Chapter 85
JON SNOW
The journey to the wall was long and hard, as they traversed through a singular road with no inns and castles in sight for hours. They rested in hastily built tents and ate what little game they could manage to hunt.
Yet it was not the lack of a bed or proper food that bothered Jon. Neither was it the cold. What bothered him most was the redhead, trying to sneak into his bed every day and night, teasing him every minute of every hour.
"You sure are a cold man, Jon Stark?" Ygritte spoke in that thick wildling accent of hers, and when he had first met them, the windlings spoke in guttural half-English, but after having spent so much time beyond the wall, her words had become somewhat proper, yet he could not say the same for her manners.
"Any other man would have bedded me a dozen times by now," the girl with fire-kissed hair teased, as Jory and the rest of the guards all chuckled at his predicament.
Jon glared at his castellan, who tried his best to hide away his chuckles but could not as Ygritte continued.
"Do you not like girls, Stark?" and the chuckles turned into laughs.
"I haven't seen you look at boys, but it isn't strange for men to lie with men be...."
"I like girls," the words slipped out of his mouth, as Ygritte frowned.
"Then is it me you hate? Or is there a woman you love?" she continued to probe as they rode towards the wall, which was now but half a day's ride from them.
"He has no woman," Jory jumped in from behind, fuelling Ygritte's obsession, as the girl frowned.
"Is that so? Yet you still run away from me like a little boy? Is it me you hate, with my thick barbarian accent, or is it because I am not like those noble girls who are plump and soft?" One would not call Ygritte soft.
She had grown up in the harshness of the true North, and that harshness had made her tough, with thick-toned arms and a straight belly with no fat around it. Her face lacked the traditional beauty of noble women, with her crooked teeth and freckled cheeks, yet she was comely enough.
Jon refused to entertain her, as she continued to ride beside him.
"And I spent all that time with those women that your brother gave me. He told me that they would make me more beautiful," and his head snapped towards her at that.
"Which brother?" he asked.
"The King," she answered, with some distaste in her tone.
"I don't much like him," she continued, and he frowned at that.
"He is the King, and without him we would never have reached an accord," he countered.
"He is a king enough man, but his eyes. They see too much," and he did not know what she spoke of, for Cregan had eyes similar to his own.
"A young boy shouldn't have eyes like that. Eyes that have seen too much," she whispered, before turning towards him once more.
"Now, those eyes. Those are beautiful eyes, well-suited for a pure young man," and he blushed at the compliment, as Ygritte began to chuckle.
"Look at our young lord, he is blushing," Jory shouted as Jon glared at his friend.
"Shut up!" he ordered, yet they only laughed more, and so did Val and Mance Rayder, who rode a bit ahead of them.
"I am not lying, though, you are prettier than half the women up North," Ygritte continued, and by now, he had given up on making her shut up.
"Look at you blushing like a maiden," she said, pushing her horse even closer as her hand began to rub his thigh. He whistled for Ghost, but even his direwolf refused his command.
"Enough!" and it was the blonde ahead of them who spoke, and came to his rescue, and she was as beautiful a girl as he had ever seen. Val was blonde, yet unlike the queen and her family, her hair was a light yellow, braided in an intricate way that complemented her warrior frame and glistening blue eyes.
If Ygritte's beauty could be compared to that of a common noble lady, then Val's beauty was no less than that of a Princess, which is why the nobles up South had taken to calling her the Wildling Princess, even though the Free Folk held no Princess.
The two girls looked at each other as Ygritte raised a brow.
"You should stop now," Val added, and he was relieved to have someone on his side.
"Why?" Ygritte asked in a teasing manner.
"Do you wish to steal him away from me?" and her hand moved from his thigh to the dagger bound to her belt, as she wet her lips.
"I won't give him up so easily, even for you, Princess," she teased as Val's lips tersed at the taunt.
"Do you not see that he has no interest in you?" Val countered, angered by the taunt.
"Ohh, he has interest," she teased as she eyed his breeches, as Jon's face heated up, as she looked at him as if he was a meal to devour.
"One day soon, he will steal me, and if he doesn't, then I just might steal him myself," and she chuckled as she removed her hand from the blade.
"But don't worry. I will be happy to share," and Jory came up to him, as the two women glared at each other.
"You lucky bastard," he whispered, and he hit him in the belly.
"Shut up!" he said, as his friend just laughed. Suddenly, Mance Rayder called out.
"Halt," he whispered as Jon looked ahead quickly, as the retinue slowed down, as Mance added.
"There is a rider coming," and indeed he was right, for as Jon narrowed his eyes, he saw a man riding towards them, at full pace.
"It's a crow," Ygritte answered, and he trusted her.
"Let us meet him," Jon answered as he pulled on the reins of his own horse as they rode forth with full pace, and as they met the man, he stopped him.
"Who are you?" he asked, and it was an older man, with grey hair and a thick woollen black fur coat.
"Yoren, my lord," he answered, his face pale and filled with fear.
"Why do you ride South?" he asked, his hand inching for his blade, for the North had no room for craven men.
"I ride for the nearest castle to request aid," and that stilled him.
"The wall, it is being attacked as we speak...."
0000
DAENERYS TARGARYEN
She had hoped that Dragonstone would feel like a home to her. The ancient seat of her house may rouse old memories and a sense of familiarity within her, yet the walls did not sing her any tales, and the castle remained as foreign to her as any other manse on the other side of the Narrow Sea.
The servants all served her with zeal and purpose, some eyed her with pity, others had clear mistrust in their eyes, yet none dared to offer her any insult.
The Sand Snakes, as she had learned, were her guards and minders, and though she would not trust them over Ser Jorah, it was obvious that the King had ordered them to keep an eye on her.
Nymeria and her sisters tried to befriend her, and though she appreciated their efforts, she could not trust them as she lay defenceless in this castle.
Oftentimes, she felt that she had exchanged one set of walls for another as she waited for the King and Queen to arrive, and so after a few days, word finally reached her ears that the King of the Seven Kingdoms had arrived along with his Queen and brother.
They did not seek her at once, and Daenerys was not much eager to greet them as well, and so the day passed quickly as neither sought the other. And it was only the next day that Nymeria came to her room bearing a summons from the Queen.
"The Queen?" Daenerys asked, and unlike the King, she knew little of Myrcella Baratheon, as Nymeria nodded softly.
"Yes, the Queen. It is an informal summons," and that meant that she could reject it, or at least it seemed to her that she could.
Lady Nym gazed at her softly, yet she was not blind to the viper that hid under that gaze, or the dagger that lay bound to her belt. The Sand Snakes were beautiful, but they were still snakes, and were amongst the best female warriors of the realm.
She turned towards the thin girl and asked.
"Tell me of the Queen?" and it was a test, both of her loyalty and her friendship, for the Sand Snakes were loyal to the throne, yet her attempts at trying to befriend and then bed her were rather obvious.
"She is kind," she answered at first, as she walked forward and plopped down by her side, her gaze continued to linger over her form much like Ser Jorah's, yet Danerys did not mind it, nor did she do anything to push it away as Nymeria continued.
"She has a subtle charm to her that allows her to turn enemies into friends," and it was as if she spoke from experience, though it made her wonder why Dorne would be an enemy of the King.
"Yet do not let that fool you," she added sharply.
"While her husband rules through armies and gold, she rules the court through words and whispers. She is a Lannister, and all those who dare cross her learn well that a Lioness can roar just as loudly as a lion," and she should have expected nothing less.
"Must I meet her?" Daenerys asked, and Nymeria shook her head.
"You have no compulsion to," she answered.
"But I would suggest that you do," and the choice was obvious.
"Tell her that I will be there," she answered as Nymeria nodded, and rose from her chair, and Daenerys followed after her, her trusted knight and protector Ser Jorah followed after her, as she walked through those familiar Halls until she was led to a small garden where a few tables and chairs had been set up.
Servants roamed around setting food and plates and wines, while one woman sat there in pure glory. Her robes were silk and red, loose around her body, yet they did not make her any less beautiful.
Her hair was lush gold and glistened in the Sun, while her eyes were like emeralds and lit up as she saw her enter the garden.
"Your grace, I present to you Princess Danerys Targaryen," Nymeria introduced her, and she was a Lannister. She was of the House who had betrayed her family, yet she saw no hate or anger in those eyes.
She saw only pity and affection as the young Queen smiled.
"Come sit, I have wanted to meet you for years, Daenerys Stormborn," and she used her other name, given to her because of the storm that had sealed the fate of her family during the rebellion.
"I am afraid I cannot say the same," and with those words, tension rose in the air, yet that young face showed nothing but a slight twitch of the eyes.
"I don't have to wonder why," she readily acknowledged, much to her surprise.
"There is much to fight over between us," she added, and Daenerys was pained by decades of grudges and hate, which all began to spill out in front of her for some reason.
"The usurper killed my brother, you people killed my family," she lamented, and the Queen did not speak at once as her face shifted slightly.
"And your father asked for the Head of my father and good father," she countered, with some heat.
"He burned Rickard Stark and his son, and the Arryn heir and a thousand other men while your kin simply stood by and watched," and what could she say to that, and silence hung in the air.
"But I do not believe that we should live by the sins and actions of our fathers and forefathers," the Queen added.
"Your family wronged mine and mine perhaps did the same for yours, but now it is time to end this hate," the Queen whispered.
"For otherwise, our futures shall be died in nothing but blood," and that was true, as the Queen.
"Let out your grievances, Princess. Speak the anguishes and hate that lie in your heart, but do it here and now and never again, for dwelling on the past will bring about nothing but ruin," and she saw that Nymeria had been truthful in her words, for though the girl in front of her was younger than her, she spoke with such calmness and surety that Daenerys had seen in women only twice or thrice her age.
And when given the chance, words failed her, for she knew that for every grievance she would utter, the girl in front of her would offer a rebuttal. Family, they may be, but Daenerys was not blind to the faults of her kin, and she sat there in silence as the word finally slipped out of her mouth.
"Why...."
0000
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