gυιиєνєяє (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oncefuturequeen) wrote2019-09-02 06:55 pm
oncefuturequeen) wrote2019-09-02 06:55 pm
for jon snow (tooktheblack)
Ravens had been dispatched, messages sent, and replies received. The Princess of Carhaise, one Guinevere of House Leodegrance, had been offered as bride to the new King in the North, Jon Snow of House Stark. Bastard though he might have been by birth, the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had seemingly done the impossible: he'd rallied all of the northern lords and the Wildlings from beyond the Wall to his banner, earned their support despite his lowborn heritage, and even now prepared the North for the Long Night hovering just beyond the horizon.
And Guinevere, only daughter of King Leodegrance and thus far bystander to the turmoil that had plagued Westeros these past several years, was to be his Queen. She'd been bitterly pleased to note, however, that this "marriage", such as it was, was costing her horrible father five thousand of his best cavalrymen, their horses and weapons, as well as several tons of wheat and grain, for the King in the North had to feed his people during the coming winter, did he not? Seemed a fair compensation for a wife he undoubtedly neither needed nor wanted.
Guinevere certainly felt the Northmen were getting the better part of the bargain, herself.
Regardless of her thoughts on the matter - her father had been adamant, as he despised both Cersei and this foolish Targaryan upstart - that when Carhaise could no longer remain neutral in the Westerosi disasters, old Leo had made the surprising choice to side with Jon Snow and the Northmen. Mainly, as far as Guinevere remembered, out of some lingering fond memory for the Stark family; Eddard, Benjen, and their poor father, slain by the Mad King not long enough to fade into memory. So it was that Carhaise packed up its Princess and her crotchety father and spent several weeks on the road, traveling with the promised dowries towards Winterfell.
The main entourage arrived one fine wintry morning, the King's carriage rolling beneath Winterfell's portcullis on the heels of four splendid horses, all stamping and steaming their breath in the chill air. Not waiting for the door to be opened, Leodegrance flung it open himself, still spry at the ripe age of sixty, but already a hard youth and old war wounds had begun to take their toll. Nevertheless, the old man's eyes were sharp and bright as he surveyed the courtyard, waving away porters and courtiers alike.
"Find my daughter," was all he commanded, and his servants bowed away to do just that, but before any of them could send the word down the line, the Princess cantered into Winterfell's courtyard, her grey gelding prancing prettily beneath her skilled hand. She'd left her long locks unbound and unbraided; they streamed over her dark cloak in a scarlet river. Rather than be gowned as a southern highborn lady, she instead wore a comfortable riding dress of thick wool and cashmere, adorned with only a jewel or two. Leo sniffed as he appraised his only child and bartering chip, but knew better than to bother; she'd inherited her bold way of speaking from him, and her temper from her mother.
She knew his disapproval; it was evident in her own sly smirk as she dismounted and joined her patron, ironically dipping a small curtsy as she approached, but he only huffed and rolled his eyes, thanking all the Old Gods and the New that she'd soon be someone else's headache!
And Guinevere, only daughter of King Leodegrance and thus far bystander to the turmoil that had plagued Westeros these past several years, was to be his Queen. She'd been bitterly pleased to note, however, that this "marriage", such as it was, was costing her horrible father five thousand of his best cavalrymen, their horses and weapons, as well as several tons of wheat and grain, for the King in the North had to feed his people during the coming winter, did he not? Seemed a fair compensation for a wife he undoubtedly neither needed nor wanted.
Guinevere certainly felt the Northmen were getting the better part of the bargain, herself.
Regardless of her thoughts on the matter - her father had been adamant, as he despised both Cersei and this foolish Targaryan upstart - that when Carhaise could no longer remain neutral in the Westerosi disasters, old Leo had made the surprising choice to side with Jon Snow and the Northmen. Mainly, as far as Guinevere remembered, out of some lingering fond memory for the Stark family; Eddard, Benjen, and their poor father, slain by the Mad King not long enough to fade into memory. So it was that Carhaise packed up its Princess and her crotchety father and spent several weeks on the road, traveling with the promised dowries towards Winterfell.
The main entourage arrived one fine wintry morning, the King's carriage rolling beneath Winterfell's portcullis on the heels of four splendid horses, all stamping and steaming their breath in the chill air. Not waiting for the door to be opened, Leodegrance flung it open himself, still spry at the ripe age of sixty, but already a hard youth and old war wounds had begun to take their toll. Nevertheless, the old man's eyes were sharp and bright as he surveyed the courtyard, waving away porters and courtiers alike.
"Find my daughter," was all he commanded, and his servants bowed away to do just that, but before any of them could send the word down the line, the Princess cantered into Winterfell's courtyard, her grey gelding prancing prettily beneath her skilled hand. She'd left her long locks unbound and unbraided; they streamed over her dark cloak in a scarlet river. Rather than be gowned as a southern highborn lady, she instead wore a comfortable riding dress of thick wool and cashmere, adorned with only a jewel or two. Leo sniffed as he appraised his only child and bartering chip, but knew better than to bother; she'd inherited her bold way of speaking from him, and her temper from her mother.
She knew his disapproval; it was evident in her own sly smirk as she dismounted and joined her patron, ironically dipping a small curtsy as she approached, but he only huffed and rolled his eyes, thanking all the Old Gods and the New that she'd soon be someone else's headache!
smol time skip b/c mah brainz
Nevertheless, she curled on her side and clenched her teeth through the cramps, able after a few agonizing minutes to carefully sit up, locate her dressing gown and pull it over her head, fighting an involuntary shiver. The fire was only glowing embers at this early hour, and the bedchamber carried a definite chill. The new Queen of the North heard a soft tapping at the door, and a blushing maid peeked within after pushing the heavy door open only a sliver, and Guinevere beckoned her in, all too eager to pounce on the tray the girl carried.
The maid poured tea for her queen, and Guinevere sat on the edge of the royal bed and sipped gratefully while the girl built up the fire, then in a quiet voice informed her lady that breakfast would be ready very soon. Guinevere thanked her in the same soft tone, not wishing to disturb the king still slumbering on the other side of the bed, beneath a mound of thick furs and blankets. After the girl withdrew, Guinevere sat a moment longer, pondering the wisdom of getting up to dress, or the appealing idea of burrowing back into bed beneath the covers.
no subject
"Are you that hungry that you've run away from me? I have an appetite too but I think we've earned the right to lay about in bed this morning even if we'll never get another chance to," he says warmly. "Come back to me?"
Jon hopes she will. He's looking forward to being married.
no subject
"Good morning, Majesty," she teased with a small smile. Her husband was nice and warm, still buried under the bedclothes, and the Queen hesitated only a moment before sliding close, craving his warmth. "Ooh," she shivered, curling up beside him, "it's decidedly cold this morning, Jon. I think sleeping in is a wonderful idea, Your Grace."
no subject
"I wasn't sure about this at first," he admits. "Marrying in general and then you seemed like you weren't really interested in marrying at all. I thought we'd be miserable. I'm very glad I was wrong about all that. I think it's much better that we like one another and actually want to be together. I think it'll make the marriage better to know it isn't just for an alliance."
no subject
"I wasn't really interested in a husband," she admitted, squirming a little closer beneath the heavy blankets. "All the suitors I've ever had were only interested in my father's crown and the prestige he'd gain from crawling beneath my skirts." Her shudder this time was for an entirely different reason. "I'm actually somewhat surprised I managed to dodge them all, given my father's incessant griping about his 'spinster' offspring." A small, derisive snort.
Then Guinevere nuzzled at her husband's nose with her own, placing a soft kiss to his lips. "But then Lady Sansa's letter arrived, offering a King in marriage, and, well, here we are."
no subject
He threads his hands through her long hair, letting it play over his fingers. He's always liked to touch Ygritte's hair, as little as she let him, and he's glad that he can lay in bed and indulge himself with Gwen. It's a different relationship in a lot of ways but these little affections are something he's always wanted.
"I want to be a good husband, anyway. And, hopefully, a good father? I don't know how long that normally takes but I'll be sure to get in plenty of practice."