

"Perhaps I did. Or perhaps I found out about a...difficult issue of his, and threatened to have the king learn of it if he refused to take our side in this matter."

A door on the far side of the hall opened and a young girl stepped through, with a long braid of silver and golden hair and wearing a dress of black, far too young to be the princess he had been betrothed to, and, whilst pretty, she was not the kind of great beauty she had heard hundreds of people describe the Targaryen women as being. 

"And now I shall take my leave," his father said with a sly smile. "I can't have the princess thinking that you need my help for something so simple as a courtship. Remember what I said and you can't do much wrong."

His father walked off, leaving him in the courtroom with the princess, who waited for him to leave before moving out of the doorway...and it was as if the Maiden herself had entered the room, so stunningly beautiful was the princess. Gods be good...

She was wearing a dress of black and red cloth of only the finest quality, a dress that hugged her body and revealed everything about her and nothing at the same time, accentuating her hips and supporting her plump bosom. Her hair of silver and gold curled past her shoulders, complementing her bright amethyst eyes like gemstones socketed into a golden crown.

She was perfect in face and form, an unrivalled beauty so great that no artist would ever be able to compliment her, nor any sculptor ever be able to truly recreate her magnificence in stone no matter how hard or long they might toil. He stood there, stunned into silence as she strode across the room, smiling softly as she took in his looks and dress, as curious about him as he was about her. When she was no more than a few feet away from him, he bowed and smiled as best as he could, his heart racing with nervousness completing unbefitting of the heir to Winterfell and the North.

"My lady," he said with a fake confidence as he took her hand and kissed it, half-certain that it was the normal way Southron lords acted towards their betrothed and half-horrified that he may have just committed a terrible mistake infront of the most beautiful woman in the world. "I am honored to be your betrothed."

Stay focused, Jonnel...how hard could it be?

"I was just told about the arrangement," she said quietly with a hint of fear in her voice, as if she was afraid of him for whatever reason.

There was a tense moment of anxious silence in the hall. She...she must think I am a fool...Come on, Jonnel, you can think of something...

"Do you like poetry, my lady?" he asked on impulse, trying to bring some life back into the conversation.

...gods be damned I should not have said that.

"...I do...?" the princess replied, her voice making her reply as if it was a question.

I don't know any poems...alright, I can try and make something up...hmm...

He swallowed his fear. He would not fail his father and make a mockery of his house, no, he would win her heart for himself and for Winterfell's interests, no matter what he had to do.

"Roses are blue," he muttered quietly, almost mumbling over the words. "As are violets, too, and...uh, let there be a lifetime of love for me and you?"

...Father would have had me hung if he heard me say that.

She stared back at him, stunned.

And then she laughed.

"That is the worst poem I have ever heard," she said, smiling as the awkwardness between the two started to thaw. "Not that I have ever heard much poetry."

"You...you don't like poems?" he asked, thinking back to what his father said about her being a southron maiden. "Gods, it's a good thing you don't, I haven't an idea how to make good poetry."

"Neither do I," she replied softly. "I haven't an interest in that sort of thing...and I can tell you don't, either."

"And what gave that away?" he asked with a smile.

"The poem, for starters," she instantly replied, making him laugh. "My name is Daena, and yours?"

"I am Jonnel Stark, my lady, and I am the heir to Winterfell...tell me," he asked, feeling more confident with every moment that passed. "What kind of lady are you, to have no interest in poetry?"

"The kind that prefers hunting and riding over poems and sewing."

She's nothing like any southron lady I have ever heard of...

"Would you like to go on a walk, my lady?" he said, offering his hand.

"Indeed I would. Oh, and stop calling me that, already. I gave you my name, and if we're going to be husband and wife I would have you use it."

"Or would you rather have me address you as "my lord" when we are in the bedchamber, instead of by your name?" she asked with a teasing smile that made his manhood stir in his breeches.

...who is this woman?

"I...seven hells," he said with a sigh of confusion. "You're nothing like I expected you to be. My father told me you were going to be a soft maiden, moved to tears by songs, but...you're nothing like that."

Daena frowned. "...is there something wrong?"

She's mocking me. She must be.

His eyes narrowed. "Why are you mocking me?"

"But I haven't done anything of the sort?"

His heart wanted her and her straightforward adventurous spirit, but his mind told him there was simply no way it could be the reality of how she was, and that he should never accept a woman who was already lying to him before they were even married...no matter how much he might desire her and her lie. It must be a lie...there can't be a princess of the Seven Kingdoms who is the way she says she is. She's manipulating me; she knows what I would hope to have in a woman, and she's using it against me.

He turned around and walked out of the hall alone, his heart sinking into a whirling maelstrom of want, confusion, anger and disbelief. This castle has a godswood, even if it doesn't have a wierwood tree...and I need the help of the gods now more than I ever have before.

"Leave me be," he said as her sister started to come towards him, a battle between his heart and mind starting to rage. "I need time to think."

He heard a sigh of sadness come from his betrothed, and there was nothing in the world that could have made him feel worse.

"If...if you don't want me, have your father break the betrothal," the princess said as he stopped dead in his tracks, turning to her and seeing the tears glittering on her cheeks and in her eyes. "But...please, please don't do it...I'll be whatever you want me to be, so long as you don't make me go back to that tower."

"Do you see what you have done to her?" Daena's sister snapped with all the fury of a dragoness. "You should have never come here if you were going to be so cruel! What kind of monster are you, to accuse a lady of insulting you -"

"Elaena, sweet sister..." Daena sighed. "Just...just leave him be."

The younger of the two sisters stared at him in hatred, whilst the elder simply turned and started to walk back to her chambers in silence, any happiness she might have had crushed. ...what have I done?

"Daena...wait," he asked, pleading as his heart conquered his mind. "Wait, please."

She turned back to him, her face covered with sadness, even in her eyes...but he could see the tiny, faint light of hope burning inside her still, despite everything that had happened.

"Would you like to go riding with me?" he asked, giving her a reassuring smile as he watched the tiny flame start to grow just a little stronger. "I have heard that the Kingswood is one of the most beautiful forests in all of the Seven Kingdoms, but I have only ever seen it from afar."

"Truly?" she asked, disbelieving...but when there was no cruel laughter, she smiled at him and he had never seen a sight so beautiful. "I would love to...nothing would make me happier than to ride in the forest with you."

Elaena's hostile gaze started to soften as he replied, "Then let's go right now. The sun is still high in the sky and there are many hours left before it sets."

Daena's sadness melted away like the snows of Winterfell on a hot summer's day, and she quickly walked towards him, smiling wider than she ever had before. He stepped closer towards her and spoke quietly, his voice near a whisper. "There is only one thing I want you to be."

She looked at him with the tiniest of fears.

"I want you to be yourself," he said, taking his handkerchief and brushing away her tears and drying her cheeks. "No matter what, always be who you are, even if you think I might not approve. I give you my solemn vow that I will never do anything unmanly towards you, no matter what shape our marriage might take."

"I..." Daena stared at him wide eyed...then she threw her arms around him, holding him in a tight embrace. "...thank you."

He put his hands on her back, holding her against him and smiling for as long as she needed his warmth, only letting her go when she let go of him. Whatever had happened to her had wounded her spirit, just as how all the children he and his wife made and their how they had died before they ever had the chance to live had wounded him...but perhaps there would be a chance to make things go differently, this time. It had been the maester who had told him how Robyn might never be able to make life after her second miscarriage, that the very loss of their little boy or girl might have ruined her womb, but there was no man or woman in the world who could tell what the future held.

"Now, we best mount up soon," he said with a smile he hadn't felt like wearing in a long time, a smile of a man interested in a woman again. "The longer we take here, the less time we have in the forests."

She didn't even bother to change before rushing outside and mounting up after that.

Daena smiled widely as the light of the sun beamed down on her and Jonnel through the wavering treetops, the shade breaking up the patches of warmth as cool winds blew through the branches and made the leaves whisper in the breeze. It was as beautiful a sight as the feeling to be free again, free of King's Landing, free of the Red Keep and free of Baelor, and for the first time since she had been locked in her chambers she felt whole again, like the woman she was meant to be instead of the mockery of herself her brother had been trying to shape her into and the ladylike mask she had tried to wear for her betrothed, in order to be more appealing. But he doesn't want me to be like that, he wants me to be the way Iwant to be. That's something Baelor never did for me, or anyone else for that matter. They always wanted me to be the perfect lady, to "set an example" for the rest of the realm and be the perfect harpist, sewer and dancer...I say they can go burn in the seven hells with their harps. I will do as I will, and no one will tell me otherwise.

Her smile grew wider as she put a hand on the side of her steed's neck as Balerion - named for the dragon he was as black as - stepped over a thick and chunky root, delighted to be able to ride him again. It's been too long. I'm surprised Baelor even kept him in the stables all this time. He hasn't even had him gelded or anything like that...though perhaps he tried, and the horse groom cut off his balls instead of Balerion's. It would explain a lot of things if he had.

She looked towards her betrothed, her future husband. He was not the most handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms, but he had a charm to him all the same, with his long face and eyes of dark grey, like the color of good steel...but what she was interested in the most was the noble heart that was lying just beneath the surface. Her husband was a monster sheathed in piety and faith, as evil as Maegor the Cruel, even if the rest of the realm hadn't saw him the way he had, but Jonnel, he was different. He is someone I could grow to love, someday, and I'd hope he could love me, too...but having felt what I did when we embraced, well, he must certainly love my body already. Or at the very least he needs to wear thicker breeches...though, it would be fun to let Baelor see him with his "banner" raised, if only so I can watch the pious cunt fidget. 

"These woods are almost as thick as the Wolfswood near Winterfell," her betrothed said as he looked around. "But the trees are younger, you can see where the new growth is still coming through."

"When we are married, you will have to show me the Wolfswood, Jonnel," she said with a smile she shared with him. "Is it as big as they say it is?"

"Bigger," he replied. "It's the biggest wood in Westeros south of the Wall and the Haunted Forest beyond it. There are wierwoods in it, in groves surrounded by oaks a thousand years old."

"It sounds...wonderful," she said with a smile, thinking of the deep and primal woods of the North, whose depths hadn't seen a woodsman's axe for thousands of years.

"Aye, it is," her husband smiled. "Only half as wonderful as you, my lady."

She grinned...it was nice to feel wanted, after so long without so much as being allowed near a man other than Aemon the Dragonknight and her brother Baelor, both of whom could beat statues on being chaste and untempted by women.

"On the other hand," she said with a seductive look in her eye, "Why would I want to see the second largest wood in Westeros when I felt the largest pressing against my waist earlier?"

"You..." Jonnel stared at her in shock before looking away, turning a bright shade of red. "Daena...my apologies. I hadn't known."

She laughed, the sound of her voice echoing through the forest. "Oh please, don't be. It's natural. Besides, I suppose I am expected to become familiar with your cock once we're married anyway."

"Daena..." her betrothed started with a voice filled with hesitation as he changed the topic. "Is the king...good to you? Does he treat you well?"

"Why are you asking that?"

"When we first met, in the throneroom, you were afraid to go back to your chambers, and I couldn't help but wonder why?"

"If you must know, he has had me locked in there almost every single day since Daeron died, and my sisters in their own chambers, too," she explained with a voice as cold as the thick ice of a long winter. "He never allowed us to go to court, since he was afraid we might tempt the men of the court. He didn't even let us have our meals in public."

"Gods have mercy," Jonnel said in surprise. "I knew he was doing something cruel to you, but that..that is something that no man should ever do to his lady wife, whether he likes her or not. King Baelor...he truly is a foul man, having done that to you. What reason could a man have, to treat their wives so poorly?"

"Piety," she said quietly. "He uses that as his excuse for everything he has ever done to my sisters and I. You could even ask him about it if you don't believe me, the damned madman would say it with pride...and if it wasn't enough to keep me away from everyone in the castle who wasn't him, my sisters or my cousin Aemon, he told me he plans to build an extension onto the Red Keep so he could us out of Maegor's Holdfast entirely, after which I suppose he would keep us there till we died of old age."

She sighed. "It's why I was so willing to do anything, be anything, to have you marry me and take me away from that...that monster of a man. I tried to be the perfect southron lady at first, the way everyone else in the court wants me to be and the way the septas tried to raise me, but...I couldn't do it. It's not me, it never was."

"Daena...I'm so sorry for how I treated you earlier...for not believing that you were acting as yourself, it's just..." he sighed in confusion. "Messages take a long time to reach the North and even longer to reach Winterfell, and my father told me to expect a southron maiden...a delicate rose, he said."

She laughed, smiling. "Well, he was half right. I am Southron and a maiden, too, but I am neither delicate nor a Tyrell."

It was the turn of her betrothed to laugh, and he turned back to her a with a wider smile. "Aye, he was...and I think I prefer you this way. If there is anything you need help with, tell me, and I'll try to make amends for what I did."

"Well, there is one thing," she said as she thought about her helpless little sister and the promise she had made. "Baelor is so insane that I cannot trust him to keep my sisters in his care...Rhaena, she was always a pious girl and she doesn't want my help, but...Elaena, my handmaiden, my little sister...she's innocent, and a maiden soon to flower, too. He's punishing her just because she was born a girland not a boy."

She sighed again at her failures, and at what her brother hoped to do. "I promised my father I would keep her safe when he died, and I promised the same to Daeron when he went to fight in Dorne for the last time...I can't leave her behind to his madness, Jonnel."

Jonnel swallowed as he paused before speaking more quietly, in case there was anyone else in the woods. "It wouldn't be proper to leave her behind if he is the way you say he is. Mayhaps there is a way for us to get her out with us and have her in Winterfell till she's old enough to wed."

I'm sure there's a way, but I just need time to think...

"Leave the planning to me," she said with a small smile. "I've escaped the Red Keep a dozen times, even with guards outside my door. I'll just need you to be ready for whenever I ask for your help."

"I'll do whatever it is you say, so long as it doesn't involve being cut down by the Kingsguard," her betrothed teased. "The only man in the Seven Kingdoms who could match your cousin is my father, and he's not as young as he once was."

Hmmm...if Cregan fought against Aemon, just for a little while, the distraction might be enough to...no, that's a terrible plan. I'll think of something. I always do.

"But don't worry, Daena, I will do my best to get her out with you, and you won't ever have to worry about being locked in a tower at Winterfell."

Jonnel is everything a man should be. He is honest, kind, handsome...strong, too...and he doesn't keep the fucking Seven either...I could grow to love him. No, I think I love him already, especially with his horrible poems.

"Jonnel, do you have anymore of those poems?"

He laughed. "I'm afraid I made that one up whilst I was standing there," he looked up to the darkening sky before looking to her, sadly. "And we must return to the Red Keep before the sunsets. But don't worry, you'll only have to spend one more month in that tower, and then you'll never have to worry about it again."

Gods...I almost can't believe it's actually going to end...

"I look forward to it...love." A daring smile rose across her cheeks as an idea came to mind, an idea that made her blood turn hot inside her veins for the first time in years. "Also...we needn't hurry back to the castle."

She brought her horse to a halt, taking her hands off the reins and putting them around her back, onto the laces of her dress. It's not like they can stop me from marrying him even if I have lost my maidenhead to him... 

"After Baelor left me in that tower...gods, I started to get so alone in there..." she said with a suggesting tone as her fingers worked at the strings, feeling her dress get looser and looser with every knot she undid. "So alone, and so cold on days just like this one...but mayhaps you could help warm -""

"That's enough," spoke the stern voice of Aemon the Dragonknight as he led his own steed past hers and threw a cloak around her shoulders to her endless frustration. "I was content to leave you two to talk as you might will without complaint, but I cannot allow you to do that, no matter how much you might be tempted."

"Surely there isn't a problem with me giving my maidenhead to the man I am marrying?" she glared with anger. "We'll be wed in only a few weeks time...and were you following us?" 

"Aye," Aemon said, securing the cloak around her shoulders with a softer, more kindly voice. "King Baelor has given me the command to watch over you till then and to make sure that you go to your wedding bed a maid, just as the Seven Sided Star orders."

"It seems such things will have to wait till our bedding," her betrothed laughed. "It's not that far away."

But I... She sighed in frustration as her lusts were denied to her. I suppose my hands will have to be my lovers tonight.

"Fine...but I'm not happy about it."

"It's only a few weeks, cousin. After that, you can do whatever you might please to each other at Winterfell."

"Let me guess," she said as she rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Our glorious king plans to send a member of the Kingsguard to look after me at Winterfell, too?"

"No...but I could sugg-"

"Suggest it to him and you won't leave this forest alive," she snarled, putting her hand on the grip of her dagger for emphasis. "It's Valyrian steel, and I know how to wield it."

Aemon laughed with a smile. "It was only a joke, cousin. I know how much you hate your brother, and ye does not wish to send a member of the Kingsguard along with you to Winterfell, and I won't suggest it to him either unless you would truly wish it, and I already know that you don't."

"Thank you. You would be a better king than he."

"I have heard many people say that, but I swore off any inheritance I might have had when I swore my vows. No, my white cloak shall be my crown and honorable duty my queen. I would not want it any other way...now, we best return to the castle before the sun retires for the day, and the sooner we return the better your chances of avoiding King Baelor, as he is in the Red Keep's septry contemplating whether or not to build a bigger septry."

Jonnel and Daena both laughed at that as they turned their horses about to the castle. "Is he fasting, too?"

"...aye, he is," said the Dragonknight with a sigh. "I can protect him from any who wish to do him harm and carry out any command he chooses to give to me, but try as I might I cannot protect him from himself. One day, it'll be a fast that kills him, when he refrains from food for too long and grows too weak to recover no matter how hard the maesters might try to heal him or the septons might pray."

...and it can't happen soon enough!

"It'll be a tragedy," she said with nothing but sarcasm and fake grief. "Well, I suppose that's one way to sanctify a sept : having the man who had it built buried beneath it."

Even Aemon laughed at that, even though he shouldn't...and as they got under way and started to ride back to the castle - Aemon taking a position between the two - she couldn't help but wonder what her husband-to-be looked like beneath those expensive clothes of his. I suppose it shan't be long before I get to stop imagining and find out for myself. It'll be a night to remember.

Then again, I'm probably going to be drunk and not able to remember everything, since Baelor is probably going to let me have as much wine as I might want...not that'll be hard to remember being ploughed into the ground, so long as he can still perform after having so much -

"Jonnel, have you ever been..."floppy" from too much wine?" she quickly asked.

"What?" the Stark replied in confusion, not knowing what she was referring to.

That answers that question.

"Nevermind. Just focus on the ride."

Oh, this is going to be so much fun.