Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

Staring at the brunette noblewoman, admiring her pretty face, her cheeky grin, and her pale long legs and exposed nethers, Jon swings his legs off the side of the bed and stands up. Wynafryd’s eyes widen a little bit and her breath hitches as he closes in on her, taking the few ponderous steps needed to come upon her.

“You’re much larger than I remembered, Your Grace.”

Considering he hasn’t even taken his cock out yet, that’s a bit amusing of her to say. Still, wearing nothing but a pair of pants, Jon’s chiseled musculature is on full display… and there’s no denying he’s done a bit of growing up since they last saw each other. So has she, to be fair. Reaching out casually, he catches hold of one of her tits through her nightgown, giving it a good squeeze and a prolonged grope as her pouty lips part and her breath hitches. 

To her credit, she leans forward into his touch, whining a bit.

“I’ve seen things that would make your head spin, my dear Lady Manderly. I’ve been out there exploring the world for quite a few years now. Westeros is… so very small compared to the vastness that rests beyond it’s shores and I still feel like I haven’t seen it all.”

Keeping his voice low and husky, deep and seductive, Jon isn’t surprised when Wynafryd leans forward, hanging off his every word, her eyes fixated on his lips while her own lips remain parted in delicious need. Leaning forward, he takes a kiss from her. Not stolen, because frankly it’s pretty obvious at this point that she’s freely offering every bit of herself.

Still, it’s best described as a TAKEN kiss all the same, as he pulls her to his chest by his grip on her breast and surges his lips against hers. Wynafryd moans into his mouth, and then yelps when he bites down on her soft, pillowy lower lip, none too gentle with her. When he finally pulls away, she’s flushed and her eyes are slightly watery, and it’s obvious at a glance that the young noblewoman has lived a life of luxury and decadence, even up here in the North.

But then to be fair to her and her father, having your Keep in the region’s only harbor and controlling most of the North’s sea trade is always going to produce wealth aplenty. Jon doesn’t blame either of them for it, not Wynafryd nor Lord Manderly. They are merely products of their circumstances. The North made hard men and women… but too much gold could produce enough comfort to make soft people of even the hardest individuals.

Still, for all that Jon was even richer, he had faced nothing BUT conflict since leaving the North. Everything had become a battle for him, every action a conquest, every fight a step on the road to his destiny. Now that he was back, it was hard to remember that he was among kinsmen, hard to remember that these should be those closest to him, his would-be allies.

Wynafryd though… Wynafryd wanted him, and he wanted her. At the end of the day, there was nothing else to be done. Their joining was already decided… though he would be magnanimous and be nothing if not entirely truthful with her.

“Earlier… you said I left a bastard and returned a King.”

Eyes wide as she stares up at him, the beautiful brunette waif nods her head in acknowledgment. Jon smiles… and lets a bit of his divinity exude from his physical form. His eyes begin to glow, and his presence takes on an unearthly feel and he can see reflected in Wynafryd’s eyes a sudden uncomprehending awe of him.

“You were half correct, my dear. I left a bastard… and returned a God.”

When she begins to collapse to her knees, Jon catches her. While part of him thinks it might be fun to have her second experience start the same as the first… they already did that last time, didn’t they? Besides, the floor is cold, and he doesn’t want her to bang her knees. Instead, gathering up the slim Northern girl, Jon turns and lays her down on the bed behind him, climbing on after her.

She whimpers as he covers her with his form easily, his body exuding more than enough heat as she nestles into the furs beneath her. Sliding his hands up under her nightgown, Jon slowly but surely hikes it up and up her body, until she puts her arms above her head in order to let him take it completely off of her.

Once her singular garment is removed, Jon wastes no time in releasing his cock from the confines of his pants, freeing his erection and letting it slap down upon Wynafryd’s belly, down betwixt her legs. She looks along the length of her own naked body at his cock and her breath hitches.

“That thing… you’re going to ruin me, Your Grace.”

Cocking his head to the side, eyes still aglow with light and voice still heavy with power, Jon chuckles.

“And? Did you think you could come to me and give yourself to me and not be claimed, Lady Manderly? Did you think that there was any other way this night could end without you permanently joining my retinue and spending the rest of your days by my side?”

Blushing deeply, the pale brunette averts her gaze, even as a very small smile appears on her puffy, pillowy lips.

“I h-had hoped… but didn’t dare to assume…”

Smirking, Jon slides his cock along her nubile body, across her mound, until the head of his member presses against her slit.

“Fret no longer, my dear Wynafryd. Consider yourself claimed.”

And then he thrusts forward, his hot, throbbing length searing into her quivering quim and knocking the air from her lungs. Wynafryd’s eyes widen, her mouth drops open, and the breath catches on her lips as she silently screams from the sudden penetration. Jon, enjoying the tightness of his newest conquest, can’t help but lean forward and capture one of her teats in his mouth at the same time, groping and squeezing her breasts to his heart’s content.

He realized now that back when they’d first met, Wynafryd’s chest was nothing to write home about. Bigger than Jeyne’s maybe, but then he’d gotten to Braavos, and the Black Pearl had rapidly put the young noblewoman to shame. Now though, while Wynafryd STILL didn’t stack up, Jon chalked that up to post-pregnancy fat in all the right places. Truly, Wynafryd had blossomed into a beautiful woman… one that he was more than happy to take and make his.

Thrusting into her, Jon is pleasantly surprised when she in turn manages to bring her legs up and wrap them around his waist. Moaning up a storm, Wynafryd clings to him with all four lings, her hands clawing at his rippling back muscles and her ankles locking behind his back. He barely feels it, of course. She is but a mortal woman… and one unused to him at that.

Still, it’s certainly very nice, having her as an active participant. Her body rocks beneath him with the force of his thrusts, her inner walls clenching and clinging and squeezing down around his cock. Her breasts are soon reddened, and her nipples made puffy by his focus on them as he goes from one to the other with his mouth, attacking them with a single-minded focus again and again.

As her insides spasm around his thrusting cock, Jon doesn’t let up, not even for a second. She should know what she’s getting into… even if they both know she’ll never back down at this point. For a young woman like Wynafryd to not be married by now… it spoke of the struggles that all of Westeros had suffered rather than any personal faults on Lady Manderly’s part, he was more than certain. In a time when the continent hadn’t been torn apart by war, she would undoubtedly have been married off by now. The fact that she was not only made it abundantly clear just how bad things were.

Still, the petty Lords of the North’s loss was Jon’s gain. As he reaches his release, he doesn’t hesitate to spill his seed deep inside of Wynafryd, fulling the beautiful, flushed brunette with his cum. He pumps and she moans, her eyes fluttering as she stares up at him, mouth open in awe.

“S-So… so full…”

Chuckling, Jon just nuzzles her neck for a moment before pulling out of her. As he collapses onto his back on the bed however, he makes sure to take Wynafryd with him, ultimately resulting in her laid out across his broad chest. As she nuzzles in, Jon wraps his arms around her, holding her close and letting her bask in the warmth of both their coupling and his own natural warmth. 

“Welcome to the family, Wynafryd.”

“T-Thank you, Your Grace…”

-x-X-x-

There was no denying what had happened, and to say Lord Wyman Manderly seemed unsure about what to do about it all would have been the understatement of the century. Torn between horrified and pleased, that was the Lord of White Harbor’s attitude toward the whole affair. He was intent on not upsetting Jon, but at the same time was doing a poor job of hiding how upset he was at Jon taking his daughter in such a fashion.

In the end, Jon helped things a lot a bit. Part of his divinity was based in Freedom, as it were. And so, letting that piece of divinity run wild, he’d made sure that Lord Manderly focused on his love for his daughter… and his desire to give Wynafryd the freedom to choose. When the young Lady Manderly made it abundantly clear that she was happy at Jon’s side and wanted to be the King’s latest concubine, Lord Manderly had been much more content with things, coming to accept it with his usual amiable attitude.

A week later, and they were leaving White Harbor behind. Not all of Jon’s armies, of course. Considering the size of his fleet and his forces, there was just no way to take them all with him to Winterfell. Instead, Jon took a good portion of his men and Lord Manderly was gracious enough to send a few soldiers as well, more than likely because Jon now had the man’s daughter traveling by his side.

It was fine though, as far as Jon was concerned, he wasn’t expecting any battles. The North had suffered enough in the time he’d been gone, and Winterfell would always hold a special place in his heart… as would its Lady, Sansa Stark. Jon could only imagine the horrors that Sansa had suffered while he was gone. The fire-haired girl he’d left behind could not be anything BUT a young woman forged in hell at this point.

Of course, Jon also wondered exactly where Arya had gone. He’d heard nothing about the majority of his no-longer siblings save for that most were missing, and of course Robb was dead. All in all, it was with a heavy heart that Jon found himself cresting the hill and coming down upon Winterfell. The Seat of the Starks looked like it’d seen better days… but also like it was more prepared for war than ever before.

Fortunately, Lord Manderly’s men, and indeed Lady Wynafryd herself, were on hand to smooth things over. Jon’s forces were made up of mostly foreign people after all, and Jon himself had been gone a long time. Still, all is well, all is fine… and the gates are opened before him. As he strides into Winterfell, Jon finds himself face to face with Sansa Stark after far too long, a smile on his face even though there is none on hers.

Looking as if she has ice in her very veins, Sansa stands with her hands clasped together so tightly in front of her that the knuckles on her fingers are white. Her lips are thinned out… and yet, she looks so incredibly beautiful. Clad in a fine fur dress that gives her the appearance of a military general about to go to war, she looks… she looks more like a She-Wolf than she ever did when he knew her previously.

“Sansa…”

His smile and soft tone don’t seem to really loosen her up very much, even as she gestures to the side and a man comes forward with bread and salt.

“Your Grace. Welcome to Winterfell.”

Jon wastes no time in taking the bread, swiping it with salt, and taking a bite to make sure Guest Right is observed as he chuckles, eyes dancing merrily.

“I see my reputation precedes me, hm? But please, out of everyone, you know you don’t have to call me that. It’s still me. I’m still Jon.”

He can see it in her eyes… she wants to believe him, truly she does. But she’s been hurt too many times before. She’s been burnt too many times before. She’s afraid of him, afraid of what he might represent. And that fear turns into anger as she lashes out at him, showing a sharper tongue than the Sansa he once knew was ever truly capable of.

“Are you? Are you truly? Or are you Khal Jhono, Khal of Khals and ruler of the Dothraki?”

Her tone is tight but betrays none of her fear or nervousness, only showing her irritation and hostility towards him and his. Except… Jon is pretty sure she’s not truly hostile towards him. Sansa might have been a bit of a brat back in the day, but this… this wasn’t like that. This was an obvious act, one designed to maintain her incredibly high guard at all times. She was keeping him at arm’s length in case he turned out to be another monster. 

Because of his divinity, Jon could see it upon her. He could see the scars not just on Sansa’s physical form, but on her soul. The pain she’d suffered in his absence had been immense, clearly. 

“Or perhaps I should call you the Last Targaryen? One wonders why you are here and not down South, fighting over that damnable throne. Unless you think to muster the North to help you take the South. I suppose it is my duty to inform you that we are in no position to turn our eyes away from our own enemies to our North. Not that you would know anything about that.”

Frowning, Jon reaches out and grabs Sansa by the shoulders as gently but firmly as he can.

“Sansa… I know as much as I possibly can, but I would love to know more if you would but tell me. Perhaps… perhaps this is a conversation that should take place in private.”

She trembles in his grasp, not quite shaking, but Jon can SEE how badly she wants to simply collapse forward into his arms and sob into his chest. That she doesn’t speaks to the iron will she seems to have developed since they last saw one another. Still, the ball was in her court now. Private or public? Where exactly did she want to have this conversation?

-x-X-x-

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