Robb
He threw his head back and laughed, loud and unrestrained, as Nymeria dragged a very reluctant Jon into the center of the hall.
The songs had the entire Great Hall of Winterfell pulsing with life. Feet stomped against the stone floor in time with the lively tune. Tankards slammed on tables. Voices rose in drunken, joyful song. And in the middle of it all, the Sand Snakes had claimed their prey.
Obara had already seized tall Haden, one of the younger Winter Sons guards by the front of his tunic, pulling him into a wild spin that left the poor man laughing and slightly terrified.
Tyene had a serving girl flushed bright red in her arms, twirling her gracefully while whispering something that made the girl hide her face in Tyene's shoulder.
And Nymeria… she had Jon's hand firmly in hers, refusing to let the bastard escape despite his clear mortification.
"Come on, Snow!" She called, her laughter bright and wicked. "Even northern bastards know how to move their feet!"
Jon's face was a deep shade of red as she spun him around.
He stumbled once, nearly tripping over his own boots, which only made Robb laugh harder.
The Winter Sons at their table howled in approval, slamming their tankards and cheering their brother on.
Robb wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.
This was what he had wanted for his nameday, not just the formal toasts or the political plays, but this. Life, joy, his people, his friends, his family letting go for one night.
His eyes found Arianne across the hall.
She sat near the lower tables, Her dark hair was loose, streaked with those intriguing black threads.
She was watching the dancers with a small, amused smile, but her eyes kept drifting back toward him.
Robb stood, smoothing his direwolf cloak, and made his way toward her.
The crowd parted easily for the Young Wolf tonight.
"My lady," he said, offering his hand with a dramatic bow. "Would you do me the honor of a dance?"
Arianne looked up at him, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "And here I thought the Young Wolf was too busy drinking with his pack to notice a lonely princess."
Robb grinned. "A lonely princess? In that dress? I doubt you've been lonely for even a moment."
She took his hand, rising gracefully. "Flattery from a northern lord? Careful, Robb. I might start thinking you've been practicing."
"Only for you," he replied, pulling her closer than strictly necessary. "Besides, I've seen how the guards look at you. If I don't claim this dance now, I may have to fight half the hall."
She laughed, low and warm, letting him lead her toward the center. "Then fight them. I like watching you win."
Every eye in the hall seemed to turn toward them as they reached the open space.
His band of brothers erupted in a deafening howl of cheers. Jon, still being spun by Nymeria, managed to shout over the music, "It's your turn now, brother!"
Robb smirked, about to turn and acknowledge them, when his eyes widened.
Nymeria had pulled Jon into a deep, passionate kiss right in the middle of the dance floor. Jon stiffened for half a second before his hands found her waist, returning it with surprising fervor. The hall roared even louder.
Arianne leaned in close to Robb's ear as they began to move together.
"Dornish women take what they like," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. "No hesitation."
Robb chuckled, his hand settling possessively on the small of her back as they fell into the rhythm of the song.
"Then beware northern men, my princess. We're ferocious and savage by your southern standards."
Arianne's eyes gleamed as she spun gracefully around him, her gown flaring like fire.
"Oh, I know," she said when she came back into his arms. "I've been with this particular northern man. He was every bit the savage and ferocious beast they say northerners are."
Robb threw his head back and laughed loudly, the sound booming over the music as the song grew faster and louder.
The chanting of the crowd rose with it, deep male voices singing the bawdy lyrics.
He caught glimpses of his family as they danced.
Arya was darting between members of the Winter Sons and guards, each man spinning her gently in turn. She stumbled around like a drunk little bear cub, laughing wildly every time someone caught her. Sansa danced more properly with Ser Jory, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
Jon and Nymeria were pressed close now, sharing quick, heated kisses between spins.
The other Sand Snakes had their mouths quite full as well, Obara kissing Haden with fierce enthusiasm, Tyene twirling the serving girl and stealing kisses that left the poor girl dazed and delighted.
The joy in the hall was infectious. Robb felt lighter than he had in moons.
Then a slow quietness settled over the hall.
His father had entered.
Lord Stark stood just inside the archway, tall and solemn as ever. The music faltered, conversations died and lovers pulled apart.
Every eye in the hall turned toward the Lord of Winterfell, waiting for a statement, a command, perhaps even disapproval.
Instead, he walked calmly to a nearby table, picked up a large jug of ale, and gulped it down in several long swallows.
He set the jug back with a heavy thud, wiped his musty beard with the back of his hand, and called out in a loud, clear voice. "Where are the bloody songs?"
The hall exploded.
The musicians struck up the tune again with renewed vigor.
Robb's eyes widened in pure shock as he saw his father's shoulders begin to move up and down, side to side.
Lord Stark, his father, was dancing.
The men muttered at first, disbelieving, then the muttering turned into a thunderous cheer as he began shaking his body with surprising energy, his hands moving in wide, violent gestures that somehow kept perfect time with the music.
Robb laughed so hard he nearly stumbled.
He broke away from Arianne for a moment and joined his father in the center, the two of them dancing together like madmen.
Catelyn stood near the high table, covering her mouth with both hands to hide her laughter.
Sansa and Arya were both chuckling openly at the sight of their usually stoic father letting loose.
Robb had never seen his father dance before. He never knew he could dance this well.
His father caught him by the shoulder, shaking him back and forth in pure joy.
"Now this," he heard Oberyn call out as he joined the floor, shaking his chest dramatically, "is how one should celebrate a nameday!"
The hall roared its approval.
For one perfect night, there was only music, laughter, family, and the warmth of shared celebration.
He didn't know it then, but this would be one of the happiest moments he would have for many years to come.
—---
Jon IX
He woke slowly, drifting up from the depths of a heavy, dreamless sleep.
The first thing he noticed was the cold seeping through the thick furs piled on the bed, the second was that he was completely naked.
He blinked, staring at the stone ceiling of the guest chamber, his body aching in ways that brought a rush of heated memories flooding back.
His neck and chest were covered in a constellation of red marks, some faint, others vivid, bite marks.
The clear imprint of teeth on his collarbone.
Scratches down his ribs. The evidence of a night that had been anything but restrained.
A soft rustle of silk made him turn his head.
She stood beside the bed, already dressed in a flowing silk gown the color of deep wine.
The fabric clung to her curves, catching the faint pre-dawn light filtering through the narrow window, her dark hair was tousled, lips still slightly swollen.
She looked every bit the dangerous, beautiful Sand Snake.
She turned at the sound of his movement, dark eyes meeting his. A slow, satisfied smirk curved her lips.
"You're awake," she murmured, voice husky from the night's exertions.
Jon pushed himself up on one elbow, the furs slipping down to his waist.
"You're leaving so soon?" His voice was rough with sleep. "It's not even dawn yet."
Nymeria tilted her head, studying him with open appreciation.
Her gaze lingered on the marks she had left across his pale skin.
"I need to get back to my sisters before they decide to leave me to the tender comforts of the North." She gave a low, throaty chuckle. "Obara would never let me hear the end of it."
He smiled despite the hollow feeling already forming in his chest.
"I liked last night," he said quietly, the words carrying more weight than he intended. "All of it."
Her smirk softened into something warmer. She moved slowly toward the bed, silk whispering against her legs.
When she reached him, she leaned down, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw with surprising gentleness. Her touch left a trail of heat on his skin.
"We could do this every night," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "If you come with me. Dorne has sun. Heat. No more freezing mornings or endless snow. You could be free of all this… duty."
Jon's face soured, though a small, reluctant smile still lingered on his lips. He slowly shook his head, grey eyes meeting hers. "You know I can't."
She studied him for a long moment, searching his face, then she nodded in quiet understanding.
She leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek, then another softer to his lips. The taste of her lingered, sweet and spiced.
"Then this is goodbye," she said, straightening up.
Her voice was steady, but there was a faint sadness beneath it.
Jon sat up fully, the furs pooling around his hips. "Will we meet again at the wedding?"
She paused at the door, one hand resting on the frame. She looked back over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. "Whose wedding?"
"Robb and Arianne's," Jon said, frowning slightly.
She shook her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "The betrothal is broken."
He blinked, the words hitting him like a splash of cold water. "What?"
But Nymeria only smiled mysteriously, almost wistfully and slipped out of the room without another word.
The heavy oak door closed softly behind her, leaving Jon alone in the suddenly too-quiet chamber.
—--
Haden II
Oh the Old Gods and my dear mother, your boy knows the touch of woman.
He is a man now.
"Uh…" He grumbled as she rode him for the twelfth time.
He is a man, drained of his life by this demon of a dornish woman.
He is happy where he is.