The Lioness in the Wolfs Den

((OOC: As Cersei is no longer part of this site I will be posting her previous posts for her, but I will not be graded for her posts. This thread is set during the events at the start of Season 1.))

The night’s air felt colder than usual, at least to Jon it did. The sky was dark and full of clouds, the threat of snow inevitable. Maybe it was just as the Starks always said, winter was indeed coming. It had been an unusually long summer, which meant a viciously long winter would follow, and many had began to tell tales that autumn had already long since begun. But what were discussions of the weather to a Bastard? No, it was above his stature, just as attending the feast was.

Jon moved through the empty courtyard of Winterfell. It was eerily silent tonight, more so than usual thanks to the royal feast in the great hall. It was something straight out of a dream…or a nightmare, either way it was peaceful and that was just how Jon preferred it. Though he felt at home with more than a few people, there were many at Winterfell who dislike him purely because of who he was, and he hated the constant reminders of his stature. He reached the main doors to the great hall without seeing a single person, though the noise and laughter from within made it all too clear where everyone was.

With little effort he pushed one of the large doors ajar, flooding a portion of the courtyard with light. As he peered within a pang of jealousy rushed though him. Within the great hall stood almost everyone of Winterfell, each of them gorging themselves on a near endless supply of delicious food, drinking themselves into a stupor while generally having fun and enjoying themselves; even the servants were present, while Catelyn Stark had felt it would dishonour the Royal family if a Bastard was present at the feast. Despite this, Jon was not ignorant to the truth. She despised him because he was the one constant reminded of his fathers infidelity, and she would not allow him to forget it.

Queen Cersei and Catelyn were sat at the head table with his father, Ned, while Robb sat on the lower table with Sansa and Arya, among some other individuals. Most appeared to be having a good time, laughing loudly and enjoying the pleasures that the feast had on offer; none more so than King Robert. The King seemed more intoxicated than anyone else in the entire hall, and was bellowing boisterous laughter as he inappropriately groped and kissed one of the serving girls, right in front of the Queen and for all to see.

Jon had seen all he needed to see, and with that he closed the door once more and turned away from the great hall. The was no honour in what he had witnessed. His feet crunched on the thing layer of snow that covered the floor of the courtyard as he moved towards the training area. With a sigh he picked up one of the few swords that was always there. The weight of it in his hand was familiar, it helped him feel safe. Looking up from the sword he realised that he had stopped in front of one of the training dummies.

The laughter within the great hall peaked, catching his attention momentarily, reminding him that he was the outcast. ‘The Bastard of Winterfell’, the disgrace of House Stark and the lone stain on Eddard Stark’s honour; that’s all he was, nothing more. He would never amount to anything, he would never gained the honour and glory that his father held, and he would never be respected.

His anger began to rise and boil until he suddenly reached the point where he felt as if it was going to cause him to explode. He lifted the sword and began to viciously attack the training dummy, over and over and over. Steam began to rise from his body as he exerted himself more and more with each ferocious attack.

Word Count: 646.

Cersei Lannisters Post

Winterfell was cold. Winterfell was unruly. Winterfell was eager to please the royal family that brimmed the Lord’s lands to capacity with people. Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had arrived earlier with her husband, Robert Baratheon, and her children. They were enjoying themselves, but Cersei felt more trapped than ever before. It was true, the pleasure of power was increasingly satisfactory, but living with a brute of a husband in a kingdom with too many rooms, people, whores, and peasants had begun to wear her out. She was always a pleasantry, an appearance, no mind whirred behind her painfully sharp eyes, and yet she remained Queen. She remained Queen despite her husband’s blatant disregard for her everyday.

So she had followed him to Winterfell. To where the cold breeze was colder than any in the South; where she would have to sit and stand alongside the dear Stark family. Cersei had obliged Robert’s idea of Ned Stark as hand to the king, so she had come along as a pleasantry yet again. It was a large royal feast this night, to celebrate something like friendship that seemed very much like something else. Something that she couldn’t put her finger on. Cersei sat with Catelyn Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, and drank her wine, and sat silently smirking as the foolish people around her escaped into wild fantasies of drunken blurs. Now, Cersei liked her wine, but she composed herself in such a manour that one would appreciate her surroundings, not forget them the next morning.

Robert, however, had had too much ale, too much wine, too much anything to be brought back to anything resembling respectable, and Cersei swallowed hard as he paroused the women infront of her table. She snuck a short look at Lady Stark, who was sharing looks from Robert to Cersei, in which Cersei nodded and finished her glass of wine, pushing her chair from the table. She figured they would recognize her excuses and allow her to leave. She pushed through the stinking people and pushed open the large door with much effort, people were covering all surfaces with glasses and limbs, she had to push through people to get fresh air back into her lungs.

It wasn’t the wine, it wasn’t her husband, It was the lack of purpose. She left the hall thinking of home, thinking of a time when her power would actually be influential, when her decisions ruled a kingdom, instead of sitting behind a drunken fool of a king with power and ale in his head. She breathed once, letting go of her smirk and smoothing back her hair. Despite her cold appearance, she enjoyed and missed the warm weather. It was quiet outside, different from the boisterous nonsense of the hall. Walking away from the doors, she saw someone in front of her and she stopped. The wine was not yet playing tricks on her, she knew she needed quite a few more before that would begin. She hardly recognized the figure holding the sword, but it was the Lord Stark’s bastard son, Jon Snow.

Had she never seen him before? Cersei reaffirmed her smirk, and walked quietly towards him, watching him. He was handsome, and fit, and had taken control of that sword with ease. She sighed a little too loudly and touched her hand to her lips, it had been so long since she had been granted a visit from any man who could take control… But her thoughts were running away from her, and she regained her posture, walking closer to see the heat rising from him, raising her eyebrows at his well-maintained body, his ferociousness, his arms…

Her thoughts escaped her again, regaining control yet again she breathed out quietly and spoke. "Quite the handle you’ve got on that sword there."

As Jon continued to fiercely batter the training dummy with the sword, he could feel his rage slowly ebbing away from him. At that precise moment the dummy represented everything he hated about the world; injustice and suffering, but more personally all those who had discriminated against him for his stature. Each swing helped him relieve a little more of the built up rage, frustration and tension he felt coursing through his body, though he knew full well that it would be no more than a temporary fix.

So intoxicated in his surging emotions was he that Jon Snow did not hear the crunching footsteps in the snow, approaching behind him. He did not even hear the low sigh from the individual in question, over the loud thumping of metal on wood. It wasn’t until the stranger spoke, her voice breaking through the relative silence of the courtyard, that Jon finally realised he was no longer alone.

“Quite the handle you’ve got on that sword there.”

The voice startled him, somewhat in turn to it being that of a females that he did not recognise, and he stopped mid-swing, turning towards the stranger. His chest rose and lowered at a heightened rate as he attempted to catch his breath after the exertion, the heat of his breath instantly turning to steam each time he exhaled. Though to his surprise the woman whom had snuck up on him was none other than Cersei Lannister, the Lannister Lioness and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

The surprise on his face was no doubt apparent to her, though it was too difficult to hide. This was the closest he had ever been to her, having not been present with the rest of his family when the Royal family and their escort had originally arrived at Winterfell; his low stature had meant it was not proper. However, now that she was closer he could not deny that the tales of her beauty had not been exaggerated in the slightest. Her long, golden hair seemed as if weaved from rays of the sun itself, while her soft complexion would not have been amiss amongst the snow of the North.

In his shock Jon had hesitated in his reply, and so in his haste to respond he stumbled over his words somewhat. “I-I-” However, despite never conversing with royalty before, he knew how to speak to those above his standing. He took in a breath, lowered the sword to his side and bowed his head. “Your grace does me a great honour, with such a compliment.” he had trained with a blade almost constantly since a young age, and was exceptionally proficient with one, though unseasoned and lacking greatly in real combat. “But I am only competent, and no where as skilled as the likes of my father, or Ser Jamie.”

He left his head bowed for a few more moments, before sneaking a glance upward at the Queen. She was dressed more elegantly than Jon was accustomed to seeing a women dress, which only heightened her beauty. The women of the North, even highborn ladies, did not dress in such a way, though royalty was expected to he supposed. Though she was only of the South, she almost seemed exotic to him because of it.

What are you thinking Snow, he chastised himself in though. She is the Queen of all the lands, you are a Bastard. though some thoughts were oft hard to ignore. He slowly raised himself up out of the bow and considered the Queen. Her attire was regal, but hardly fit for the intense weather of the North, especially during the bitter cold in the night. Jon turned and picked up one the wolf pelt that he had been wearing before he had begun his sword work, moving towards the Queen with it in his hands. “You must be cold my grace. Please, allow me.” he asked, raising the pelt to drape it around her shoulders.

A pang of curiosity struck Jon as he moved away from the Queen. “I hope you do not mind me asking, your grace, but what brings you outside?” the festivities within were in honour of her and King Robert, so he was somewhat surprised that she had chosen to remove herself from the celebrations. However, it then struck him how the King had been acting in front of her, and he realised how stupid his question was, though he could hardly retract it now. It reminded him how much he disliked conversing with those who were “better” than him; he always felt uncomfortable.

Word Count: 767.
Total Word Count thus far: 1,413.

Cersei Lannisters Post

Although never at a loss for words, Cersei remained silent at Jon Snow replied to her, she shivered at his modesty, and also at his mention of Jaime. It had been so long, and yet she longed for change, for difference. The cold in the North was refreshing after the damp heat inside the hall, but it was colder than anything she would like. Cersei craved heat, obvious from her clothing appropriately made for the south, and smiled as the Northerner brought his own pelt for her.

“Thank you,” she breathed, tightening the pelt around her. It was warm, here was the heat she had been craving. Cersei Lannister was no woman to be derived of her wants. Since she was a young girl her father had the means to provide her with whatever she wanted, and as she aged through a perfect childhood and thus becoming Queen, she had craved the power and it had been delivered as such. Now she truly had everything she wanted, and yet there was still an uneasiness clouding her mind, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something was missing.

Something that was not the obvious heat, although Snow’s pelt had delivered on that respect. Ned Stark’s bastard son was turning into a different man before her eyes. He could handle his sword well, regardless of his modesty. He was compassionate enough to lend his pelt to an ignorant Southerner, although that may just be politeness. She was the Queen, his Queen, and he wasn’t even invited to the celebrations inside…and yet she could not stop thinking about the heat he generated. Watching him practice with his sword he eminated heat, his pelt surrounded her with warmth. Her thoughts wandered on through thoughts of what other things his heat could do for her..

Shaking off those thoughts at his words, Cersei smiled softly and hugged the pelt to her breast, one ringed hand still exposed to the cold wind. Why had she left? Had it been the drunken stupour her husband was parading? Or the shameful glances from the others in the hall at her? Everyone knew, and yet she composed herself beautifully. No one questions a King, but they do not question a Queen either. Perks of royalty, she supposed.

She stepped closer to Snow, still smiling. "Even a Queen needs some air sometimes," she replied, wondering if he knew anything about Robert’s behaviour, but thought better of asking. "Although it seems a rather odd question, I can do whatever I like, I am the Queen, after all.” She failed to add that the King also does whatever he likes, whomever he likes, whenever he likes. The Queen’s choices are much more private, much less criticized, and a lot better fun. She walked closer to Snow, curious.

Curiosity was new to Cersei, and her hand trembled a little as she reached for the sword, eyes locked on Jon Snow’s. "Do you mind? I haven’t held a sword in quite some time." Despite her best efforts, she was hoping to graze his hand as he gave her the sword, craving even more heat.

“Thank you,” the Queen responded, as she allowed him to place the pelt around her shoulder, and pulled it tightly around her to better guard herself against the cold of the nights air.

After Jon stepped away from her, he watched in turn as she slowly stepped towards him. He had only been this close to a woman on a handful of occasions, and only one of those was alone, like this was. However, this was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, an older woman, although still young by all rights, and she was incredibly beautiful, intimidating even. He’s instant reaction was to step backwards, retreat away from her, but he held his position.

“Even a Queen needs some air sometimes,” she replied with a smile. A fair enough response, as he had expected, but she continued. “Although it seems a rather odd question, I can do whatever I like, I am the Queen, after all.”

Jon instant backtracked. “Of course your grace, I don’t presume to tell you what a Queen can do.” he had potentially overstepped his boundaries, though she didn’t seem to be too bothered about it. In fact she was still smiling, still progressing towards him. Jon opened his mouth, as to talk once more, but Queen Cersei reached him and extended a hand towards him. He glanced down at her outstretched hand in surprise, before raising his eyes back to her face; she was looking directly at him.

“Do you mind? I haven’t held a sword in quite some time.” her voice was soft, almost a whisper that seemingly drifted on the Northern wind that seemed even quieter thanks to the absolute silence of the courtyard.

Jon gulped, likely noticeably, as he looked at the Queen with unblinking eyes. “Certainly, my grace.” Cautiously, though not because he feared that she would attack him once he was unarmed, he lifted his right hand, which he was holding the sword with, and turned his palm so that the blade was facing downward and the pommel was open for the Queen to grasp it. As her hand reached for the pommel it was inevitable that their hands would touch, if only for a moment, but when it did Jon was astonished to realise just how smooth her skin was; finer than the finest silk he had ever felt against his skin.

Despite the coldness of the night, Jon felt the heat from within her against his now cold hands, and it gave him Goosebumps and sent a slight shiver along his spine. He quickly retracted his hand from her, not wishing to offend the Queen, and looked down slightly as a small amount of blood rushed to his cheeks, turning them a light shade of red; if only briefly.

The Queen now had the sword, though it was no sword fit for royalty. Though a trusty weapon, and forged from the highest quality that Winterfell had to offer, it held none of the grace and magnificent appearance of finger weapons, such as inlaid gold or precious jewels. “I do hope your grace will be kind, since I am now unarmed.” a small jest, to distract him from his clear embracement, though there was truth in his statement; he was unarmed, while she was not, and that meant he was technically at her mercy.

Word Count: 555.
Total Word Count thus far: 1,968.

Cersei Lannisters Post

Although out of her element completely, Cersei held the sword in her free hand. She clutched the pelt to her body as if worried it would run away from her and lifted the heavy sword infront of her. She stared at it in her hands, Jaime had been the one to be active within the fighting area, Cersei usually watched. Turning slightly away from Jon she sliced the air beside her hesitantly, then again a bit faster. She had no skill, but it felt nice to have a different kind of power in her hands.

She glanced at the handsome young man beside her, whom she realized was probably terrified he had done something wrong. She swung once more and then turned back to him, pointy tip towards his chest, her glance was cold and she held it there for a moment. Lowering the sword her breath escaped her, she had been holding it for some time. After handing the sword back to him, she turned away. It was not her place to hold such artifacts. She was the Queen and she knew her place, and that was not swinging any swords but sitting back and allowing the men to tend to their business.

“Jon Snow?” she began while turned away from him, both hands clasped at the pelt, remembering the touch of his hand against hers and shivered as an intense feeling of longing ran through her body. Compositon. Discipline. He’s a boy, he’s Ned Stark’s son, bastard son...and yet Cersei could not control her thoughts as they clung to the feeling of his hands. Turning back quickly to see him again, not really believing that she was outside in the night with him at all.

Letting go of the pelt and letting a small portion of her clothing underneath to show she stepped yet again towards him. She was the Queen, and fortunately for her she knew that she got what she wanted. “Can you take me somewhere to warm up? Anywhere away from that hall?” She pointed a delicate finger at the door and blinked softly his way. Despite his age, him being a Northerner, being Ned Stark’s bastard son, Cersei wanted to continue to be alone with him.

Jon watched as Queen Cersei took the sword into her hand and held it by her side. As he looked at her arm, he could see how the weight of the weapon was pulling her muscles and tenders tighter, he could see that she was unaccustomed to the feel of a heavy weapon in her hand, as he had expected. He watched as her delicate fingers adjusted their grip on the pommel, and she slowly lifted the sword. It was quite the unusual sight, something skin to a new bud flowering for the first time.

Turning ever so slightly away from him, the Queen lifted the blade and slowly, almost cautiously, sliced it through the air. He was testing out the weapon, how it felt as she moved it. Despite her clear unfamiliarity with a weapon such as this, she moved it with apt efficiency. Immediately after she swung the weapon for a second time, this time with more strength and speed behind the steel; if she had attacked an opponent without armour, it would have been strong enough to cleave through skin and bone, that much was sure.

With that she glanced towards Jon, shortly after he had spoken. She suddenly swung the sword for a third time, turning to him as she finished and pointing the tip of the blade directly at his chest; if he had been but a few inches closer, the sword would have pierced him. He quickly glanced from the tip of the blade up to the Queen’s face, which at that exact moment was as cold as the Northern wind. Jon feared more so than ever that he had overstepped his boundaries and would now meet his end.

A few tense moments later she gradually lowered the sword, her expression softening once more. He noticed that she had been holding his breath, and surprisingly so had he. He allowed himself to breath again, and gladly took the sword from her soft hand when she extended it to him, turning to lean it against a nearby fence. When he turned back to face the Queen, he noticed that she in turn had turned away from him. He remained quiet, not wishing to speak out of turn.

“Jon Snow?” she began, still facing the in the opposite direction.

Yes, your grace?“” he simply replied, unsure what she was about to say in response.

Before responding she turned around to face him again, and let go of the pelt that she had been holding tight around her until this moment. It fell open slightly, revealing her exotic clothing underneath. “Can you take me somewhere to warm up?£ she finally asked, pointing back towards the doors of the great hall. “Anywhere away from that hall?” everything about her screamed out to him to do as she asked, and not just because she was the Queen; she was a woman, and women were mysterious creatures.

“I…” he said, before pausing. He had initially been unsure how to respond. If this hadn’t been the Queen he would have believed that the woman would have been hinting at certain things, towards him, but he knew that such fantasies were folly. He would do as his Queen asked, but where could he take her that was away from the great hall and warm enough to keep her comfortable and well? Suddenly he knew exactly where he would take her. He bowed his head to her. “As your grace wishes, I know just the place.” he finally responded, he held out his arm just in case she wished to take it, as was proper when dealing with a Lady, before leading the way.

The journey was several minutes long, through parts of Winterfell’s inner courtyards, before finally they emerged into the Godswood of the castle. The Godswood was a beautiful place, as beautiful as any well kept castle garden in the North, though this one was particular special. As Jon moved Queen Cersei further into the privacy of the Godswood, the temperature began to rise in an unnatural way, considering that they were still outside. As they neared the Weirwood, otherwise known as the Heart Tree, a lightly bubbling natural spring, filled with naturally boiling water, came into view; the source of the heat.

Jon stopped moving, allowing the Queen to break away from his arm if she so pleased, now that she was here. “I hope that this suffices?” he asked. His voice, though not particularly low, seemed so quiet in the emptiness of the Godswood.

Word Count: 755.
Total Word Count thus far: 2,723.

Cersei Lannisters Post

Jon Snow had been acting peculiar, stunted. Cersei was used to every person she met treating her differently as she was Queen. Everyone was cautious, everyone thought precisely about what they thought. But Jon Snow seemed to be taking it a step further, as though the thoughts had not been there in his head the whole time, that everything was new, but she could not be sure. She was grateful to be out of the hall, to be away from that brute Baratheon, and away from the judgemental Catelyn Stark. It was cold outside, but it was not cold enough to make her want to go back inside. As Jon raised his arm for her to take she raised her eyebrows and took it gently. She was never one for much touching if it was no directly needed, but she let this happen. She followed him quietly, her feet crunching lightly below her feet.

The wind had begun to reach her legs beneath her skirts, and she shivvered yet again. Looking ahead of them, Cersei wanted to imagine some sort of warm enchantment for them to speak, but what would she say to such a man? They had little in common, other than having no need to be present at the feast. She clutched the pelt to her chest again as the wind was picking up, thinking again how dreadfully cold the North was turning out to be, longing for the South. She snatched a glance at Jon Snow, his hair swept over his face as the wind blew it. He had a defined jawline and deep eyes, which Cersei caught briefly and then looked down at the pelt around her shoulders. Suddenly specifically aware of her arms clasped in his, longing to ask questions but kept her lips closed. Despite the awkward and strange nature, she would not jsutify her uneasiness with conversation. She was still Cersei Lannister, after all, something about her had to remain composed.

As they entered the warm, almost enchanted area Cersei let go of Jon's arm and let go of the pelt around her shoulders, removing it gently as the warmth washed over her. She held it gingerly in her hands and smoothed the fur for a moment. She looked up at the Northerner in such a temperate area and wondered what it was, where was this, and why was this not covering the entirety of Winterfell in the first place if such places did exist.

"This is perfect, thank you." She said to him, handing the pelt for fear of setting it down and disrespecting him in some way, although she thought there was little that this man in particular would take offense to. She walked around a bit, basking in the warmth that was different of the damp heat in the hall. This temperature was that of the heavens, or something close to it she thought. She smiled and looked over at Jon Snow, who had been quiet the entire walk, reflecting her own nature. The cold winds from earlier seemed to melt away in such a paradise. Eyeing the spring, Cersei walked over and observed the bubbles, the sheer disbelief washing over her. Breathing out slowly she turned back to Jon Snow, eyebrows raised and a very small smile playing across her lips.

"Is this the place you take all of the sivvering women on Winterfell's front step, Jon Snow?" she joked quietly, walking slowly towards him gesturing toward the spring. "What is this place and why is not all of seven kingdoms covered in it?" Reaching for her only gold necklace on today Cersei blinked longingly at the handsome man before her. Despite her jewellry, elegant clothing, powerful reputation and manipulative demeanour, she was only a woman thrust into a crown at a young age. Now, years later, she had grown into her position, but she had always longed to escape her duties if only for a very short while. Glancing at her necklace for a moment it reminded her of Robert, who had given it to her. For a moment she toyed with the idea of ripping it from her neck, but she restrained herself, looking back up at Jon and breathing in the warm air.

As they entered the Godswood, Queen Cersei did indeed let go of Jon Snow’s arm and walked a little ahead of the position he had stopped at. She turned, taking in all of her strange surroundings like a small child seeing the snow for the first time. Watching her was like viewing a scene of a fair maiden from a story of old; her golden locks and her flowing dress spinning behind her in a seemingly endless dance. Jon could not help but allow a soft smile to creep onto his face.

Once she had taken in as much as the immediate scenery she turned back towards Jon and slowly removed the wolf’s pelt from over her shoulders, cradling it in her arms like a newborn baby. She stepped toward him and extended her hands, offering him the pelt, which he willingly took from her. He moved to a nearby tree, resting the pelt on one of the larger roots, before turning back towards the Queen. She was looking at him, studying him perhaps? He wasn’t exactly sure.

"This is perfect, thank you." She said to him, flashing him a smile. The elegance and maturity in her voice was tantalising. He had mostly remained quiet on their journey here, in part because she was the Queen and it was not his place to speak out of turn, but also because he found her somewhat intimidating. However, he was content merely to watch her as she once again began to explore the area within the Godswood. It was then that she seemingly noticed the spring, the source of the temperature within the Godswood. As she turned to face him once more, he couldn’t help but notice the grin on her face. Was It mischievous? He couldn’t be sure, she was so good at hiding it.

"Is this the place you take all of the shivering women on Winterfell's front step, Jon Snow?" she gestured towards the spring as she moved towards him, a hint of laughter underlining her voice.

A hint of shock crossed Jon’s face. Though he knew it was a joke on the Queen’s part, he had never been close to a woman before, not completely at any rate. How could he admit such a thing to none other than the Queen? He had his reasons for never having had sex before, but that was neither here nor there in his present company. He simply shook his head as he answered. “No your grace,” he began. “I…haven’t brought a woman here before, not like that.” before he began to stumble over his words, the Queen saved him by asking another question

"What is this place and why is not all of seven kingdoms covered in it?"

Jon took a brief moment to look around the Godswood; my how it was peaceful. “This is Winterfell’s Godswood,” he began to explain. “where we pray to the Old Gods a the foot of the Weirwood.” he gestured to the tree besides the spring. It was huge, old and white, with a face seemingly twisted into the very bark of the tree, crimson sap oozing from it’s eyes; it had frightened him as a child, until his father explained what it was.

“The spring has always been here, it’s natural, and it supplies the whole of Winterfell with heat and hot water during the coldest weather of the North. Its what allows such a garden to reside within the cold of the North.” he returned his eyes from the Godswood back to the Queen, drinking in her image like a fine wine. “The South may have many beautiful treasures to behold…but the North is not without it’s charms.” he had been too bold with his statement, it being less than subtle that he had meant the Queen. Instantly Jon looked away from her, cursing himself internally for not thinking before he had spoke.

Word Count: 650.
Total Word Count thus far: 3,373.

Cersei Lannisters Post

Despite the heavenly scene surrounding her, Cersei focused her attention on Jon Snow. He stood before her, uninhibited and shyly answering any questions she could pass his way. Examining his physique was no struggle, as he was a commonly handsome young man, although he never seemed to know what to do with his hands as he stood. What confused Cersei the most was figuring out what he was thinking. Why he had not just walked her back to her room, why he had brought her here of all places, and what he wanted to speak of now. She stood across from him and watched as he spoke of this Godswood; ultimately his spiritual home from childhood, and longed to know what else he could or would speak so firmly about.

As he spoke of treasures from the South, Cersei’s wandering eyes snapped back to his. Lifting her chin slightly it was unsure to her what he meant. Well he had obviously referred to her, but why? He was turning out to be a quite curious subject of obersation, but she smiled regardless. It was so calm in this paradise she did not want to inconvenience any beauty by spoiling such a moment. She looked down at herself, her necklace, her skirts, the rings on her fingers and the long golden hair that fell below her shoulders, and smiled back up at Jon.

“You know, Jon Snow, I am from the South, and am quite accustomed to it, but I am growing curious of these Northern charms,” her voice was steady and clear as she looked over the Northern man again, succumbing to her curiosity and stepped in his direction, locking eyes with him again. “Are you familiar with my husband, King Robert Baratheon? He takes most charms for granted I find, at times his Kingdoms, the South, his children, sometimes his Queen...” her voice drifted off as she gripped her necklace from Robert tightly; it felt like a chain drowning her in a deep labrynthing sea, inescapeable at any rate. She had accepted long ago that she was stuck, bittersweet, as she craved and was thoroughly pleased with her power, but her love for Robert had long passed. Letting go of the necklace, she shook her head and smirked.

Glancing back at the spring, then at the blessed Weirwood tree, roots raging as if the mouth of a winding river leading up to a glorious visage that was breath-takingly beautiful, Cersei held her breath for a moment, turning slowly to face the tree and bowing her head slightly. Although she was no longer quite the believer in all of the Gods, she understood clearly respect. She spoked to Jon while she studied the tree, her hands around the necklace yet again. ”You do not take any such charms for granted, do you? I feel that you do not, for you spoke so wonderfully of this place...” Almost envious of this beautiful place for it’s care and attention, it’s elegance and confinement. She stood for a few moments, as she knew the Northerner would not leave her, she was the Queen after all.

After a moment she turned back to Jon Snow and shook her head slowly, listening to the soft noises from the spring, and walked back to be closer to him. Cersei knew that if she was not back in the bedroom before sunrise Robert would hardly notice, he may have already replaced her by now. She would rather stay here forever anyway. She locked eyes with Jon again and smiled, yet again, a soft sad smile. ”Forgive me, you must have somewhere to go, I did not mean to steal you away from your evening, Master Snow, please, show me the way back if you wish, I…” Cersei did not usually trail off in the middle of a sentence, but she could not bring herself to return to the hall, not after being in such a beautiful place. "I am grateful for your company.”

His strong arms swinging the sword, the wind picking up and tossing his hair, the warmth and comfort she had felt holding his arm, his passionate words, his shy demeanour, these things gushed over her and she worried he would take her to her own bedroom in the Lord’s home. She would have to make some excuse, for to be with Robert after such an evening would nauseate her greatly. She longed to stay here with the handsome younger man, hear of his own travels, feel his hand on her cheek, and many other alike things.

As Jon finished explaining where they were, he noticed that the Queen had been watching him intently, while fingering the golden necklace that was hanging from her delicate neck. It seemed as if it would be heavy for her, though Jon was not one for wearing jewellery and so could not rightly speculate. In the silence that then fell between them both, Queen Cersei let go of her necklace and took a few dainty steps towards the Bastard of Winterfell. Every time she approached him he felt his body tense.

“You know, Jon Snow,” she began, her voice sounding as smooth and sweet as he remembered her skin feeling. “I am from the South, and am quite accustomed to it, but I am growing curious of these Northern charms,” she added. Jon bowed his head, ever so slightly.

“Then you honour the North, my grace.” but as he lifted his head looked back to her again, she was once more walking towards him, her eyes fixed on him.

“Are you familiar with my husband, King Robert Baratheon?” it was a clear rhetorical question, and so Jon merely nodded his head; after all, who didn’t know of King Robert Baratheon? “He takes most charms for granted I find, at times his Kingdoms, the South, his children, sometimes his Queen..” her voice trailed off towards the end of her sentence, her fingers intertwining themselves in her necklace again. Jon waited in silence a few moments, to see if the Queen would continue where she had left off, and indeed she did. “You do not take any such charms for granted, do you? I feel that you do not, for you spoke so wonderfully of this place...”

The Queen was right about him. Was he such an easy book to read? Perhaps he was. He was much like his father, in that respect. “A Bastard learns to appreciate the finer things this world has to offer, my grace, as he will never reach the heights of those born to a name.” he wasn’t sure how that statement would come across to one such as the Queen, but it had been the truth.

The Queen seemed to consider him for a moment after that, though before long she spoke again. “Forgive me, you must have somewhere to go, I did not mean to steal you away from your evening, Master Snow, please, show me the way back if you wish, I…” she trailed off once more, though Jon was more taken back by the use of ‘master’ from the Queen when referring to him. It was a term he had not often heard used to him. “I am grateful for your company.”

She wishes to leave. Jon considered in thought, though he bowed his head all the same. “It was my honour, your grace. But…” he looked up through the leaves of the trees and into the nights sky. The moon was still high, which meant there were many hours until the sun appeared on the further point of the horizon. “The festivities will continue for many hours more, and a Bastard has no plans on a night like this.” he explained slowly. “I am at your command, though if you wish for me to escort you to yours and the Kings chambers, then I shall do so.” though in truth he had no wish to do such a thing. The Queen was beautiful and he was like to never have such an opportunity to spend time with royalty, especially her, ever again.

Word Count: 589.
Total Word Count thus far: 3,962.

Cersei Lannister Post

Listening to him speak of taking her to the King's quarters, the Queen hurried to reply for she would greatly endure any company other than the King at this moment. "I do not think I will return to the King's chambers," her voice was cold and she longed to remove the warmth and redness she was sure was rushing to her face. Doubting that the bastard had seen Robert's behaviour, Cersei longed for any other excuse to escape his clutches than simple infidelity. If anything, she was not to his standards. It had been some time since she truly believed she was a good enough Queen for him, but she was a good enough Queen for the seven kingdoms, Baratheon or not.

"You must know what it feels like, to feel unwanted, under valued, unused and useless. I have no doubt that you know these feelings very well, but I must seek comfort from others than my own husband, as he has..." she paused as she lowered her eyes from his, one hand back on the necklace again. This necklace, that had been bothering her all evening, seemed to be the last thing that remained cold on her entire body. She tugged once and the thing fell from her neck, falling at her feet. She watched it, and looked back up at Jon Snow, if he had not picked up on her despair previously he was now aware. She looked at him expectantly, although truly she just wanted him to be nearer her, satisfying her bidding and possibly touching yet again.

"Could you pick that up for me?" Cersei asked calmly, her voice still as cold as the wind before the Godswood, hollow and short. She would rather be here, lost in a temperate paradise with the bastard son of the Lord of the North than be trapped in a bed with her boisturous husband. She had craved the title of Queen since she was young, and now that the power was bestowed upon her it did not extend to the perks and plots she would have liked. She controlled little of what she had assumed would be hers, but she had made her father happy, despite this loveless marriage.

Again, an expectant glance at Jon Snow, who stood before her in a state of what she could only place as vulnerability. She longed to touch his hands, feel them over her, run her hands over a man's body yet again, feel warmth in a way that was unique to behaviour valued by humans everywhere. Cersei's breath quickened slightly and she trained her eyes on a tree behind him to regain composure.

As if under a spell, she wanted nothing more than to be lost here with the bastard, who would never have any great opportunity, never have a whirlwind of responsibility or adventure, but be doomed to carry his burden the rest of his life. Cersei Lannister carried her own burden of sorts. She wished to forget all burdens, and be lost within Jon Snow.

"I do not think I will return to the King's chambers." the Queen almost instantly replied, allowing Jon Snow very little time to even finish his sentence. Her expression through this was almost as curt and cold as her voice had been. It was not difficult to tell that she clearly meant what she had said, she did not wish to return to her shared chambers with the King.

Do you blame her? the Bastard thought, remember who the King had been acting in front of her within the great hall. No, he couldn’t blame her. It was clear that the King and Queen shared a loveless marriage, or at least one ripe with infidelity on the Kings part, at any rate. As a Bastard he knew a loveless relationship when he saw it, for he was loveless in the relationship with his step-mother. As if reading his thoughts, the Queen spoke again.

"You must know what it feels like, to feel unwanted, under valued, unused and useless. I have no doubt that you know these feelings very well, but I must seek comfort from others than my own husband, as he has..."

Jon was astonished that she had said something so close to what he had been mulling over within his head, though how Bastards were looked upon was generally common knowledge across the kingdoms of Westeros. However, at that precise moment he couldn’t help but feel as if their roles had been at least somewhat reversed, as he felt sympathy for the Queen. A Bastard felt sympathy for Royalty? It was a strange notion indeed, but he could not help it. She was like a golden rose, exiled to grow in a loveless desert without water.

He noticed that she had lowered her eyes from him, once again looking down at the necklace she was once more fingering. It clearly meant something to her, though Jon could not decide whether it was a reminder of happier times or quite the opposite. Then just like that she gave it a slight tug, the necklace breaking from around her neck and falling to the floor in front of her feet; it now all became perfectly clear what it reminded her of. She once again looked up at him at that point, almost as if she expected something of her, though what could a Bastard offer her besides obedience?

"Could you pick that up for me?" she suddenly asked calmly, though her voice still seemed as it had done moment ago.

Jon bowed his head and stepped towards her, bending down onto one knee to pick up the fallen necklace once he had reached her position. It felt so delicate in his hands, far colder than the temperature in the Godswood. He looked directly up at her for a few brief moments before he slowly began to rise, the necklace presented on the palm of his hand. At that moment he found himself thinking about how wrong the King was for how he treated his wife, how he wished to tell the Queen and how he would never have mistreated a woman so beautiful, if he had been blessed with the normal life of one with a name.

What are you thinking Jon? You’re a Bastard. It’s not your place! but his mind was split in two, the turmoil overshadowing any form of logic or rational sense. “Everyone deserves to be love…” he suddenly said, looking into her eyes. “Perhaps you should…” he added. “…seek comfort with someone other than your husband…” with his free hand he softly brushed it against the underside of her hand, gently lifting and turning it palm-side up, which he then placed the necklace onto.

Now that his hands were touching hers once more, he could feel how rough his skin was in comparison, but then everything felt rough next to that of silk. Without even thinking, or realising, his thumb slowly began to move back and forth across her hand, tenderly stroking her skin in a affectionate fashion. Without thinking of the consequences Jon lifted a hand towards Cersei’s face, his finger pushing a strand of her golden locks from her cheek before his own palm stroked across her cheek and cupped it, as gentle as a snowflake caressing a field of untouched snow.

Word Count: 719.
Total Word Count thus far: 4,681.

Cersei Lannisters Post

As he knelt to retrieve her necklace the Queen watched his body bend before her, and bit her lip but let go before he could see. She was suffocatingly lonely, but at that moment lost in some sort of eden with a caring, passionate young man, who was strapping and not to mention did what he was told. As he placed her fallen necklace onto her hand she fell witness to his hands, gazing at them as they laid the necklace of pseudo-love from King Robert in her own hands. His were strong, forgiving, and touching her.

She murmered a soft "Thank you." as if she had never spoken the words alloud before, her voice seemed to be stunted by other things on her mind. She thought through her relationship with Robert, if it could be called such a thing, and how he had hardly done much of what she had asked him to, although he was the only one in the kingdom who would do so. He had given her this necklace to embrace their love, and yet neither of them committted to any such commitment themselves. She wore it proudly, a token of the love that would have been given if either of them had put effort into it. She had preoccupied with Jaime, and further on her children, but there was always that neglect there. She had seen and felt Robert's hands so many times, and none of those times had felt the way she felt now, with her hands in the bastard Northerner's. Nothing could even compare to what she was feeling at that moment.

Cersei cursed herself for suggesting to leave such a place, to leave him at all, thinking back to the hall where Robert's hands had carefully touched some other woman, Robert's hands usually greeted others before ever hers, which bothered her less and less with more time spent here with Snow. She sighed lightly, as she felt the roughness spread lightly over her hands, and looked into his eyes. Her coldness had melted away with his compassion, she was left in unknown terrain; vulnerability.

As Jon Snow's hand reached her cheek a shivver ran down her spine, this truly was paradise under a man's touch. Closing her eyes the Queen turned her head softly towards his head and kissed his palm gently, lingering for a moment as her breath allowed her lips to part and rest on his skin. Opening her eyes she gingerly placed one regal hand on his chest, longing to be closer to him than any other in all of Winterfell. How peculiar this would look like, the Queen Regant of the seven kingdoms in the intimate midst of Ned Stark's bastard son, and yet these thoughts were far from her mind.

Breathing softly Cersei looked up at him, aware of their closeness, she traced a heart on his chest and watched as her finger rose and fell with his breathing, with the terrain of his chest, and smiled. Looking back at his face, studying to find any hesitance in his eyes, but they were pure and honest, if he was more uncomfortable she would be sure to see it. Although she doubted that he would deny her what she wanted, there was always a hint of doubt.

She longed to speak, to say something meaningful, or regal, or confident, but all words escaped her. This was uncommon but happened occaisionally, even the Lannister Lioness had wekanesses, hers were only broadcast primarily in the arms of a loving man, which in her life was rare and unique.

"Thank you," the Queen Regent murmured in her sweet voice. It had almost been a whisper, barely loud enough to hear, but being so close to her Jon heard, saw and felt everything. The steady rising and falling of her chest, the way her head ever so slightly had tilted into his palm, the heat of her cheek against his hand; it was almost as if time itself had slowed down just so that he could appreciate the finer detail of this unusual meeting of these two people. Queen Cersei sighed every so slightly as she looked into his eyes, and he into hers, but Jon remained completely silent, savouring the beauty of this moment.

Cersei closed her eyes and began to turn her head into his hand. He felt the heat of her breath against his skin for the briefest of moments before the succulent press of her lips pressed against his skin. The sensation was one he had literally never felt before, and nothing had ever come close to this bliss. He found himself taking in a deep breath, his eyes closing momentarily, and that’s when he felt the gentle pressure of her hand press against his chest. He slowly release his held breath, allowing his chest to rise once more as he opened his eyes to look at her once more; she was already turning his gaze.

Her eyes never drifting from him, the Queen traced a pattern across his chest, a pattern he recognised as a heart. Ever so slowly his hand that rested against her cheek trailed down her face, his fingertips tracing across her jaw line and then down her slender neck until they reached the peak of her chest. There they hesitated, Jon subconsciously knowing that an inch further could potential spark a reaction that could result in losing his head, son of Eddard Stark or not. But he was not listening to his head right now, logic and reasoning had no place in this moment.

Cresting her chest, his finger began to trail downwards once again. The Queen’s elegantly exotic dress was low cut, and so his fingers came in contact with no material as they made their way down. Before they reached the material of her dress, which resided seductively above her breasts, his fingers stopped once more and his palm flattened against her chest, directly above her heart. He had been tempted to take his hands further down. Thoughts flashed through his head of throwing caution to the wind and ripping her dress from her bodice, but his hand stayed.

He could feel her breathing, far more heightened that he had expected, but more importantly he could feel the very beating of her heart; the real reason his hand had stopped where it now was. The vibrations of each heartbeat moved through his hand, the very source of her life, beating her hot blood throughout her beautiful body. He closed his eyes, simply feeling the beats of her heart as he took several long and deep breaths, trying to see if he could sync the beating of his own heart with that of hers.

His eyes still closed, Jon could still picture exactly what the Queen, who was standing before him, looked like. Her body felt cold against his hand, colder than his hand felt. Jon had grown up in the North and was accustomed to it, and it seemed that even in the heat of the Godswood, the Queen’s body was still cold. And then, without thinking, his mouth opened and he spoke. “You’re body is cold…” he stated, somewhat obviously, his voice no louder than a whisper. There was a slight pause before he continued. “…perhaps your grace would like to feel the warmth of the spring?”

Word Count: 629.
Total Word Count thus far: 5,310.