Nobody Knows || Closed

Another light breeze swept through the tent and Ayleth never let her eyes leave the khal in front of her. She still didn’t know what he was going to do; it seemed like she was watching a dangerous, wild animal for their next move, not knowing if they’d kill, maim, or retreat. The thought of another fight excited her, even with her hands bound, but she could tell by the way his gaze held hers that he was not interested in fighting unless provoked to. The she-warrior’s mind was reeling with all the possibilities and rumors she’d heard about Dothraki men. Dothraki men don’t kiss on the mouth. Dothraki men take their women like stallions take mares; from behind. Ayleth found herself curious to see if these things were true, if she could teach this khal something new. She found herself smirking at the thought; one look at the man before her and others would assume he knew everything.

Again, Ayleth was pleasantly surprised by the look on the khal’s face at her reply and it only caused her to grin even wider. Her mind vaguely pondered what would happen if he took her maidenhead; something that had been so guarded for the sake of a match to a nobleman. The young woman figured that she was only keeping that single thing about her sacred for the sake of her parents and now that she was here…why should she? Men were allowed to bed women as they saw fit. Why couldn’t a woman do the same? And while her mind was on the subject, why were men the only ones who create arrangements of marriage or covet women they’d seen only by a fleeting glance? Ayleth wondered if this mindset was something of Westeros, Essos, or both, but she was determined to no longer live by the constraints that because she was a woman, she did not have a voice or an opinion.

The push against her shoulder brought her from her thoughts and her gaze shifted between the khal’s before she began to grin crookedly to herself, brows lifting slightly in response. She watched as his eyes looked over her and it caused her stomach to do anxious flips, her breathing growing slightly hurried once more. Then, at the single word answer he gave her—again, seemingly his favorite word, thought she didn’t mind this time—a fire was set alight in her. Good, she thought to herself, eyes slipping over him in earnest as she slowly shifted on the bed so she laid longways on it.

Because her hands were bound, she was unable to do much, so her belt with the two empty scabbards remained at her sides, her leather breeches remained on, but her dress had slipped from one shoulder as she lay back against the soft sheets of the bed. Her gaze locked on his once more as she slowly drew her hands up above her head, back arching slightly as she mimicked a stretch. Her hips rocked down into the mattress a bit, a soft, whine of a noise vibrating in her throat as her eyes never left his. One of her long legs slowly slipped up the other until her foot was on the bed and her knee was bent. All the while, her eyes never left the khal, wanting to gauge his reactions, before her body slowly relaxed and she lay flat on the bed once more.

The wind blew against the tent once more and Ayleth almost could have sworn she heard the hammer of hooves in the distance, but she ignored it for the moment. In these vast plains, it could have very well been the flap of some great bird’s wings.

---

To say there was a part of Jon that didn’t enjoy the banter about his bloody fur collar, he would be lying. It amused him probably more than anything had in the past few days and was realizing that they were both incredibly stubborn people who wouldn’t back down from something once their mind was set to it. This could prove interesting in their time together, no doubt. “Just take the collar, Anaris,” he said, through through a sigh, though the grin on his features let her know just how much this back-and-forth had entertained him, “please.” He shot her a look with his dark brown eyes before he turned to face the fire once more.

He stood for a moment, studying a sizable branch on a nearby tree before he snapped it from it, shook the snow away, and sat back down. He poked and prodded the fire gently with it, helping urge the flames to last longer than they otherwise would have. “Ghost has red eyes because he’s an albino,” he told her simply, gaze slipping up to her for a moment before returning down to the flames. “He was the runt of the litter too, believe it or not,” he added with a crooked grin. His mind wandered to the other direwolves the Stark children had received and thought of them being scattered. A frown pulled at his features for a moment, furrowing his brow and tensing his jaw for a bit, before he relaxed.

“I can climb a tree come morning to see if I can spot anything nearby,” Jon said, setting the branch he was using to the side, “but if the snow keeps up, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to see much.” He knew how dire this sounded, just how dangerous it was to wander instead of sticking to the roads. “We’ve got Ghost though,” he added, not wanting to put Anaris into a panic. “He should be able to pick up on any scent of a village or another human that we should come across,” he reassured her, smile twisting his features for a moment. He reached down to the hare that Ghost had provided them and pulled a dagger from his belt to skin it and prepare it for a meal.

He’d skewered some pieces of rabbit meat onto a few sticks that had been laden with snow, so they wouldn’t have to worry about them catching from being too close to the fire. He tossed a few sizable portions to Ghost off to the side and watched as the direwolf ate the rabbit without a second thought. “I don’t think I would have made it too far without him, to be honest,” he murmured in a soft voice as he extended a branch of skewered meat over to Anaris. “The Night’s Watch teaches you to survive, but whether or not you actually can is the real test.” He lowered his own branch over the fire, hoping the lean rabbit meat would cook quickly so he could quell his hunger. “And they certainly don’t go over how to run away from duties,” he added in jest, grinning over at Anaris.

Now that he thought about it, Theon had once mentioned that one of the family hands was a beautiful young woman with dark brown hair and piercing eyes of a similar tone. Jon’s interest in seeing such a woman—especially after getting used to the faces around Winterfell—was heightened, but knew that with the title of ‘bastard’ his life would be immensely different than that of Robb or even Theon. Of course, this lead Jon to brush the feeling off like he normally did. He’d said never seen her, so Jon immediately joked Theon for drinking too much wine and it was just one of the older ladies. That lead to Robb joining in, Theon quickly soured at their accusations, and that was the end of the conversation. Had it been Anaris he had been referring to?

The warrior woman’s grin would be the death of him, Drogo was sure of it. His focus was solely on her, watching as her breathing shifted. He eyed her up and down as she did the same to him. He lingered on her legs, the leather making it impossible to see even an inch of skin on her legs. What was visible wasn’t enough, but he knew that in due time, he’d be seeing every inch of her. Finally, finally she laid down, her dress falling down from her shoulder. He was entranced. The woman was a seductress, drawing him in and entrapping with with a simple stretch. He savored the movements, the way that everything was fading away save for the two of them.

He swallowed, watching and waiting until she was flat on the bed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the distant, soft sound of hooves racing across the ground, but he ignored it. If it was his men, they would wait. If it was anyone else, he would slaughter them for interrupting him. He reached down, his gaze never leaving hers as his hands found her hips. He undid her belt with ease, tossing it to the side before moving to her leather clad legs. His fingers slipped beneath the garment, thumb rubbing circles into her skin before he used one hand to lift her hip up, the other tugging on the breeches. It took a couple of tugs before they were off, then they were joining her belt. He took a moment to appreciate the smooth, alabaster skin. He was almost amazed that she was that alluring.

Drogo placed a knee on the bed, moving towards her with intent. He placed his hands on either side of her hips, and in a swift move flipped her over. He hiked up her dress, moving it out of the way so his hands could touch her skin. It was almost a relief at that point, his hands on her warm sides. He placed a knee on either side of her, straightening up for a moment. His fingers moved deftly over the hide that was covering his lower half, a lifetime’s worth of actions that made the hide come off in mere second. He tossed it on top of her leather breeches, and leaned forward, pausing mere inches away.

The hooves were growing louder. He was tempted to ignore the sound, but the practical side of him argued against it. How was he supposed to defend himself when he was thrusting into her? He judged how far off it sounded, and decided that he would take advantage of the time that he had. He continued on, pressing against her slowly. With a mere whore, he would have just taken her without waiting, thrusting until he’d finished. But it had been drilled into him since he was a child - the Dothraki respected force. And the woman beneath him therefore commanded his respect. He kept one hand on her hip, the other reaching up and tracing down her shoulder, leaning down until his lips were close to ear. “Yes?” He questioned, fingers tracing from her shoulder to her side.

---

Anaris just blinked at him. She knew that it was futile. A man willing to defy his oaths to the Night’s Watch and venture into the wilderness to somehow find his brother’s army was not going to forsake chivalry just because she asked him to. It was, however, entertaining. Much more entertaining than anything that had happened recently. “You take the collar,” she replied, fighting back the curl of her lips. It was useless, though, as a thought came to her. “You need the collar because I won’t be going about having to explain to people that Jon Snow froze to death because he was too chivalrous.”

She watched as he stood up and snapped a branch off of a tree. She wondered how he was truly dealing with things. It was obvious that he wouldn’t tell a strange girl he’d just met in the woods. There were many things about herself that she would keep from him. But she’d always had a soft spot for those hurting, and Jon Snow had to be hurting. His father had died. He’d just forsaken the oaths he’d sworn. A brat of a king was ruling the land. How was he handling it all, and managing to still smile at her in the meantime? “He was the runt of the litter? Really?” She asked, cocking a brow as she turned to look at the direwolf. It was hard to believe that an animal that large had once been so small.

A flicker of panic went through her at the mention of the snow keeping up. She offered him a faint smile, worry still worming its way through her heart. “What are we to do if the snow keeps up?” She’d never been out in the woods during a snow like that. She’d always been holed up in her family’s home, sitting by the fire and weathering the snowfall. Ghost or not, there was still the chance of them just getting stuck.

The panic was still there, making Anaris feel as though she might come out of her skin. But listening to Jon speak, his words of Ghost weaving throughout the cold night air, started to abide the panic. She leaned over to reach the branch, fingers wrapping around the wood before she held it just above the fire. She chuckled, shaking her head at him. “I can understand why they wouldn’t go over that,” she said, giving him a quick smile as she turned the skewer. “Were you there for awhile?”

Ayleth could liken the emotion she was feeling to the moment just before jumping from a cliffside and plunging into the tumultuous depths of some body of water. For her, it had been the Torrentine River that ran just beside Starfall. It had carved through the mountains in a windy, deep blue path that did not lack for rapids. She was the only one of her parents’ children that were brave enough, or old enough for that matter, to willingly leap from the safe shoreside and plunge into the icy, bubbling, and churning water and rocks that would mean death if one didn’t aim their jump correctly. It was dangerous, yes, but she was brave and knew how to navigate the deep currents. Still, that did not stop her pulse from racing and adrenaline to course through her as she prepared herself to leap.

She allowed the khal to undo her belt, full bottom lip tucked between her teeth. A feeling had come over her. One that had her wanted to turn the tables, push him down to the mattress instead, and take control. But she was also enjoying giving up the control, in a sense. There came a small sense of belonging in the way that he was handling her, even though she did not know if he’d attempt at killing her afterwards or leaving her in the mess of a tent to die after her supplies ran out. She was all his in that moment and he was hers. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as his thumbs pressed into her skin, a soft sigh leaving her at the skin-to-skin contact on newly exposed skin. She forced herself to drag her eyes open, not wanting to miss a moment. Ayleth shimmied her legs slightly to help him remove the suede breeches, thankful to expose the heated skin to fresh air.

As his knee dipped down onto the bed, she realized that the sound of hooves was getting closer and closer, no indication of slowing. It was beginning to pull her focus from what was happening and more towards what would happen if there were riders baring upon them that weren’t his men. A gasp left her as he flipped her over, surprised that he had the strength to so easily throw her weight around. As he hiked up her dress, she did what she could to help with her hands bound. Eventually, she pulled the dress over her head, but it got stuck around the bindings at her wrists and the soft purple fabric remained bunched underneath her head. She knew now that her scars were on view in full, and had her wondering vaguely if any of them would deter him. As his warm hands met her skin, she sighed again, eyes slipping shut and staying shut as she relished every moment.

Still, the sound of hooves grew louder and louder and she raised up on her elbows the slightest bit to shoot a glance to the flaps of her tent. A quiet noise left her as she felt him pressed against her, mind going hazy with lust and desire at the feeling. Though she was concerned about the growing noise outside, she figured if there were ever any two warriors that could handle an interruption at a time like this, it would be them. Her body instinctively moved at the feel of his hand slipping down her back, strung as tight as a string and ready to snap. Her breaths were coming in heavier now, mouth parted to draw in soft breaths of air. She shot a look to him over her shoulder as she felt him leaning down, violet eyes darker than ever. Ayleth only spared one last look to the outside, an expression of mild irritation flickering over her features before her gaze returned back to his. “Yes,” she replied in a low, womanly rasp.

---

Jon tried to quell the laughter that threatened to shake his shoulders and give himself away at her insistence that he take the collar back. Instead, he cleared his throat and set his gaze on the rabbit that he was currently cooking for himself. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a smile curling her lips and her next comment had him cracking a broad smile, showing his teeth in full, eyes crinkling joyously at the corners, and a few loud laughs leaving him before he could stop himself. He shot her a glance, shoulders still shaking with silently laughter as he shook his head slowly. “And do you know what people would say if the ‘chivalrous’ Jon Snow let some woman freeze to death because he couldn’t part with a fur collar?” He shot back at her, this time not even trying to sound serious or stern.

This back and forth, without him realizing it, had been the first time he’d smiled earnestly in the longest time. The bastard son of Eddard Stark had little to smile about as a member of the Night’s Watch, especially now that he no longer had his father. The banter, however short-lived it would be, kept his mind from how serious things were. He knew the White Walkers were real—he’d seen them with his own eyes—and now immature, spoiled Joffrey was king. He wasn’t sure what he should fear more. He turned his makeshift spit over to heat the other side of the rabbit meat.

His eyes darted over to Anaris as she questioned him about Ghost once more, studying her as she turned to look at his direwolf. “Yes,” he answered her simply, “we found five of them trying to suckle from a dead mother. Ghost was crawling away from her corpse…dragging himself along in an attempt to find some other source of nourishment to survive.” His expression grew grim as the realization set in that perhaps the omen the others had talked about when they found the pups had been true. The sigil of House Stark was a direwolf, was it not? Now, the patriarch of the family was dead and the cubs had been scattered. A heavy sigh left him as his gaze hardened slightly and jaw clenched. His eyes slipped shut for a moment as he tried to contain the rage that threatened to bubble up inside of him, knowing it wouldn’t be becoming of trying to establish any sort of trusting relationship between him and Anaris.

As she mentioned snow, he opened his eyes and drew in a deep breath of air. He noted the faint smile on her lips and couldn’t help but to return it despite himself. “We’ll press on and survive,” he told her with a small shrug of his broad shoulders. “As much as us Northerners may think it, it can’t snow forever, just for a season.” He turned back to his meal, turning the branch over again as he studied the doneness of the rabbit meat. It looks like it still had a few more turns before it cooked to his liking, even thought his stomach gave another rumble as if it was telling him to forgo waiting and just eat it now.

“Too long,” he answered her questioned with a crooked, yet slightly wry grin. “You think it’s cold here? Try to stand guard on The Wall. The wind feels like it just passes right through you,” he explained, shaking his head slowly. “You’d think I’d be used to the cold like this, but I hadn’t spent much time on the Wall these last few weeks.”

Drogo hadn’t noticed the marks on her back. He’d been too distracted by the gasp leaving her, and then her pulling her dress over herself. His lips twitched at the sight, the only sign of amusement on his face. He had no patience in that moment, and didn’t want a single shred of fabric from separating them. He shoved the dress to the side, trying to get it out of the way as much as possible. There wasn’t enough time for him to get it off of her entirely, not with the hooves getting steadily louder with every passing second. But then his gaze dropped to the expanse of skin that stretched across her back, and time seemed to stop.

He had scars littering his body as well. Small ones and large ones, each one unique in the way that it marred his skin. He looked her scars over, taking each one in. Some were long and puckered, signs of whipping. He wondered what had happened that the fierce warrior before him would have been whipped. He could only imagine. She must have been tied down, for he did not take her as one that would accept it without a fight. He pulled up just a little, allowing his finger to trace against a particularly long one. He let his finger continue, letting it slide over to her spine where it continued its trek downwards. He paused right at the bottom, just above her ass before returning his hand to her hip. The yes brought him back to the moment, and he positioned himself, then thrust into her.

He let out a groan, the single thrust feeling infinitely more than what he’d felt before. He pulled his hips back before moving forward again, harder, another groan leaving him. He went to do it a third time when the hooves broke through his concentration. He let out a frustrated scoff, his fingers digging into her hips. He shifted hips against, out and in, leaning down to press his hot mouth against her shoulder. The horses were even closer by then, their clomping hooves disturbing their coupling. He resolved to murder whoever it was. He could hear the horses snorting and neighing, softly but growing louder. If he remained inside her any longer, it would make it more difficult to fight if they were ambushed. He gave another thrust, another tasting of her shoulder before he pulled away, muttering curses under his breath the entire time.

Drogo felt like shouting as he pulled out of her, almost aching with need. But he would not die that day. He looked to the woman, trying to decide if she would attempt to end him if he cut her loose. “Are you planning on killing me now?” He asked her in his tongue, knowing full well that she probably wouldn’t understand a word of what he’d said. He reached down for the hide that he’d been wearing earlier, keeping it in hand but not putting it on as he stalked to the tent flaps. The horses’ hooves hit the ground, racing against the hot grass on the plains. He shoved the flap open, spotting the horses and their riders. He squinted against the sun, trying to make out their appearance. They didn’t look Dothraki, but with the sun almost blinding him, it was hard to tell. He looked back to the woman and nodded towards the tent flaps. He wasn’t sure how to express his question, wondering if they were her men.

---

Anaris wasn’t entirely sure, but it was possible that the sight of Jon Snow laughing out loud and grinning wide was a sight that was something that she’d remember for a long time. There was an air about him when he laughed that made her stomach twist and flip in an almost delicious way. “They’d say that Jon Snow must have been horrible at building fires since the woman did have a cloak on her that would have been sufficient enough,” she said, grinning at him. She scooted closer to the fire - and if she scooted an inch or two in his direction, then it was entirely by accident. The fire was helping her. She no longer felt frozen and stiff, instead feeling like her limbs were moving easier. She rolled her shoulders back, trying to dissipate the cold that was still biting at her back.

“The rest of the pups went to your siblings, then?” She questioned, her voice hesitant. She wasn’t sure if it was the shadows dancing across his face, but there was something about his expression that made her pause. Maybe it was what he’d said, Ghost crawling away from his mother’s body. It was morbid, for sure, but it might have been symbolic for what was to come. Or what had already happened. For a split second, she wished that she’d met him earlier, so she would have known what to say that would help him with whatever was boiling inside of him.

“You’re quite the optimist.” She looked down to her skewer and frowned when she’d realized that she’d been distracted, letting the meat char a little too much on one side. She turned it over, the warm flames just licking at the hare meat. Her stomach growled in anticipation. “In weather like this, it feels like it’s always snowed, and always will,” she said softly, offering him a small smile as she looked over to him. Her gaze dropped back to her skewer, determined not to let this side burn as she’d done with the other. She turned it slow, willing the cooking process to speed up so she could eat.

Anaris caught sight of his crooked grin, finding that she was quickly growing fond of it. “Oh, I should try it?” She asked, a smirk starting to ease itself upon her lips. “I’m sure that they have an opening now,” she laughed, taking care to keep it quiet. The dark was settling around them, and it was hard to see beyond the trees. She glanced over to Ghost, and felt a little more reassured. If anyone - or anything - was around, the direwolf would notice well before they did. “What did you do in its stead? Were you patrolling?” She hesitated, her eyes widening. “Are the rumors true, about the White Walkers?”

Ayleth drew in a deep breath of air as she felt one of the khal’s fingertips tracing down one of her scars; the horribly healed skin so thick that she could tell he was touching her, but it felt like there was a thick later of fabric over her skin. She gave an uncontrollable shudder as his fingertip travelled down her spine, another sigh leaving her before she felt his hand back at her hip. A breathless noise left her as he pressed against her, back bowing slightly on instinct alone. When he finally thrust in, she let out a moan in a rush of air, hands grasping at whatever fabric she could find store by.

If she were honest with herself, it didn’t hurt as much as other, more experienced women had mentioned. It felt more like a stretch, like unfamiliar pressure, than anything. Then again, she had dabbled elsewhere without actually having sex and had a high pain threshold. Ayleth looked over her shoulder at the khal as he pulled back and pressed forward, a delicious sort of friction coming to the forefront of her mind. Still, her mind was heavily distracted by the approach of hooves, despite the fact that this was still very much different than what she’d heard fucking a Dothraki would be. He’d been gentle and consistently asked if certain things were alright for him to do. The rumors from Qohor she’d heard had all said that Dothraki men would take what they want and ask no questions. Perhaps she’d proven herself enough to this khal that he felt compelled to ask such questions for fear of incurring her wrath. That thought brought a crooked grin to her lips thought it was short lived as he thrust his hips backwards and forwards once more and a soft noise left her.

The feel of his strong hands gripping at her hips and his mouth against her skin was far too short-lived and she let out a disgruntled noise as he pulled away from her completely, hearing a similar reaction come from him. Her head fell forward onto the mattress, sighing at the lack of physical contact as he stood. She picked her head up to shoot him a slightly exasperated look as he spoke, shaking her head a bit as she understood not a single word. Remaining on the bed for a few moments, she noted his glance between her and the outside. The woman shot up from the bed, tugging her dress back down and over her frame before she followed his path over to the tent flaps to glance out. Her brow furrowed slightly as she noted the silhouettes of three riders, though there were four horses.

Her eyes widened a bit in recognition of one of the horses and she blew past the khal. Lifting her hands to her mouth, she whistled, high and shrill. The riderless horse broke through the others and charged toward her, faster merely because of the lack of a rider. A large, stocky, dappled grey stallion came to a halt in front of Ayleth and she immediately grasped at the bridle, calming the frantic horse that was snorting and stomping at the ground. She pressed a hand to his slightly pink muzzle in a sea of silver, white, and grey, shushing him softly. To see her stallion without a saddle and with no sign of Lyla brought a sense of uncertainty to her and she completely forgot about the three charging Dothraki for a moment. She leveled her gaze on the three, watching as they drew their curved blades and continued riding forward at the sight of her. Her gaze shifted back over to the khal, watching for his next course of action. If needed, she’d gladly throw herself onto the back of her horse and gallop away.

---

Jon drew in a deep breath of air and looked over at Anaris at her next comment, a few more laughs leaving him. With every laugh that passed through his lips, he felt a little lighter. Like his situation may not be as grim as he initially thought. “Oh yes, that Jon Snow was absolute rubbish at building fires. What ever did that deserter of the Night’s Watch learn during his time there?” He jested, matching her grin as he watched her for a few moments. He turned away and grabbed the stick he’d used to tend to the fire. Jon poked at the fire, stoking the flames a bit more to life. He was growing anxious to actually eat so maybe if the flames were a lit hotter, it’d cook his meal a little faster.

He nodded in reply to her question, gaze slipping from the spit of meal he was turning again over the fire back to her. “Yes, five pups for five siblings. I only took Ghost because he was a bit different than the others,” he told her honestly. Jon was beginning to feel a bit more ease around Anaris, coming to the conclusion that she probably wasn’t going to try and kill him or turn him in. She was in hiding just as much as he was. He pulled his spit of meat closer to him, pulling his glove off with his teeth, and reached out, gently squeezing the meat to test it’s doneness before deciding it still needed a bit more time.

He extended the branch of meat back over the fire once more, tucking his ungloved hand under his cloak in an attempt to keep it warm. He dropped the glove off to the side, glancing over to Anaris as she spoke. “And you’ve probably been around Starks for too long,” he told her with a sly grin. “The further south we go, the easier things should get.” He shot a glance to the nighttime sky, trying to figure out just by a glance if it looked like the snow was slowing at all. It was too hard for him to say in the dark of the night.

“I’m sure you can fight better than the majority of the men there,” he told her as he turned the rabbit meat on the fire once more. “That’s not meant to be an insult. You just…seem a little bit harder to kill judging by how you’ve survived out here on your own.” He waited a few moments before pulling the spit of meat back to him and he pulled a cut of hare meat from the branch and chewed it slowly. A soft hum left him at it’s doneness before swallowing the bite. Jon paused for a moment, thinking over if he should tell her the truth or not. Would it matter now? Would she go into a panic at the truth he knew?

“I…saved the Lord Commander from some who had turned into a White Walker. Because of that, he took me under his tutelage. Most would say that I was being groomed to be the next Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” he told her honestly. His gaze grew slightly somber as he watched her, not knowing how she’d handle his next statement. “So, yes, the rumors about White Walkers are very true.”

Echoes of the noises she’d made sounded through the khal’s mind as he stood at the opening of the tent. He still hadn’t bothered to wrap the hide around his waist. He almost wanted whoever was disturbing them to know just what they’d interrupted, and how annoyed he was.He stole another gaze out across the plains before back at her, frowning as she put her garment back on. He allowed a second of selfishness, his eyes dropping down to her bare legs. The slit in her dress allowed him to see the expanse of ivory skin. He went to look back to the approaching riders when the woman practically flew past him.

Drogo frowned as she whistled, not understanding what she was meaning to do until a stallion distinguished itself from the rest, galloping towards the two of them in an almost frenzy. He heard his men give a cry, their heels digging into the sides of their own horses as they urged the animals forward. Arakhs were drawn, but he wasn’t concerned. They wouldn’t do anything without his approval. He waited until they were closer before calling out to them. “Where is the slave woman?” He questioned, noting that they were short the slave and the stallion she’d ridden.

“We lost sight of her after she’d abandoned the stallion,” Haggo said, hand pressed to his side. As he moved it to rest against the horse’s neck, Drogo caught sight of dried blood against his hand, as well as his side. His bloodrider would live, but the pain would be the price to pay for allowing himself to get injured. Haggo - along with Qotho and Cohollo - looked their khal up and down. Cohollo’s lips twitched upwards in the faintest of smirks. “Would you prefer us to leave, and return at a later time?” Drogo looked between the woman and his men before sighing.

“No. Get anything of importance from the tent. We ride after.” Drogo glanced over to the woman as the bloodriders got down from their stallions. Haggo shot the woman a nasty glare as he passed, spine straight as he obviously made sure that his wounds were on full display. Drogo merely looked away, instead glancing over to check that his own stallion was still where he’d left him. The animal had taken a couple of steps to the left of his original spot, grazing on the plentiful grass. He turned back to the woman, and then to her stallion. His eyes narrowed for a moment. Was she a capable rider, able to handle her steed without a saddle? “No,” he ordered, hoping that the word would convey his meaning that she was not to leave. He was growing tired of using that single word over and over with her.

He took a couple of steps towards his stallion, wrapping the hide around his waste and securing it before letting out a low whistle. The horse jerked his head up, eyes wide before trotting over to his master. The khal patted his head once, then twice, thumb rubbing at the spot where he knew that the stallion liked. While his people did eat their stallions as well as riding them, the Dothraki respected them. He turned back and headed towards the woman, his horse following along after him. He motioned towards her, and then her animal. “Yes?” He asked, not knowing if she was capable of riding.

---

“Well, we know what he didn’t learn - which was how to build a decent fire,” Anaris jested, finding that her grin widened as he laughed. She watched as he grinned at her. What would it have been like, had they known each other at Winterfell? Out in the woods, he was just Jon Snow, but back home, he was Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Stark. She’d never really been around the sons of Lord Eddard, just seeing them as they passed by a gaggle of her young friends, or as one would duck into the kitchens to try and sneak food while she was cutting vegetables. Winterfell felt like an entirely different world than the one that they were in.

She glanced from Jon to her skewer, scowling once more. She’d let the other side burn as well, too distracted by her thoughts. “Damn,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. She flipped it over, knowing that the insides were still in need of some cooking. “You chose well,” she said, glancing towards the animal in question. He seemed unbothered by the snow, more focused on the hare that was residing on Jon’s skewer. She scooted towards the fire, the cold at her back relentless despite her cloak. She wondered how sleeping would go that night. It would make sense for them to take turns, one sleeping while the other kept watch. She’d offer to take first watch. Jon Snow could have probably used a week’s worth of sleep after all he’d been through.

Anaris couldn’t help herself, rolling her eyes at the sight of his grin. “Or maybe I just hate this bleeding snow,” she replied, pulling her skewer back to her. She hesitated, not wanting to just tear her glove off with her teeth. It was dumb, but she felt that even though her mother wasn’t with her in that moment, that the older woman would just know that her daughter was probably doing something unbecoming of a young woman around a man. She brought her knees up, precariously balancing the meat-laden branch on her knees before she tugged off the thin glove. She set it in her lap, fingers going to test the meat. It could have probably gone for a minute or two more, but she really didn’t care. “It’ll take us awhile to get to a place that much further, though,” she said, pulling a piece of meat off and popping it in her mouth. She could’ve cried at how good it tasted.

She shrugged her shoulders in lieu of actually responding, chewing the meat slowly. Once she’d swallowed, she shrugged once more. “I’m not sure about that. The last time I even came close to fighting someone was when the wagon owner discovered me hiding under the hay. And that was more swiping blindly at him and then jumping out and running than anything else.” She paused as she pulled another piece of meat from the skewer. “I never really learned how to fight.” The way he paused told her enough. If the rumors weren’t true, then he would have just said so. But his next words made her freeze.

“Oh.” It was the only word she was able to get out. The information that he’d just given her wasn’t much in words, but it was a lot to process. The rumors were true. She knew that later on, she would dwell more on the fact that he could’ve been Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and had given it all up. But there were more pressing matters at hand. A sharp spike of fear was stabbing at her gut. “How - “ Her voice wavered, and she cut herself short. She needn’t concern him with her fear. “How much of a danger are they to us out here?”

Ayleth returned her gaze back to her horse as she heard the khal speak to his men. Bright eyes swooped over the sturdy build, making sure he hadn't been injured or else she may fly into a rage. It was her they had a problem with, it seemed, not her stallion. Though her hands were bound, she still was confident she could best them. The only one she felt threatened by was the khal himself, but she knew there were other tactics she could use to assuage him from a battle now. With a soft sigh, she pondered why his saddle would be missing, but figured that anything could have happened in between the time she last saw him to when Lyla made her escape. The most important thing was that Lyla was free, as far as she knew, and her horse seemed unscathed.

The warrior-woman noted the look she was given by one of the men, the one she'd injured, as a few words were spoken between the men. She merely straightened her posture as well, staring him down with those eyes of hers as a toothless grin curled her lips. A few low laughs rumbled in her chest as he passed, her eyes lingering on the fabric he'd wrapped around his calve, as if taunting him. He either seemed to not hear or paid no attention to them as he was soon disappearing within the tent. Ayleth's gaze found their way back to the khal, eyes wandering over him in the bright midday sun. Her toothless grin only widened at the sight of him. Such tanned, muscled skin was a thing to behold and she found herself quite cross that their time together had been cut short. As tempted as she was to just hop onto her stallion and ride off, perhaps this was the path the Gods--though Ayleth wasn't much of a believer in them--had presented her.

Her gaze lifted back to his as he commanded her once again and she merely tilted her head in reply. She offered him a grin, which she wasn't sure if she was trying to be disarming or set him on edge. Her eyes flitted over his frame as he turned from her once more to face his stallion, slightly disappointed as he covered himself once more as he called his horse over in a similar fashion she had called hers. She watched him closely, seeing he treated his steed with a certain reverence that brought a smile to her lips despite herself. When the khal questioned her ability to ride with a few gestures and a single word, she merely shot him a look.

In one smooth movement, she had jumped up, throwning her leg up and over the tall horse, and seating herself just behind the withers. A low hiss of pain left her clenched teeth, feeling an uncomfortable stretch at the lower half of her body. Perhaps there was more pain involved in their coupling than she'd thought and she merely had ignored the pain like she more often than not did in battle. Forcing it back for pride’s sake, she settled herself on her stallion, straightening her back regally as her eyes found the khal's. She tilted her head to the side slightly as she studied him, realizing something in that moment.

"Khal?" She started, her horse shifting slightly underneath her and her body mindlessly counterbalancing the movement. "Ayleth," she said, motioning to herself before bowing her head in some sort of mock formal introduction.

---

Jon let out another laugh as they continued on, relishing in the fact that he knew moments like this may be few and far between in the coming days. He may have been optimistic about most things, but he knew that the journey ahead of them could potentially push them to their limits. “ In the coming, cold nights, they may not be able to have jovial conversations as they were having now. He sighed at this thought, shrugging his shoulders up near his ears against a chilling wind that blew past them. The flames bent to the side with the strength of it and Jon watched it closely to make sure it would not go out. Soon enough, the wind had stopped and the flames sat upright once more.

He pulled another piece of meat from the branch and popped it into his mouth. If felt somewhat improper, dining with a woman without using utensils or plates, but he supposed that this was a notion they’d have to put past them. Gone were the days where he lived the structured life of the Night’s Watch or attended family meals in the dining hall of Winterfell. Jon chewed the piece of rabbit slowly, savoring this piece since their next meal could never be guaranteed. “He sort of picked me in a way too,” he explained to her once he swallowed the bite he had in his mouth. “Direwolves have a way of figuring the good people out from the bad,” he added, shooting a glance over to Ghost for a moment. Against the inclination to keep all of his cooked meat for himself, he pulled off a small piece from the branch and tossed it beside the beast, who eagerly ate it up.

Shifting a bit on the ground, starting to feel the moisture seeping up a bit into his clothing, he pulled another piece of meat from the branch before shooting a glance over to Anaris as she spoke. “You and me both,” he said with a low laugh and shake of his head. “I know it may be a little…odd coming from someone who’s family motto is ‘Winter is Coming’, but I’d honestly be happy if I never had to look at snow ever again in my life.” He chuckled to himself before popping another piece of meat into his mouth. He shot her a look as she spoke next, knowing there was some validity to what she was saying, but it could be the only option they had if it was still snowing come morning.

He swallowed his next bite, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he listened to her speak. He wouldn’t deny that she’d been seriously lucky that she’d been able to get away from the wagon owner like she had. “Still, that’s better than what some of the men there would have been able to do,” he joked as he shot her a look. “And I could teach you a few things, if you wanted me to,” he added. “It couldn’t hurt to learn a few things. Especially since we don't know how long we’re going to be out here.”

Jon’s brow furrowed slightly as he glanced over at Anaris, temporarily forgetting about his meal to gauge her reaction. He drew in a deep breath of air through his nose before sighing heavily. He knew she was scared because he would be lying if he said he wasn’t. He’d seen the White Walkers first hand and knew what they could do. The young man paused for a moment as he thought on what she had said, wanting to give her an honest answer. “Right now, no. But if they were to ever get inside the wall…I don’t know of an army that could stop them,” he told her quietly, suddenly losing his appetite.

“There’s four bottles of wine, khal,” Haggo called, the grin apparent in his voice despite the harsh sounds of his words. Drogo merely shook his head at the words, not bothering to reply. His men had been with him since he’d first become khal all those years ago. They were his closest allies, and that had fostered an odd sort of fondness between them. As fond as Dothraki men could be. He returned his focus back to the woman, waiting for her to respond to him. To the outsider, it wouldn’t seem like much, but her being able to ride her stallion well held a lot of weight with the khal.

He raised a brow as he heard the noise of pain, not bothering to move any closer to her. She was strong, she’d be fine. Instead, he opted to look her over, another surge of arousal running through him at the sight of her upon her horse. Her back straightened and she had the look of a khaleesi about her. Cohollo poked his head out of the tent, eyes flickering from Drogo to the woman. They widened almost imperceptibly, but the movement made the khal’s jaw tick. Cohollo glanced back to him, and instantly ducked his head at the expression. “What all would you have us take with you?” He asked, glancing towards their horses. Drogo followed suit. There wasn’t much on them, just the usual blanket and a bag on each side. He turned back to Cohollo, taking a moment to decide.

“Bring the wine, and whatever else would be valuable. There were blades littered throughout that would be used well. If there’s any room after that, whatever will fit,” he ordered. He trusted his bloodriders to know that was needed. Wine was always appreciated, but blades and strong fabric was always in need. He loathed having to barter, but his people had done rarely over the years when the times were hard and they were in desperate need. He turned back to the woman when he heard his title fall from her lips. A smirk played upon his at the realization that it sounded good coming from her.

Ayleth. The warrior’s name was Ayleth. He’d never heard of a name like that amongst his people, but it fit her. He looked her up and down in a slow gaze, taking her in before he responded. “Khal Drogo,” was his reply. He allowed his smirk to grow just a little as stepped over to her. He rested a hand against her stallion’s neck as he looked up to her. It was hard to ignore her bare leg right next to his arm. He thought back to their brief moments in the tent. While it was an annoyance, it wasn’t terrible. He would take her in his tent that night once they reached their people. And in the morning, he’d figure out what else he planned to do with her.

His men emerged from the tent, arms filled with wares. He spotted the four bottles of wine littered among the blades. Qotho had grabbed some of her sturdier garments, but there wasn’t much that met their approval. He didn’t blame them. The colored garments were made of fabric that would break easily. It would be useless for his people. He turned back to Ayleth, watching her for a moment longer. It was almost nice to not have to think of here as merely the woman anymore.

“What will you do with the woman, khal?” Haggo asked, his eyes narrowing as he shoved the wine bottles into his saddle bag. A faint prickle of amusement passed through Drogo at the bloodrider’s annoyance.

“She’s coming with us.”

---

Anaris was going to try and commit their conversation to her memory, something to draw upon later when they were probably still stuck in too much snow and probably sick of each other by then. She watched him as he sighed, the wind reaching her a half second after it had hit him. She didn’t want to, but she pulled the fur collar closer to her, taking care to keep her eyes focused solely on her skewer and not Jon. She wasn’t a huge fan of proving him right about that. If it got any colder, however, they were going to have to sit closer together. She’d learned at a young age, like all the other children in Winterfell, how to keep warm in the winter if you found yourself lost in the woods. Her cheeks warmed a little at the thought of that. “You know, the wind wouldn’t bite at you so if you’d just take the collar back,” she said, keeping her voice light despite every single hypocritical word.

Her respect for Jon Snow grew tenfold as he spoke, and then tossed a piece of meat to Ghost. Most men that she’d met would have given Ghost the leftovers, and then eaten everything else for themselves. Jon Snow, however, seemed to be different than the others that she’d met. She pulled a piece of meat off of the branch and ate it, smiling at the taste. It was nice to have something other than bread and water. “Well then, you both chose well.” She offered him a small smile before glancing back over to Ghost. He was a beautiful animal, his white fur glistening against the light of the fire. It cast a warm color on him as he laid there. If she would have been told a month ago that she would have been sharing a meal with Jon Snow and his albino direwolf next to a fire, she wouldn’t have believed them. Then again, she wouldn’t have believed them if they’d said that Lord Eddard would be beheaded at the hand of the child king.

“I always wanted to go to the South and see what it was like to live in a place that was warm all the time.” She’d heard stories of how hot it could get, but she’d never cared. A year without snow was a year that she would enjoy, regardless of how hot it would get. She watched him, curious for a moment as she debated on whether or not she should ask her next question. “Would you return to Winterfell at the end of all of this, if possible? Or would you stay in the South?” She asked him, tilting her head to the right just a little before popping another piece of meat into her mouth.

Anaris’s eyes widened at his offer. “You would teach me?” There was excitement in her words, excitement that she’d been hoping that she could hide. But it was there, her eyes growing bright at the thought. She’d never been taught to fight, the most was when her brother had taught her how to hold a dagger and wield it. It had been years ago, though, and their mother had scolded them for it.

Despite his words, her gaze flickered to the edge of the clearing. It was dark enough now that she couldn’t make anything out, but even Ghost’s calm presence couldn’t assuage the spike of fear at the thought of White Walkers getting inside the wall. “Can’t they be defeated somehow? Surely, someone could - I don’t know -“ She cut herself off, at a loss for words. What could one do against a legion of White Walkers? She glanced down to her skewer, the amount of meat left suddenly seeming like there was too much for her to handle. Then again, it could have been the souring of her stomach at the thought of that hellish event occurring. She clicked her tongue softly at Ghost, wanting to get his attention before she tossed him a piece of meat like Jon had. There was no use of it all going to waste.

If there was ever a moment Ayleth wished she’d taken the time to learn Dothraki in one of the Free Cities, it was now. Again, she only could understand a few words and she wanted to know what they were saying and what they were planning on taking with them. Ayleth knew they were just belongings, but she had a few things that were priceless to her or things she’d planned on bartering with if she ever fell on times of need. She could tell, with the cut of her dress, that she was exposing her legs nearly up to the crease of her hips, but she welcomed the feel of a cool breeze over her skin rather than save her modesty. She could feel that the Dothraki had very little modesty anyways. If any man dared to try and grab her without her permission, she’d gladly gouge out their eyes or snap their necks. Ayleth was not opposed to grotesque violence if it meant she protected and defended herself.

Ayleth’s eyes were locked onto the khal’s as he slowly looked her up at down, a smirk curled her lips at the look in his eyes. When he replied, her heart jumped in her throat and her pulse raced for a moment. The name Drogo fit him. It was strong and commanded attention. Her violet eyes followed him as he stepped over to her horse, hyperaware of the amount of skin she was showing under his gaze. She kept her gaze on his, bound hands setting the reins aside for a moment, as she slowly leaned forward. Her dress slipped up as she rested her forearms just on her stallion’s withers, exposing just the side of her backside. “Khal Drogo,” she repeated, rolling the foreign sounding name in her mouth quietly as she lifted a hand and dragged her fingertip along his jaw like she had done before. Her eyes flashed for a moment as she glanced him over, lips canting upward at one corner.

She straightened up just before his men started to leave her tent, her gaze darting over to the swords and wine balanced in their arms. Her expression dropped suddenly when the weight of what was happening finally sunk in. She noted the dutifully-tailored leather armor in one of their grasps and a heavy sigh left her. What was such pretty armor was bound to be deconstructed and used by these men in their own garments. Grasping the reins in her hands once more, she straightened her spine and stared forward out into the horizon. If she watched them taking any more of her things, she’d probably end up getting angry. Granted, she had surrendered willingly, but it still didn’t mean it hurt any less to see her things rummaged through.

Her gaze rounded on the man she’d injured, raising a brow as she picked up on the word ‘woman’ being spoken. Another huff of a laugh left her at the expression on his features and she shook her head slowly, turning around and gazing forward once more. When Khal Drogo replied, her gaze dropped to him once more, watching him curiously for any tell on what he had just said.

---

Jon pulled the last bit of meat from the branch in his grasp and threw the branch into the flames as he chewed. Immediately, he tugged his glove back on, thankful to have a barrier of fabric back over his hand as he lifted both of them back to the fire for a moment. He wondered how long it would just be the three of them; hiding away off the road and keeping away from any place they knew to be supportive of the new king Joffrey. He turned to her as she spoke again and another laugh left him and he shook his head a bit in reply. “Well…I’ve decided it’s your now since you seem to be enjoying the warmth it’s providing you so much,” he playfully snapped back, shooting her a look before one of those bright smiles curled his features.

“Like I’ve said,” Jon started, glancing over to his companion, reaching out and rubbing a hand between his ears before turning back to Anaris and offering her a small grin, “I’m very fortunate to have Ghost around.” The vulpine creature turned to regard Jon with those crimson eyes of his as if he knew they were taking about him. “And he’ll be very crucial to us if anyone should come too close to any hiding place.” He sighed softly as he turned back to gaze into the fire, tucking his hands underneath his cloak as he tried to conserve as much of the warmth of the fire as possible.

He drew in a deep breath of air as she mentioned wanting to travel South and see what it would be like to live in a place with a more temperate climate. “I don’t think I’ve ever been too far outside of Winterfell, never too far South to experience anything other than cold,” he told her, dark eyes slipping over to her. “I don’t think we’ll find Robb too far South, but there’s no telling where the war will take us,” he added. He paused for a moment, wondering if she’d travel with them once they actually found Robb. His mind was drawn from that train of thought as she questioned him about staying in Winterfell. “I think I would go back to Winterfell. I guess it would all depend on what happens too,” he said honestly before lifting his gaze from the flames and looking over at Anaris. “What about you? Would you go back?”

A smile crossed his lips despite himself at her excitement at the offer of him teaching her to fight. Something about it reminded him of Arya and just how eager she was to play fight with him. “Of course,” he responded with a nod. “I have no doubt that I could protect the two of us, if needed. And where I can’t, I’ll make sure Ghost will keep you safe. But…it couldn’t hurt in case were were ever separated from each other.” His hands lifted from under his cloak and he extended them to the fire once more to warm them. “We can start when we find the next place to camp for the night,” he offered with another nod.

He grasped at the stick he’d used to prod at the fire before and he moved a few of the branches around before taking a new one and placing it over the fire. Jon knew that he’d been able to kill the White Walker that had attacked him with fire, but any blade he’d used had been futile against it. “Fire…fire was the only thing that worked against the one…” His voice trailed off, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he brought his gaze to hers. “Against the one that I fought,” he told her, shaking his head slowly. “Unless we could use massive amounts of fire against them…I don’t know of any other weapon that would work.”

He noted her tossing a piece of meat to Ghost and a smile played around his mouth despite the grim subject they had been speaking of before. “Thank you,” he said softly, knowing his companion definitely appreciated the extra meal.

Drogo had never had a woman have such an effect on him. But this one - Ayleth, his mind supplied - was proving him wrong again and again and again. It was maddening in a way, just how easy it was for her. All she had to do was lean down and trace the tip of her finger against his jaw and suddenly he was a young boy once more, desperate for the attention of the elders - and the women. The way his name just fell from her lips was one that made him want to take her then and there, his men be damned. But he couldn’t, he shouldn’t. “I will take you in my tent tonight and have you scream,” he said, keeping his voice low so the men wouldn’t hear him. He knew that she wouldn’t understand a word of what he’d said, but that made it more enticing for him.

He pulled away with reluctance, frowning to himself as he stepped over to his horse. He reached into the bag draped against his steed’s side and pulled out a long piece of rope. He started to loop it before his fingers began knotting it, pulling it tight. Once the loop was secure, he stepped back over to Ayleth’s horse and judged the size. He kept one hand against the horse’s neck, murmuring a soft shhhh to it as he took his time in setting it over his neck. It wasn’t elaborate by any means, but it would serve its purpose in making sure that the warrior and the horse were not able to run off. He whistled for his horse, who stepped over to them, pausing about a foot away. As he began tying the other end of the rope to his stallion’s saddle, Haggo spoke up. “She can ride well?” He asked, the condescension dripping in every word. A part of it made Drogo bristle with agitation, but he let it slide.

“As well as she could aim those daggers, most likely,” Cohollo replied to the agitation of Haggo. Drogo just shook his head, biting down the grin at the jesting between his men. He stood between his horse and hers, his hands out the sight of his men. As he secured the rope to his saddle, he turned back to Ayleth and hers under the guise of checking the makeshift harness. He used his left hand to tug against the knot, his right wrapping around her calf gently. His skin burned as he touched her, his gaze flickering up to hers to await her reaction.

He nodded his head in the direction of the empty plains, before saying, “No.” It was getting old having to continue communicating like that. With a warrior such as she, he was curious about her. Curious about the scars lining her body and how she got them. Curious as to why she was so far away from people, especially if she was a khaleesi. It just didn’t make any sense to him. But he pushed those thoughts away, instead focusing on the task at hand. He let his right hand pull away from her, using both then to tighten the knot as much as possible.

He ducked under the rope connecting their two stallion and looked toward his men. “We should make it back before sundown,” he said, walking round his horse and then pulling himself up onto the animal with ease. He straightened his back as he watched the men do the same, checking their packs to make sure that everything was secure. He looked to Ayleth, cocking a brow at her. He prayed to the Great Stallion that she was as capable a rider as she had appeared to be. “You will stay with us[,” he said, looking between them in an attempt to convey even part of what he meant.

---

Anaris rolled her eyes so far back she almost feared they’d get lost in her skull. “Are you normally this stubborn, or is it just me?” She questioned, giving him a quick grin. In Winterfell, she’d seen Jon Snow fairly often. Never long, the two of them just passing each other by for barely a moment before they were gone their separate ways. But even then, she’d caught quick glimpses of him laughing with his brother Robb, or walking with Arya. But she wasn’t able to remember seeing such a bright smile on his face. That thought made her duck her head, shaking it slowly as she laughed. “Really, though,” she began, looking back up to meet his gaze. “It’s getting colder. I’m not sure that you’ll be well enough off without it.”

She liked how much he appreciated Ghost. Most men tolerated their dogs well enough, but Jon seemed to go above and beyond any other that she’d seen. It was as though Ghost was an equal to him. And maybe, in a way, he was. It was obvious that the handsome direwolf was loyal to Jon through and through. He was smarter than the average wolf, appearing to be above most animals that she’d ever seen. “Is he like other direwolves? He seems more intelligent than most animals that I’ve seen,” she said, having heard the legends about direwolves, and how they hadn’t been seen for ages.

“I can’t imagine that he’d be able to get that far in snow like this, especially with an army lumbering after him,” Anaris mused. She hoped that he wasn’t far. While she wanted to see the South and experience warmer temperatures, she much preferred the thought of safety. And his brother was the closest thing they had to safety. She watched him as he spoke, moving a little towards the fire as the brutal cold started seeping into her cloak little by little. “Like you said, it would all depend on what happens.” She thought it over. Would she be able to return to Winterfell after this was all over? “I guess it also depends on what waits for me there.” If anything. She turned her gaze back to the fire, her mouth settling into a thinly pressed line.

Her mood lifted a little, however, at him confirming that he would indeed teach her how to fight. She stifled a smirk as he assured her that there was no doubt that he could protect the two of them. Such confidence. “I would like that, you teaching me,” she said, offering him a smile. There would most likely come a time when neither Jon nor Ghost were around, and she’d have to defend herself properly, not just stabbing about blindly. She brought her hands towards her torso, slipping them both underneath her cloak in an attempt to get warm. “Are you as good at fighting as you are about being chivalrous?” She asked in jest, smirking at him faintly.

“It’d be convenient if dragons were still about,” Anaris said, thinking out loud. She could just imagine it, a dragon breathing fire and defeating line after line of White Walkers. She looked to the fire before them. It was almost funny in a way, that something so common was used to defeat such a terrifying enemy. Her brother had used to whisper horror stories to her in the dark about White Walkers, and all that they were capable of doing. While he’d said it mainly to get a rise out of her, the stories had stuck her. But more importantly, the fear of them.

She just shrugged in response, unsure of what to say. “He looked hungry,” she answered, mustering up a quick, barely there smile. She looked up to the sky, frowning at the inky black. It had to be late. “Should we heading to sleep, soon? I assume you’ll want to start early tomorrow.”

The sun seemed ever brighter perch up on her stallion and the trick of lining her eyes with black kohl seemed to only do but so much. Ayleth pulled her braid over her shoulder, noticing just how mussed the length of it had become where it had been once sleek and uniform. A hum left her, mind wandering back over the events that had lead up to this point. Her mind immediately remembered the feel of his skin against hers, the groans that had left his lips, and Ayleth immediately felt a flush come over her, spiking her temperature under the blazing sun. When he spoke in that low tone, so quiet that only she could hear, she thought the heat would consume her from within. She didn’t understand a word he’d said, but with the way he’d said it, she didn’t need a translation. Leveling her darkened gaze on him, her eyes followed him as he moved away from her stallion.

Her countenance grew serious once more as she tried to figure out exactly what he meant to do with the length of rope. Certainly he wasn’t intending on tying her wrists again. She’d proven that once was sufficient enough and the coarse rope was bound to chafe the delicate skin with the added element of sweat. Ayleth straightened up a bit when she realized that he intended on looping the end around her stallion’s neck, tensing ever so slightly. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable with the fact one of her last paths of escape was just ruined, but if they happened to be ambushed, she was now put in a doubly dangerous situation. One where not only she was bound, but her horse was as well. She could only hope the horse-lord would react quickly and smartly and cut her loose, should something like that occur.

Doing her part in making it easier for him, once he’d looped the end over her horse’s neck, she pulled the reins out from underneath it, not wanting her stallion to undergo any undue stress because of the added pressure to his bit. Her eyes slipped over her shoulder as she heard chatter behind her, her stallion shifting a bit with the uncertainty of the situation but still managing to remain as calm as he could be. Ayleth shot the three men cool looks, as if reminding them of how skilled she could be with a sword—even better with two. She could see they doubted her, probably only amplified by the fact she had no saddle, no boots, and was now bound at the wrist. She would just have to prove them wrong.

As Khal Drogo stepped back over to her horse from his, she turned her gaze to him once more, studying him closely for what his next move would be. Her eyes followed his left hand and then his right, unflinching under his touch. A soft noise left her, the inexplicable urge to climb from her horse, lead him back to the tent, and finish what they had started earlier. When his gaze met hers, she drew in a slow, regulated breath of air, trying to keep her urges under control. She spared a glance to the fields he’d nodded too, understanding what he was implying. Instead of replying verbally, she just nodded her head a few times. Her breath left in a rush of air when his hand finally left her skin, wondering what kind of power this man possessed to have her reacting in such a way. She’d been touched before, but something about the way he was touching her and looking at her was driving her mad with want.

Her eyes followed him for a moment before turning to glance down at her horse. She ran an appreciative hand along his neck, smiling slightly at the huff of air he provided her in response. Gods forbid anyone who attempted to split the two of them now, he was seemingly the only thing she had left to her name, spare the simple dress at her back. Her gaze flittered over to the khal as he climbed upon his horse, brows lifting slightly. And now I know why they’re called the horse-lords, she thought to herself. If there was anything to be said about the man’s posture on two feet, he was massively more intimidating on horseback. When his eyes met hers once more, a jolt of adrenaline coursed through her, as if reminding her that she was lucky to have even gained this man’s attention. She paused as his spoke, brow furrowing slightly. She didn’t fully grasp what he was saying, but she just nodded in reply. “Yes,” she said softly.

---

“I’m beginning to believe it might just be you, Anaris,” Jon replied without missing a beat, eyes crinkling up at the sides in his mirth. He wanted it to be clear that what he said was only in jest, but with the tone of their conversation this far, he was sure he didn’t even need to imply that anymore to know that it was understood. He was enjoying this far too much. He was letting himself become distracted, but this was exactly what he had needed. When her gaze met his, a heavy sigh left him, knowing from the way the cold was biting at the back of him and the way even the fire was failing to warm him up fully now, the temperature was steadily dropping. “We could share it,” he offered, his voice much softer, filled with slight apprehension. “W-We don’t have to if the thought makes you uncomfortable. But it’d be the smartest way to keep warm…and finally get you to shut up about that bloody collar.” A hint of a grin threatened to curl his lips as he added the last part, but he managed to keep a straight face.

Jon lifted a branch to the fire once more and prodded at the flames, knowing they probably didn’t have much left to it. But at least they’d been able to eat and at least shake some of the cold from their bones. He was beginning to envy Ghost with his coat of fir and being seemingly unaffected by the cold that bit at the two of them. “I’ve always wondered,” he admitted, shooting a glance back to his companion as he thought about it for a moment or two. “Perhaps because I got him when he was a mere pup, I took the place of his mother in a sense,” he murmured quietly, brow furrowing slightly. “One can never be too sure when it comes to creatures though.”

He shook his hair out of his eyes, ducking beneath the clasp of his cloak for a moment as he let out an eye-watering yawn. Jon couldn’t remember the last time he’d been fortunate enough to be able to have a repose like the one he was having now. The fatigue of being so angry and set on revenge left his muscles aching. “Any man he has from the North should be capable enough to fight in the snow. I wouldn’t doubt if Robb manages to gain allies from further South…like the Tully’s or what’s left of the Arryn’s, for example,” he said. He was no war strategist, but with the family ties Catelyn Stark had in two prominent holds, he didn’t doubt they would come to Robb’s aide. At her words about returning to Winterfell, he shot her a glance, stomach dropping when he realized that she probably didn’t have much left there for her. A sigh left him and he slowly returned his gaze back to the fire before them.

Instead, Jon occupied his mind with wondering if Anaris had any promise as a fighter. There were those who he knew, no matter how much he tried, just would not be able to protect themselves against any sort of fight. Then there were those who had a chance of survival. He’d seen it when he would play fight with Robb, Theon, and eventually Arya at Winterfell and he’d seen it at Castle Black as well. He wondered what kind of fighter Anaris would be. A wide grin cracked his stony features as she questioned him and his dark brown gaze found hers once more. “Of course,” he replied, “infuriatingly so.” A soft laugh left him as he shook his head, holding his palms out to the fire once more.

Jon let out another chuckle at the mention of dragons and he shook his head slowly. “They’d be nice. No doubt about that,” he murmured absently, gaze lost in the flame once more. He ran his tongue over his lips as he rolled his shoulders a bit and stretched his neck from side-to-side in an attempted to keep from getting too stiff, should he need to fight. His eyes slipped over to her as she spoke and her words caused a rush of adrenaline to course through him for some reason. “Yeah, I suppose we should try to get some sleep. Leave here around first light,” he said, more to himself than her. “Think we should just let the fire die out?”

[Feel free to skip ahead on either one of these if it helps keeping things moving forward! ]

Drogo silently thanked the Great Stallion that they did not come across any men in their ride back. It had taken hours as it were, the heat almost too much to handle as it had beaten upon their backs. To make matters worse, the sight of seeing Ayleth ride beside him had made him grow impatient. Normally, he would have been fine with the long ride, taking in the simple pleasures of riding across the great grassy plains. But that day, he’d been growing agitated with every passing minute. He’d cursed himself for deciding that they’d needed to get back instead of taking her in the tent. He could have taken her there as well as within his own. But no, he’d chosen and he was realizing that he’d chosen poorly.

As they approached his people’s camp, another problem presented itself to him. Generally, when a whore or woman slave was brought into their camp, the men descended upon her without any regard for anyone else. At least one man usually died in a fight over who would get to fuck her first. But the mere thought of any man laying a single fingertip on Ayleth made anger well up inside of him. Casually, he reached down with one hand and wrapped it around the handle of his arakh. He would maim any man that touched her, he decided. It was as simple as that.

Tents made of leather and wood and whatever materials had been around littered the area in no apparent layout. Children and women wandered about the area, gathering water and preparing food for their dinner. He could see a couple warriors straighten up as they noticed their khal’s presence, calling out to the others to prepare. Men, women, and children started to lift their gazes, abandoning their prior tasks to stand up on their toes to catch a sight of who was arriving. Leaving with a certain number of men and arriving back with more was a regular occurrence, but arriving with one riding a stallion - a woman, at that - and things were bound to be more interesting.

Drogo pulled up on his horse, slowing him down as they approached. People started to merge forward, eyes already roaming to see what their khal had brought back. More than a few men’s gazes lingered on the warrior beside him, eyes wandering down her fair legs and up her side. His jaw clenched. As they approached, the people around them grew tighter, allowing just enough space for their horses to move. Most of the people were intent on seeing what was in the bags, but he watched in silence as a man stepped forward, eyes only for Ayleth. He knew that he could have said something to the man before he moved, but Drogo wanted a fight. He’d been too pent up since pulling away from her, and none of his feelings had died down. If anything, they’d only heightened.

In one smooth motion, he dismounted his horse and shifted his body forward, free hand reaching out and grabbing the man’s arm. His fingers had almost grazed her leg. “Do not touch her. She’s mine,” he growled, fingers digging painfully into the man’s flesh. He looked up to Ayleth, awaiting her reaction. He would not take the moment away from a khaleesi. Men must know their place, and if she were to survive with his people, she needed to prove herself.

---

Anaris opened her mouth and then promptly closed it, his answer surprising her. The corners of her lips twitched upward and she let out a loud, bright laugh. She clapped her hand over her mouth, remembering where they were. They didn’t need any members of the Night Watch finding them, or hungry animals. After a second, she let her hand drop and shook her head at him. “You really do know what to say to make a woman feel special, Jon Snow,” she finally said, chuckling softly as her gaze met his. Her chuckles died down, however, at his suggestion. Something warm twisted in her chest, and she was a little embarrassed at how the first thing she thought was a resounding ‘yes’. “Um, that would be fine. It’s a smart idea,” she said, her voice matching his in softness. “But if you think that I’m going to shut about about the bleeding collar, you’re wrong. I’ll argue with you the whole way to the South.”

There was a last piece of meat on her skewer. She looked it over, hesitating before pulling it off and popping it into her mouth. She hadn’t been hungry, but things were different out there. She’d rather be a little over full than hungry and beating herself up for not eating that last piece of hare. She chewed as he spoke, nodding slow. “I’d always heard legends of direwolves, about how they were different than wolves, but I never knew what was true and what wasn’t,” she murmured, looking upon the direwolf in question. She’d like to think that Ghost was just exceptionally smart, even for a direwolf. It might give them more of a chance of survival.

“Will Joffrey have many allies?” She questioned, looking from Ghost to Jon. She’d never paid much attention to who was allies with who. War had never been a concern for her before, and she felt foolish for that. If it had been, would she have been able to be more prepared? Would she have been able to guess what was ahead and save her family? It was mostly wishful thinking, but there was still a faint sting of guilt residing in her chest. Or maybe it was her way of grieving for what she’d lost - even though she wasn’t entirely sure just yet what she had lost. Her nails dug into her palms, hard enough to leave descent crescent moons in the skin. She wouldn’t cry, not then. Not in front of Jon. She would mourn later, in private.

Anaris forced herself to put those thoughts out of her mind. She saw the wide grin that adorned his lips, and she felt something loosen a little in her chest. “Infuriating is the right word,” she fired back, offering him a grin of her own. It wasn’t much, still weakened by her earlier thoughts, but it was something. “I just hope you’re a good teacher then,” she added, using her heels to inch herself closer to the fire.

“They would.” She kept her gaze on him, watching as he stared into the fire. She hadn’t meant to, but her gaze dropped to his lips as his tongue slid over them, then sliding down to his neck and shoulders as he stretched. Jon Snow was attractive, she couldn’t deny that. But she hadn’t expected for his simple actions to make her feel the need to watch him even more so. She ducked her head down quickly, hoping that he hadn’t caught her staring. “We could. Might go on for a little bit longer,” she said, her voice quiet as she tried to force herself to relax. She could handle it. They would just be sleeping. It would be fine.

[Okay! I skipped ahead on the Drogo/Ayleth one, but I wasn’t sure about Jon/Anaris, so I let it continue. But you can skip ahead if you’d like! ]

To say that Ayleth was irritated and irritable was an understatement. She was covered in a sheen of sweat that the wind could not even keep away. Her backside was sore for the hours on end she was spending atop a horse with no saddle. She was thirsty and starving and beginning to ache from being in one position for too long. At first, she’d just distracted herself by studying the khal atop his own stallion, watching the roll of muscles as he adjusted to the movements of the horse. But after a while, even that could not keep Ayleth from scowling harshly at nothing in particular. She missed the wreck of a tent she’d left behind and the shade it provided.

However, that annoyance as a result of a culmination of many different factors faded away once she saw the vast khalasar that she could only assume was under Khal Drogo’s rule. There was no doubt in her mind now that she had fought and now rode beside the man they were calling “The Great Khal” in the Free Cities. She sat a bit straighter on her horse as she looked over at him, eyes sweeping over him for a moment before she nodded once and returned her gaze to the large group of people that were gathering to greet them. Though she was tempted to study them, to see how well they were all kept and use that as an indicator of how well the Khal ruled, she kept her gaze forward, chin leveled with the ground as she paid no attention to the hurried whispers, but otherwise near silence that greeted them.

As her stallion, tethered to Khal Drogo’s, cut his way through the crowds, her attention was grabbed by someone stepping toward her. Her eyes shot over to him, vaguely noticing the Khal slipping from his mount, effectively halting both of their steeds, and grabbing roughly at the man. For a few moments, she held the man’s gaze before turning hers to the Khal’s. Her brow furrowed slightly as she realized that he was looking to her expectantly. Was he presenting this man to her to do with what she would as punishment for almost touching her? She could see the angry fire in his eyes and it made her stomach flip anxiously. Her eyes darted to the hand that grasped his blade, knowing that if he’d wanted the man dead, he would have been. It was clear to her there was no other reason for his hesitation besides her.

Gracefully, she slid both legs to one side of her horse and slipped from the mount onto bare feet, bound hands resting just in front of her. She made her way to Khal Drogo first, her gaze locked on his as she stopped beside the two men. Her hands gently rested on his forearm, looking at him with a certain sort of sick excitement flickering in that violet gaze of hers. She tightened her grip on his arm slightly, prying his hand from the man’s arm as one of those telling grins curled her lips—as if she knew that single expression would let him know that she had this situation handled. She then turned to the man, who was watching her closely with hungry eyes. Ayleth knew in that moment he thought she’d picked him instead of the Khal and it only widened her grin. She took a step between Khal Drogo and the nameless Dothraki man, allowing one of his hands to grasp at her hip and pull her flush against him. Her violet gaze flashed and darkened, the grin never leaving her features as she tilted her head to the side slightly. Ayleth enjoyed toying with certain people before fighting them and this man was no exception. She could see the bad intentions that laid in the man’s eyes, but it was the prideful glance he shot to Khal Drogo over her shoulder that had her snapping.

In a flash, she had his hand and arm trapped beneath one of her arms, as the other one braced against elbow of the same arm. Ayleth drove her knee up and into the forearm of the man, a loud crack of bone resounding loudly and hushed murmurs picked up around her. The man let out a cry, taking a step back, but Ayleth followed his movements. Her hands may have still been bound, but she was still capable and she wanted to prove that. Faster than the strike of a snake, she reached out and tugged a dagger from the man’s belt. Thankfully for her, the blade was sharp as she cleanly sliced through his other wrist without much effort, splattering blood down the front of her dress and at her feet. A bloodcurdling yell left the man now, but Ayleth was still not done. She stepped around him, guiding him to his knees in front of the khal with a firm press of her hands on his shoulder. One of her hands found what little braid he had—it barely skimmed between his shoulder blades— as her gaze found the Khal’s. She leaned in to his ear and said in a low voice, though she was sure he wouldn’t understand, “For men like you, death would be too kind.”

She sliced the blade through his hair, keeping the braid in her grasp as she landed a sharp kick to the man’s back. Unable to catch himself, he fell face first in front of the khal. Ayleth quickly slunk past the Khal, tossing the dagger skillfully beside the man’s head, without so much as a look in his direction. She easily climbed back atop her stallion and directed her gaze forward once more, regally leveling her chin with the braid of the man in one hand and the reins of her stallion in the other.

---

Jon thought the sound of her laughter was one of the prettiest noises he’d heard in ages, enjoying the way it echoed off the quiet woods around them and thinking not of the way it could needlessly draw unwanted attention to them. “I never claimed to be good with words. Just chivalrous,” he replied with a flash of a bright smile in her direction. At her agreeing that it may be best thing for them to share the collar, the smile turned more proud for a moment before she stated that the arguing over the collar wasn’t done. The smile slid from his features slowly and he eyed her, though he was secretly overjoyed at the idea of the bickering between the two of them continuing. “And I’m prepared to remain staunchly chivalrous and stubborn…and refuse to take that collar back…all the way to the South,” he retorted smartly. He shook his head a bit, poking at the fire before them just a bit more.

He eyed her as she ate the last scrap of rabbit meat and couldn’t help but wonder when their next meal would be. Glancing over his shoulder to Ghost, he knew that as long as his companion was with him, they had a better chance of surviving than just on his own. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as she spoke. “I’m still not sure what’s true and what’s not. I think Ghost may be one of a kind at times,” he stated with a simple shrug of his shoulders as he shook his head a bit.

At her next questioned, he frowned a bit, trying to think over what little he knew of the great houses of Westeros and who would be more likely to come to the aide of Joffrey. “Well…we can guarantee the Lannister’s will be the biggest ally. I can’t be too sure of Stannis or Renly Baratheon, being that either of them seem to both be claiming themselves as king. The Martell’s in Dorne will be hard to pin down on which side they will choose,” he said, almost thinking out loud as he tried to remember ties certain houses had with others and who disliked who. It was enough to make his head spin. “I don’t think we can say for certain who will come to support Joffrey or not,” he decided on, shaking his head a bit.

A soft laugh left him at her next comment, shaking his head a bit as he studied the grin on her features. It was a little less radiant than the others and he wondered why that was. Perhaps their conversation had brought to mind her family, or what could potentially be left of it, in Winterfell. “I just hope you’re an adequate student,” he shot back with a crooked grin, shaking his head a bit.

He glanced to the fire and drew in a deep breath of air. “I suppose it’s too wet from snow for anything around us to catch anyways,” he said softly before glancing over to Anaris. He glanced over to her for a moment before scooting over a bit toward her, heart leaping into his throat for a moment. He tried telling himself that he was just reacting this way because he’d not seen a woman in the longest time, though he knew that was not the case. He grabbed the collar that had been such a topic of debate from her shoulders and settled it evenly over the two of them as he pressed his shoulder against hers. Immediately, he realized that this was a far warmer option, though he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not. “Let me know if this is uncomfortable for you…I can move away,” he said softly, eyes glancing over to her as he tucked his hands under his cloak once more.

[I was going to skip with Anaris/Jon, but then I realized that I didn't want to miss out on the whole collar sharing thing. ]

The khal watched Ayleth, his gaze taking in every single visible inch of her. It was easier to focus on her than the man in his grip. He wanted her to deal with the man, knowing that her fierce rage would be more than enough to finish him. But he feared that if he stole even a single glance to the man, he would snap his neck in an instant. It didn’t take an intelligent man to understand that the woman who rode a horse tied to the khal’s would therefore be the khal’s. Even in a large group of people like the one surrounding them now, not a single man, woman, or child dared to even reach out towards the khal or his bloodriders, let alone approach them with the intent of taking something.

He watched as she dismounted, his eyes locked onto hers as she stopped beside him. Her hands were on his forearm, and his skin burned nicely at her touch. It had been a long day of riding, and he looked forward to taking her. But then she was tugging his hand away from the man’s and he let go out of surprise. What was she doing? He noticed the grin that alighted onto her face, remembering a similar one earlier. She was toying with the man. Drogo stayed where he was. Just because she was removing him from the situation didn’t mean that he’d step back. It took every ounce of his self control not to grab the man away from her and slit his throat at the sight of his hand on her hip. He almost stepped forward, to do something, when Ayleth moved.

The people around them were murmuring, pressing in just enough so they could get a glimpse of the foreign khaleesi taking down one of their own. Winning a fight was something that demanded respect in the Dothraki culture, and there was no exception. The murmuring grew louder as a yell left the man, and Khal Drogo looked on in what could only be described as pride. It grew as she forced the man onto his knees in front of him. He lifted his chin, taking care not to let a grin show on his face. No, he would show only her that later, when they were alone.

Ayleth cut the man’s braid and kicked him down, sparking an even feeling of pride and arousal through Drogo. She knew of his people’s traditions, and that in and of itself made him desire her even more. A low cheer started from the people at the sight of the humiliation. The khal didn’t bother with another look towards the man, instead moving back to his horse and mounting it with ease. He looked towards his bloodriders, all of whom looked equally impressed with the woman. “Sort the wares. I’m taking her with me,” he ordered, looking over to Ayleth. He nodded his head forward, digging his heels gently into his stallion’s side before they started to trot easily through the crowd. The people spread like a parting wave, all of them looking upon the khaleesi with respect.

He led her through the camp, weaving in and out of throngs of people. It started to thin as they went deeper within, more and more people heading to the outskirts to see what had been brought back. Once they reached a fairly large tent, he pulled back on the reins and hopped down. He tied the reins to a post before looking over to Ayleth, motioning for her to do the same. “My home,” he said, hoping that she would understand what he was talking about. He headed towards the flap and paused, waiting for her to come with him.

---

Anaris let out a rather unladylike snort as he spoke. “You’d think they’d go hand in hand,” she said, shaking her head at him despite the wide grin fixed on her features. She couldn’t help but watch him. Jon Snow grinning was like staring directly into the sun. Or rather, the way the light was when it was just before dusk - everything golden and light. It just made everything a bit more pretty and warm. She reached up, fingers running through her hair to move the stray strands out of her face in an attempt to distract herself from her own thoughts. She was probably just half exhausted and thinking nonsense at that point. “Well then, at least we have something to keep us busy until we get there,” she replied, smirking at him.

She set the skewer down beside her, using the tip to draw a small circle in the snow. There was around a loaf and a half of bread left in her pack, and if they managed to ration it out, it’d last them at least two more days. If they decided to go hungry, then maybe three or four. It wasn’t much, though. She followed Jon’s gaze to his direwolf. She was lucky that they had stumbled upon her. With the weather settling in like it was, she might not have lasted long on her own. “He seems to be one of a kind,” she said, smiling fond at the animal.

Her head swam with the names of families that she’d only heard in brief bits and pieces of conversations. Lannister and Baratheon were familiar ones, arising fairly often. Martell was one that she didn’t recognize. It took a certain kind of person to align themselves to a child king, let alone one like Joffrey. Anaris had heard the rumors of the brat king long before he’d been named king. Any time that there was even an inkling of a chance of him arriving to House Stark, it seemed like every young maiden working in the house was suddenly whisked away, kept out of sight and out of mind during the duration of the visit. “There’s going to be a war, isn’t there.” She didn’t ask it as a question so much as merely saying a statement. It was true. There would be a war, and it would be a great one.

“I’m much more than adequate, thank you very much,” she answered, letting out a quiet laugh. The thought made her excited. She’d always wanted to learn how to fight, but her mother had looked down upon such things. Coren had taught her a little when they’d been younger, but once he started to apprentice under the blacksmith, their time grew shorter and shorter.

Anaris gave a nod of her head. “If anything happens, Ghost will let us know,” she said, forcing herself to remain still and not to fidget. It was hard not to, though, as she watched him scoot closer to her. Her heart was pounding and she feared that he’d be able to hear it, despite knowing that it was technically impossible. It didn’t make sense that her nerves would be so sensitive. The second his shoulder was against hers, it warmed. It spread throughout her chest, and without thinking about it, she leaned against him. “Jon, it’s fine,” she said, stealing a glance up to him. His face was much closer than she realized, and her cheeks flushed. She turned her gaze back to the fire, trying to think of a way to soothe her nerves. “But if you’d like to move away, you’re more than welcome to take the collar with you,” she eventually said, a smirk teasing at her lips.

[The collar sharing is going to be great. I can feel it. ]

Ayleth could barely pay attention to the fact that the Khal had gotten back on his horse; she was brimming with too many emotions and adrenaline after dropping a man in front of a crowd of foreigners. He was speaking to his men, but, again, she couldn’t understand a word they were saying. She knew there was a potential for someone to speak both the common tongue and Dothraki in the crowd of people, but she just didn’t know if she’d be allowed to find them. She wanted to learn the language and be able to communicate with the Khal with more than just head nods, swings of a blade, and the word “no”. She finally allowed her gaze to wander the crowds as the wave of a cheer from her winning in what seemed like a far-too one-sided match spread through the crowd. The crowd was no longer looking at her with apprehension and the men made sure to keep their gaze at her face instead of her body.

She knew she’d proven herself at that point, but she also knew that it would take a lot more to gain trust from anyone. Ayleth wasn’t even sure if the Khal trusted her, as she was still bound at the wrist. The rest of the ride passed by quickly, heart still pounding in her chest as she glanced down at the now-ruined, blood-splattered dress. She’d decided that it was worth ruining probably the nicest fabric she’d see for a long time. And as they horses slowed to a stop, she wore a slight grin on her features. Her eyes slipped over to Khal Drogo as he dismounted his horse once more and tied his horse to a post.

Slipping from her own mount, Ayleth offered her stallion a few moments as if thanking him for carrying her such a long journey while tying him on the post next to the Khal's mount. At least the sun was beginning to set and the wind almost had a chill to it. Her eyes slipped over to the Khal as he spoke, merely watching him for a few moments before following his path to what she would assume would be his tent. It was the largest out of the group and seemed to be made out of only the sturdiest of materials: a tent fit for a Khal. She stopped just beside him for a moment, still gripping the braid of the man in one hand. Her gaze lifted to his for a moment, tempted to take his hand and soothe over the path that the man she’d defeated had touched her along—as if saying that she would only allow him to touch her without repercussion. Her eyes darted to the few sets of eyes that eagerly watched them and figured the Khal may not appreciate such an affectionate display in the eyes of people he commanded respect from.

Instead, she merely slipped past him and into the tent a few paces before stopping. The inside was spacious and cool and a few torches and candles had been lit along the insides, probably by slaves who had been made aware of the Khal’s approach. She noted a bed of rich furs on the floor, some she recognized only from creatures that belonged in Westeros. There were a smattering of other things around the room, but it was clear the contents of the tent and the tent itself was made to be able to be picked up quickly and stored away.

Slowly, she stepped further into the room as she plucked at the end of her own braid. The suede tie she’d used to keep it together was about to come loose, so she just decided to untie it. Tossing the braid of the man she defeated to the side, she didn’t know if she should keep as token of a battle won or throw into the flames. She made quick work of shaking out the braid from her hair, leaving waist-length, dark brown hair flowing down her back and falling slightly over one shoulder. It still smelled slightly of lavender and cloves; oils that Lyla had insisted would keep her hair shining and radiant. Her heart gave a slight twinge at the thought of Lyla being out in the plains, all alone. Drawing in a deep breath of air, Ayleth glanced down at the bed, her body gave a poignant ache, as if urging her to lie down. Still, she did not know exactly what was to happen to her, so she remained standing instead, eyes locked on the front of the tent.

---

“My father,” Jon started, realizing that this was about to be the first time he spoke of Lord Eddard Stark in past tense, “wasn’t a man of many words. Not many men of the North are.” He paused for a moment, glancing over to Anaris and realizing that this may dampen the playful conversation by interjecting reality into it. “But I knew by what he did how much he loved Lady Stark. It may not have always seemed it and he may not have always made the right choices-“ He being a reminder of that. “-but he loved that woman fiercely.” He paused for a moment, gaze dropping down to the fire. He got lost in his thoughts for a moment, wondering how Lady Stark was handling the death of her husband and father to her children. His gaze lifted back to her’s and he shrugged a bit, shoulder brushing up against hers with the movement.

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty other things to keep us occupied,” he stated innocently, though after he’d said it, he’d realized just how his words could be construed. A slight flush burned at his cheeks, but he figured that if he tried to explain, he’d only make things that much worse. Their closeness wasn’t helping him at all think straight and all he saw when he looked at her were her wide, brown eyes and the shapes her lips made when she spoke. He cleared his throat softly and stared at the fire, at the snow on the trees, at anything but her to try and wrap his mind around their situation.

Jon knew that the last thing the young woman beside him wanted was to have someone like him make a fool of himself because she was the first woman he’d seen in months. He tried to remind himself that he’d said he would protect her and he had to remind himself that she would probably only ever see him as a protector; just like Ghost in a sense. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he reached for the long branch beside him and poked at the fire once more to see just how much longer of a life he could coax out of it. “Yes…but I can’t say I’m quite looking forward to it,” he murmured grimly in reply to her statement.

He returned his gaze to hers as she spoke next and he smiled despite himself, eyes slipping between hers before glancing briefly over her features. “I think I have my work cut out for me,” he murmured quietly before letting out a soft laugh and shaking his head. His heart and stomach were still flipping anxiously and he drew in and let out a slow breath of air to try and calm himself as much as he could. They were just sitting that close for warmth and nothing else, he told himself over and over again. Though, when he caught the flush on her cheeks, his eyes drifted back over to her and remained on her as she looked away. His eyes wandered her profile as his lips parted slightly.

“Oh, you,” he shot back at her comment, nudging his shoulder against hers playfully before he drew in a deep breath of air. Something about her was pulling him in and enticing him to see what her lips against his would feel like. Again, he was trying to blame it on the lack of women he’d been around for the last few months, but he couldn’t help but to feel like this was something different. Jon was not like most men in the sense that just because a woman was a woman, he found some sort of attraction to them. They had to have something different about them to draw him in. Ghost letting out a yawn behind him had his mind halting and he glanced over his shoulder. “I think he’s got the right idea,” he murmured softly, turning his gaze back to Anaris. “Right…so…were we going to take turns awake or just sleep at the same time?” He questioned, eyes slipping between hers.

Drogo was impressed with her, and how she carried herself. Not only with being a fearsome warrior, but even down to how she held herself on her stallion. How she’d acted when she’d seen the animal approaching, and how concerned she’d been. She’d acted well with his people, and just from seeing how the crowds had gazed upon after she’d fell one of his men made him warm. It was rare that they would react that way to a foreigner, but she’d demanded their respect, and they’d offered it to her. His gaze slid over her as she stopped beside him, appreciative and taking in the details. The blood on her dress made it look better, in his opinion.

He looked over what he could see, tents dotting the area as a smattering of people roamed about. Most were preparing food and getting ready for the evening. Fires were starting, and the familiar, delicious smell of cooking meat was wafting over the plains. It was still quiet, most of the crowds having wandered towards Cohollo and the others as they dispersed what they’d gathered. He frowned for a moment, wishing that he’d thought to take one of the bottles of wine with him. It probably wouldn’t have been as good as the ones of his people, but it was something.

He took in a deep breath before moving the tent flap to the side, freezing when he saw he. She was a vision, standing there with her hair down and blood splattered garment. Fain, in the back of his mind, he made a note to remind himself to find someone that spoke the common tongue. She needed to learn Dothraki. He stepped into the tent, letting the flap fall closed behind him as he took her in. The soon to be fading light was filtering in through the cracks, the torches and candles casting flickering shadows against her body. Finally. He stepped forward, slow and focused as he approached her. He reached forward, brushing her long, dark hair away from her shoulder before pushing the fabric away as well, down her arm.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice low. There had been something dark and malicious rolling about in him at the sight of a man touching the woman he’d been in mere hours earlier. He knew that logically, he could not kill every single man that so much as looked at Ayleth with lust, but he’d wanted to in that moment. He’d wanted to slit their throats, thinking that she was nothing but a common whore. The way she’d looked at the man - even though she’d been toying with him like a predator with its prey - had made him want to kill someone.

He let his hand brush against her shoulder, tracing down alongside her arm. He moved to stand behind her, taking the fabric of her other sleeve and pushing it down. His fingers slid down her sides, resting at her hips. He toyed with the fabric, lifting it up and pinching it a little. Drogo wanted it off. “No,” he said, hoping that she would understand what he meant. He searched his mind, trying to trace over countless meeting with men who’d spoken the common tongue before he finally came across the word that he’d wanted. He leaned down, pressing a hot kiss against her right shoulder, dragging his tongue along the length of it towards her neck. He took his time, hands splaying against her hips as he tugged her back against him. He traced his tongue up her neck, pulling away just far enough so he could hover above her ear, saying just one word low and gravelly as his hands squeezed just a little.

“Off.”

---

Anaris stilled as Jon started to speak, the words My father making her chest ache in sympathy. She’d known people that had passed, a grandmother that she’d never been close with, an uncle that she’d been fond of as a child. But this was different. She could still hold onto the hope that her mother and father were still alive. Jon couldn’t. She listened as he continued on, the realization striking her that it must have been hard for him as a child, and even now. He was the constant reminder of what had happened between Lord Eddard and his mistress, and yet his father had been such a man that he still spoke highly of him. She watched, waiting until his gaze lifted back to hers and she reached out, resting her hand on his arm. “Your father was a good man, Jon,” she said, keeping her voice quiet as the snow settled around them.

She stole a glance towards the fire. It was still going decent, although eventually it would go out. She wondered just how cold it would get. She glanced back up towards Jon, ignoring the way her stomach pulled at how close they were, instead focusing on the flush of his cheeks. What had he said about the other things? Her brow furrowed just a hair as she tried to figure out why that would have caused him to - oh. Oh. She knew that he had’t meant it like that. “Like trying not to freeze to death because someone is too bleeding chivalrous,” she quipped.

He was just embarrassed at having said something that she could have taken the wrong way. That was it. It was impossible that Jon Snow, (bastard) son of Lord Eddard Stark would be even remotely interested in her, especially due to the fact that they’d met just that night. There was something, though, that was nice about sitting next to him like that, shoulders against one another. “I’d be concerned if you were looking forward to it,” she said, her voice matching his in volume. There was something about men that longed for war and violence that made her uneasy.

Anaris let out a scoff at his words, and bumped her shoulder against his. “Only if you’re a terrible teacher,” she mumbled, her chest growing warm at the sound of his soft laughter. It was an odd feeling to be tired, yet feel as though she was going to come out of her skin. It was like every single nerve in her body was on high alert the longer he was sitting next to her. She kept her gaze focused on the fire, ignoring the feeling of her cheeks continuing to warm when she caught sight of him watching her out of the corner of her eye. She pressed her lips together, teeth raking over the bottom one slowly as she stole a glance towards him.

She brought her hand up to her mouth, covering it as she yawned. It was a big enough one that her eyes watered. The exhaustion was starting to set in, making her limbs feel heavy and her eyes want to sink shut. “You’re going to take this collar back if it’s the thing I do,” she said, although the words became distorted as she yawned once more. She blinked slowly, tilting her head up so she could get a better look at him. “I was thinking we could take turns at first, but… If Ghost would let us know if someone was near, wouldn’t it make more sense for us to get as much sleep as possible?” Her voice was soft as her stomach flipped. She’d never slept this close to someone that wasn’t a member of her family before. “Whatever you think is best, though.”

There was a growing sense of uncertainty rising in Ayleth the more she thought about it. Sure, the Khal was seemingly intrigued by her now, but once that faded away, would she become a whore? Would he force her into slavery? Ayleth would not suffer either. Perhaps she could offer her swords to him instead, she was more valuable as a warrior serving beside him than a whore to his men anyways. She drew in a deep breath of air, eyes trained on the front of the tent as she waited for the Khal to enter. Maybe it was the way her mind was reeling, but it seemed like ages had passed by. Instead of letting the thoughts racing through her mind consume her, she pushed them away and forced herself to focus on the present. She’d deal with whatever was going to happen to her tomorrow.

When he finally entered the tent, Ayleth made sure she stood even taller, gaze set intently on him and shielding her emotions from him. A remarkably cool breeze fluttered through the tent; the candles flickered and the fabric of her dress licked at the sides of her thighs as she kept her gaze on him. She likened the way he was looking at her like a predator to prey and it had her wanting to turn the tables and take control. Then she remembered her hands were still bound, which put her at a great disadvantage. She was confident she could try to charm her way into untying her, but her eyes caught the dagger in his belt he’d taken from her tent. She’d just cut herself free instead and not have to worry about asking him.

Ayleth kept her gaze on Khal Drogo as he stopped in front of her, drawing in a deep breath of air when he pushed her hair back and slipped her dress from her shoulder to rest just above the crook of her elbow. When he spoke, she felt a warmth twisting in her insides, breathing picking up slightly as her eyes darted over what she could see of him. Again, she couldn’t understand what he’d said, but the tone provided translation enough. She finally turned her gaze away from him when his hand slipped down her arm, steeling herself even more against the way her stomach was flipping and body threatened to tremble. It wasn’t that she was frightened, but the rush of intense desire that had building within her since he’d pinned her to the ground was threatening to break her.

She sighed softly as he moved to stand behind her as he pushed the other strap of her dress and pushed it down her shoulder to match the other. Her eyes slipped shut as his hands met her waist. She could feel him playing with the fabric of her dress and she understood enough that he’d want her naked soon enough, but the word that left him made little sense in requesting it. She was about to turn to face him, to cut herself free but she felt his breath against her shoulder, followed by his mouth and shortly after his tongue. A unstoppable shudder wracked her frame, goosebumps breaking out across alabaster skin as her breath hitched in her throat. She arched back against him as he pulled her close, lost in the feeling of his body pressed against his. A low hum left her as he gripped her tightly and spoke again, lips curling up impishly at one corner.

Ayleth easily spun in his grip, eyes locked on his as she reached for the dagger at his side. With deft hands, she cut through the flimsy green fabric that bound her wrists together easily and tossed the dagger and fabric strip to the side, far enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about her being able to grab the dagger quickly. Eyes still locked on his, she slowly bunched the blood-splattered, nearly gossamer purple fabric in her hands and slipped it up her body. Easily pulling it over her head, she tossed the fabric carelessly to the side, eyes finding the Khal’s once more. She flattened her naked body against his, hands slipping along the sides of his belt as her knee drifted up the inside of his thigh. Leaning forward, not even thinking of if the idea of kissing may be as foreign as she was to a Dothraki, she pressed her lips against his softly before using her tongue to pull his upper lip between her teeth. She clamped down gently on it before pulling away slightly and dragging it through her teeth before it slipped away completely, looking up at the Khal with half-lidded violet eyes. Giving his belt a sharp tug, she repeated the single word he’d commanded of her. “Off,” she said shortly, yet quietly, lips still poised closely to his.

---

Jon sighed heavily as he lifted his hands up to the flames to try and warm them up against the slowly dying fire as his mind went back to his family. What was to happen to them all? Bran and Rickon were too young to really know what war truly meant. He didn’t know if Arya and Sansa would even be allowed out of Kings Landing, so he suddenly felt an immense amount of dread for the two of them. He wondered if Sansa still wished to be Joffrey’s wife after he’d beheaded their father. It was clear what Robb was doing as a reaction to the beheading of “the traitor” Eddard Stark and Jon had already made his choice. “I know,” he said softly, shaking his head a bit as he let out another sigh. “It’s why I’ve done what I’ve done and will do anything to make sure they all pay for what they’ve done,” she added, voice gentle despite the subject.

The young man cleared his throat a bit, telling himself that it was the fire that had set his cheeks aflame rather than his open-ended words. His gaze quickly darted over to her as she spoke again, another soft laugh escaping him despite himself. “Hey, you’ll be thankful for chivalry come morning when the fire’s dead and the sun’s not up to warm everything up,” he shot back at her with a crooked grin. “I suppose I could always make Ghost sit on you. That’d probably keep you warm enough,” he mused in a soft mumble—as if he were thinking to himself—as he returned his dark-brown gaze back to the fire. He stole a sidelong glance to Anaris, crooked grin still on his lips as he shook his head a bit.

He shrugged a bit at her next comment, shoulder slipping against hers with the movement and he shot a glance over his shoulder to Ghost for a moment before looking back to her. “As much as I want revenge against that brat Joffrey…” His voice trailed off, growing a bit somber at the thought. “A lot of people will die in the process. And I’m not sure if my father would have wanted people to die on his behalf.” A heavy sigh left him and he shook his head, pausing for a moment. “But I know that Robb will need me, if it comes to it.”

Before he was allowed to sink too deeply into negative thoughts, her shoulder was bumping against his and she spoke again. He shot her a look, grin threatening to pull at his lips, but he tried his hardest to look as insulted as possible. “A teacher can only do so much if the student is hopeless,” he returned, managing to keep a straight face for a few moments before it broke into a grin and he chuckled to himself. He liked the fact that he could still find it in him to joke and laugh at things. He was beginning to think if he’d met anyone other than Anaris in the woods, he’d probably feel a little different. Jon didn’t know what to think about this revelation of his.

When she yawned, he was suddenly reminded of just how tired he was and knew that even though he was not in a warm bed, he’d probably sleep deeply just on the premise of actually allowing himself a moment or two of rest. “Well…we’re sharing it now, so it’s half back to me anyways,” he said, the yawn finally being passed to him as he covered it with a fist. He blinked a few times and glanced back at Ghost. The pure white direwolf had his head resting on his paws, red eyes shut, but ears pivoting as if he were still listening in. “You’re right. No use in staying up if Ghost is keeping watching,” he murmured, turning back to Anaris. When his gaze met hers, he paused for a moment, swallowing hard at the way she was looking up at him. Dragging his tongue briefly across his lips, he cleared his throat quietly again. “Wake me up if you manage to wake up before I do,” he told her softly, eyes slipping between hers before he turned from her. He wasn’t sure if there was anything else he could say or should do, so he just closed his eyes in the hopes that the anxious feeling being this close to Anaris wouldn’t keep him up.

If Drogo really thought about it, anything could be a battle. Fucking, especially. But a battle was only as good as an opponent. Fucking was only as good as the woman he was bedding. A whore didn’t do much, most just taking it, a couple making noises and trying to make it enjoyable. But soon enough it was over, and he was back to doing other things. It was turning out, however, that Ayleth was just as formidable a foe in fucking as she was in battle. He’d been too distracted by the taste of her skin to focus on what else she was doing. Most women didn’t do anything, just letting him lead. And stupidly, he’d expected the same of her. His hands gripped her waist even tighter at the feel of her shudder, back arching against him.

But then things were changing. One second she was bound and shuddering before him, and the next the fabric binding her hands was cut. He tensed only to relax as she tossed the dagger. His gaze tracked where it had landed, pleased that it had landed out of her reach. He wanted to bed her, yes, but he still wasn’t going to trust her by any means. Only an idiot would do that. But then all thoughts of the dagger and trust were gone as her dress fell to the ground, and her naked body was on display before him. He felt all of his arousal spike, intensifying even more as her body flattened against his.

The khal was more interested in her knee against his thigh than anything else when her lips were on his. He went to jerk away, but then her teeth were tugging on his lip and he felt something jolt through him. He’d heard of his, seen the foreigners press their lips against each others. He wasn’t ignorant of how others worked, but that wasn’t the Dothraki way. He’d yet to hear of a single man kissing a woman like so. His pride was screaming, begging him to shove her away and throw her on the bed to show her how Dothraki men did it. But she was looking up at him with those strangely colored eyes, and he ignored it.

The second the word left her lips he was taking a step back away from her. His hands methodically went over the ropes holding it up, things his hands had done a thousand times. For a split second, he almost felt himself stumble over the action. But he kept it up, staying smooth as he watched her. He needed to remain in charge. Yes. That was it. He wouldn’t allow this woman to distract him like so. He let his belt drop to the floor, the hides that had been hiding the rest of him falling with it. He stared at her, heading moving up and down along with his gaze. He wanted her writhing beneath him. He wanted to win.

He took a couple of steps forward, hands gripping her naked waist roughly as he tugged her to him. He pulled her against him, done with requesting things. If she was to undo her binds without asking, then he was done as well. He moved her hair out of the way, tugging on it like she’d done with his earlier that day before pressing a hot kiss against the dip in her shoulder where it met her neck. He bit down, sucking at the skin as he started to tug her towards him, stepping back towards his bed. He started to trail down her chest, thumbs rubbing circles into her skin until they got down to the bed. He pulled away, gazing heavy-lidded at her before pushing her down onto the bed.

---

Anaris was at a loss. There was a lot that she obviously didn’t know about when it came to his family, but she still felt as though she should offer up some sort of comfort to him. The man had built her a fire and shared his meal with her. The least she could do would be to offer him some support, as meager as it would be. “They’ll get what they deserve. The Gods will make sure of it.” She kept her hand on his arm for a moment longer, fingers squeezing gently before dropping it to her side. Her words had felt a little empty. Would the Gods make sure of it? Were they so concerned with the actions of mere mortals? Maybe they were all doomed to be at the mercy of the actions of other, more powerful men. She sighed at the thought.

She just rolled her eyes, ignoring the way her chest filled with something she didn’t dare name as he grinned at her. “My Northerner blood will keep me warm then, not your chivalry,” she teased, leaning her side against his for a moment. She pulled away so she could get a better look at him - tilting her head up that close to him would have done nothing good for her heart. “I’m sure Ghost would appreciate that. He probably needs a good cuddle,” she said, laughing softly at his mumblings. His grin was doing things to her insides, making her feel warm despite the biting cold of the air. She didn’t want to think on what that meant.

“You spoke highly of your father,” she began, words coming out quiet and hesitant as she spoke carefully. “He would have wanted his people to be free, and the land that Joffrey rules over will be anything but. He might… He might not have wanted people to have died on his behalf, but - “ She cut herself off, searching for the correct way to say it. She looked towards the fire, finding it harder to think of the right things to say when he was in her peripheral vision. “But I’m sure that he would have rather they fight for their freedom than lay down and accept a brat king.”

Anaris looked back to him, eyes wide at his words as she let out another scoff. “Well, a student is only as good as her teacher,” she retorted, barely keeping her face composed before it broke mere seconds after his. She grinned up at him, shaking her head before looking back to the fire. It was easier that way. When she didn’t look at him as long, he wasn’t able to make her feel that weird bundle of nerves that was trying to make a home in her chest.

“Then I’ve won half the battle already,” she yawned, it coming so fast that she didn’t manage to get a hand up to her mouth in time. Then again, now that they were actually talking about how tired they were, she felt it coming in waves. She blinked up at him, tired and slow before nodding. “The same goes for you,” she said, her voice as soft as his. She took one long look at him before turning her head towards the fire. She let it tilt back, resting against the bark as her eyes slipped shut. Within a handful of seconds, she was already half asleep, head slipping down and resting upon his shoulder.

For all the things that Khal Drogo seemed to be an expert in, kissing was apparently not one of them. That thought excited her a bit. For as inexperienced as she may have been, she could still prove to find something to teach him yet. She couldn’t help but wonder what other things he’d have to learn from her, if he’d allow her the time. Ayleth knew now that the rumors had indeed been true, because there would be no way a man like Khal Drogo would easily let her take control unless she’d caught him completely off guard.

When he stepped away from her to undo his belt, her hands dropped to her sides as her gaze locked on him. She slowly took him in under the orange, flickering light of the candles and torches of the tent and the residual, quickly-fading daylight. Once he’d finally shed himself of his bed and hide, her lips curled up at the corners, head tilting to the side as she studied the whole of him before her gaze flickered up to his. She wanted him more than ever now and the thought of him taking control like he'd done back in her tent sent a jab of warmth through her.

A soft sigh left her as his hands grasped at her waist, allowing her body to melt against his when he tugged her close. She could feel the layers of sweat, dirt, and whatever they’d come across in their journey slipping against their skin. In any other atmosphere, she’d request a bath, but she was not in Starfall, nor Dorne, or Westeros. For some reason, it seemingly fit and she had no complaints. Her hands flattened themselves on his chest and as he moved her hair, she noticed the tug he gave her and a noise left her. The time for being gentle and tentatively requesting things had passed and, again, she wanted him to take complete control. Her blunt fingertips dug into his skin slightly as his mouth met her neck, back arching instinctively as she drew her knee up and down the inside of his thigh.

Her own knees threatened to buckle when he began to suck and bite on the delicate skin of her neck, head tilting to the side instinctively as her eyes fluttered shut. The world around them was fading away for the two of them and she was certain that not even a thousand approaching horses could distract her now. Her breathing had begun to pick up, hands and fingertips trailing down his chest to meet his waist, but she found herself being lead closer to the bed. She gripped onto his sides for a moment as he pulled away, eyes slipping open just a bit to look up at him before he pushed her.

She fell back against the furs without even trying to catch herself; hands falling up around her head, dark hair splaying out against the equally dark furs that adorned the bed, and eyes staring half-lidded up at him as her chest rose and fell quickly. Ayleth took a few moments to look over him, looming over her and her stomach was doing somersaults. She felt oddly vulnerable and she wasn’t sure she quite liked that feeling, but she knew there was little she could do now to try and take back control. Not with her lying on her back like she was and him standing; naturally, he had the advantage. Instead, she slowly propped herself up on her forearms, eyes locking on his as she did the one thing that came to mind, the only thing that she knew could prepare her for whatever was to come next. She grinned.

---

When Jon finally cracked his eyes open, the first thing he noted was the charred remnants of the fire before them. Upon blinking a bit of sleep from his eyes, he realized that the world around him was doused in a filtered blue-grey light of early morning and the thought of having ample light to travel by brought a slight grin to his lips. He felt a weight on his shoulder and nearly jumped before he remembered that he was not alone and that a beautiful young woman sat sleeping beside him and seemingly was using him as a pillow. Drawing in a deep breath of air, his gaze swooped around to find Ghost sitting just beside the two of them, red eyes fixed on him as if he already knew he was awake. Jon offered the beast a crooked grin and lifted a hand to pet him between his ears.

His gaze then swung back to Anaris as a yawn left him and he blinked a few more times. She looked peaceful and her face was relaxed. He hated to wake her from whatever reprieve from the cold around them her mind had given her, but he knew they had to keep moving, lest they both be found from the respective people they were running from. To be caught would be far worse than braving the cold, he decided. For a moment, he forgot himself and lifted a gloved hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, careful not to touch her skin lest he stir her from sleep. He swallowed hard, eyes roaming over her features as his stomach did flips.

Were he a lesser man, he knew that this would be an all-too easy opportunity to take. A woman, asleep, armed with naught but a dagger would be far too easy to overpower. But Jon was not that kind of man and he never would be. Anaris was incredibly lucky, in his eyes. He knew he’d never find any pleasure in taking a woman, but there would evil men out there who thrived on it. There would be nothing in it for him if the woman didn’t reciprocate or even incite a bedding. At the direction his train of thought had lead him and the quiet beauty that had begun the thoughts, he flushed again and he waited a few minutes before trying to stir Anaris. He didn’t want her to wake up and find him all rosy cheeked without an explanation.

Gently, he tucked the strand of hair behind her ear, hand resting gently on her shoulder and he shook it gently. He didn’t know how deep of a sleeper she was, so he would start out trying to wake her as gently as he could. To startle her awake wouldn’t do either of them any favors. Especially not if there were enemies close-by. “Anaris,” he whispered, hand giving her shoulder another shake as he could hear Ghost circling around the two of them and coming to sit just beside the young woman. “Anaris, it’s morning,” he continued in a hushed tone, a few birds striking up their song around them as he let out a soft sigh and a plume of water vapor.

Ghost gave a soft whine and Jon knew he was eager to get going and forge their way through the snow once more. If he’d had time, he would have liked to have sent Ghost hunting again, to build another fire, and to have a decent meal before setting off. But Jon knew that was a luxury they didn’t have and they needed to keep moving if they wanted to keep just out of reach. “Anaris,” he repeated, gently nudging her once more and hoping that would do the trick in waking her up.

There was a new element to all of this that had Drogo pausing, his gaze roaming over her body stretched across his furs that made him take a moment. He was positive, then, that he’d never met a woman he’d wanted to bed as much as this one. He’d never wanted to take her over and over until she bore him a son, the son that would rise up and rule all. Her alabaster skin was contrasting against the dark animal hides, the candle light flickering over her. It had grown darker, and he could hear the chatter of his people as they started to feast on their evening meal.

All of those thoughts, however, drifted away as his gaze slid down her body, dark eyes tracing down her neck and her breasts before he could wait no longer. He laid his knees on the mattress as she proper herself up, grabbing her ankle and tugging her forward just a little. His hands gripped her waist and turned her over easily, just as before. He pressed against her, behind her, but not thrusting into her. No, this time, he wanted to break her and have her writhing before him before he was even inside of her. He wanted to win this battle, to best the fearsome warrior who had kissed him on the mouth.

The khal was trying to erase the image of her grinning up at him from his mind. It was making him too eager, like a young man bedding his first woman. He needed to prove to her that he had experience, that he was capable of all things when it came to fucking. He leaned over her, his chest against her back as he reached around her, a hand cupping her breast. He palmed it gently, deciding that he would be gentler with her than how he usually was with the whores. He would be in charge, but she still held some of his respect. He pressed his hips against her, slow and purposeful.

“It would be easier if you spoke my language,” he murmured in Dothraki, pressing a hot kiss against her neck. He bit down gently, then dragged his teeth down the length of her neck. He could feel the way some of her more prominent scars rubbed against his chest, and he enjoyed it. “It would be more enjoyable to understand your moans,” he added, letting out a gravelly chuckle.

---

Anaris buried her head deeper into her pillow, letting out a quiet whine as Coren kept shaking her shoulder. Her pillow, thin as it was, was firmer that morning. The fire must have died down as well since she could feel the cold air nipping at her cheeks. She frowned in her half-asleep state as her brother spoke her name. His voice sounded off, a bit deeper pitched than usual. “No,” she mumbled, her voice soft as he continued to try. It was too early. She shifted again, pressing closer to her pillow and the mattress, her back scratching against - the bark of a tree?

She froze. Oh Gods. Every muscle in her body was tense. She wasn’t home. She wasn’t with her brother. No, she’d been practically cuddled up against Jon Snow in the middle of the woods. She pulled away, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as she stared up at him. “I - Sorry. I hadn’t - I haven’t - Slept much.” She was stuttering out the words, trying not to let her panicked embarrassment show to him. How horrifying was that? The man had probably just wanted his space to sleep, and there she’d been, stealing all of his warmth. She ducked her head, moving her focus to where the fire had been.

All that remained were the ashes, stark against the pure white of the snow that had settled around them. She looked to her side, her embarrassment fading just a little as she spotted Ghost beside her. She reached up and scratched him behind his ears, him tilting his head so she could properly reach the right spot. Her thumb rubbed against his fur. It was easier to focus on him than the man sitting beside her. Another twinge of embarrassment shot through her chest. She wished that it was warm out so they wouldn’t have to sleep so close, but unless they found a home to stay in, they’d be sleeping like that every night. Which meant she’d probably be embarrassing herself every bleeding night.

Eventually, she let her hand drop from Ghost and turned back to Jon, her cheeks still burning bright red. “I am sorry,” she said, forcing herself to look up at him despite the strong urge to keep avoiding his gaze until the end of time. “You should’ve told me to move,” she added, surprised that he hadn’t. Surely she’d crossed some line, or something. She’d imagine that if her mother had seen her like that, she would have gotten quite the lecture. That thought brought back the rest of their reality, and it made her stomach sour. That morning made it over a week since she’d been home, she figured. Or at least, close to it.

“Should we get going then?” She asked him, refusing to let herself apologize once more. It wouldn’t do either of them any good except to prolong the conversation topic. Besides, he was probably too chivalrous to say anything about it beyond something to the tune of ‘it’s fine’. She still wasn’t able to decide if she appreciated the chivalry, or if she was a bit annoyed by it.