Chapter Text
His fists continued to collide with the bloody mass of meat that used to be Ramsay Snow’s face. The metal gauntlets he wore had carved out so much flesh and bone that it was now unrecognizable. Still, it was the only thing he could focus on, the one part of the world that gave him purpose. Ramsay Snow had terrorized an innocent girl thinking it was his favorite sister, and had boasted how he would do the same to his new bride once she arrived from the Vale. Worse, the scouts provided by the mountain clansmen had found six female bodies so far, stripped of skin and nailed to crosses or trees in grotesque homage to the Bolton sigil. Jon previously thought the wildlings beyond the wall were the barbarians, but he now was convinced otherwise. Skirmishes between the small warbands of the free folk were quick and comparatively surgical in their precision compared to the atrocities of the Bolton men. Most of his time in the Battle for Castle Black was spent firing arrows from a tower and issuing commands. But this, charging into the thick of a battle and dismembering his foes, seeing their entrails and hearing their screams, was chaos. Jon was no longer a person, he was a beast. Savage.
But as long as he could destroy this one person utterly, to remove every identifiable trace of him from the North, his own brutality was worth something. His violence and selfishness would be worthwhile. His bastardry, dishonesty, and dishonor would be useful.
Noises were muffled compared to the sound of his own gasps of breath, the grunts of exertion leaving his throat, but the screams of the dead and dying around him weren’t worth listening to anyway. He shut them out, like most things outside his singular objective, which was becoming harder and harder to recognize with every punch. Which is why it surprised him, some indeterminable number of minutes or hours later, when he found himself hauled up by his arm pits by two men in armor far too clean to have been involved in the battle and far too fine to have come from the North. Valemen, Ramsay’s promised aid accompanying his bride.
Jon struggled against his new assailants, who had ripped him from his one remaining purpose in life, but to no avail. He was made to face away and forced to his knees. He continued to struggle, even as the noises became somewhat more recognizable as speech, though perhaps as heard from underwater or far away.
“–ood lust, my la–”
“–needs a soak, or maybe a–”
“–to the lord’s chambers.”
Blood and grime obscured most of his vision from the slits in his helm, so he felt more than saw that he was being dragged inside the keep. His head continued to ring, but the voices directed at him at least now seemed less hostile. No more screams or war cries, but calming voices and reassurances that he was safe. Jon wasn’t sure he should believe them, and so he continued to struggle whenever he could muster the energy. Once he nearly succeeded in freeing his arm, only for another armored body to restrain him again from behind.
He was finally thrown onto a cold stone floor, knocking the wind out of him, and was immediately doused in water that was just shy of scalding. The water seemed to have done its job, dislodging much of the accumulated detritus from his helm and allowing even more noise to get through.
“Bring more water, but leave the rest to me,” said a soft voice, softer than any he had heard in what felt like a lifetime.
“My lady, it would not be proper, let alone safe to–”
“There is not any other with whom I would be safer. Do as I have said, then leave us,” said the lady, now with a firm finality contrasting her sweet tone. The voice reminded Jon of his father’s lady wife, commanding yet feminine, but had something else to it that Lady Catelyn’s never did, at least for him – gentleness.
Another bucket of warm water was thrown over his head, and he could hear the scrape of wood against stone as furniture was hastily repositioned around the room, before a thud sounded through the chamber which must have been the door closing. Despite the silence, his head still most resembled a rung bell, and thoughts buzzed through is head too fast to interpret. Something brushed beside him, causing him to lash out his arm and grab the offending object.
“Jon.”
His name from that gentle voice struck him harder than any of the swords had from outside. He allowed his head to be forcibly stilled, and his helm at last to be removed from his head.
The lady before him was a beauty – flaming red hair, long with smooth waves in whatever wasn’t pulled behind her head in a plait, a contrast to the matted braids of the free folk. Her face was long, but the features themselves were rounded and graceful. Her eyes were soothing pools of spring water. Her lips were pink, and looked softer than petals as they moved. It was clear that she was trying to speak to him, but the only word that made it through the battle-fog of his mind was his name as she said it again, “Jon.”
The impulse hit him like a war hammer in the chest, unavoidable and insurmountable and inevitable. He did not know this Valewoman, but her beauty and her gentleness and the persistent buzzing of his mind stripped away all of his inhibitions, and he pulled his body upright and kissed her.
Her immediate reaction was to pull away, which he anticipated and prevented by pinning her upper body to his with his left hand, his right still holding tightly to her thigh as she knelt by his side. She then tried to cry out, but this was swiftly averted as he pushed his tongue into her mouth, seeking out her own and caressing it as he planned to later do to her clit. Her hands came up, uncalloused and soothing little candle-flames of warmth brushing against his face, and to his relief rather than pushing him away they began to comb through his beard, the hair on his scalp, the hair behind his neck. She leaned into him, and her tongue began to curiously explore his mouth as well.
His cock felt harder than Longclaw’s steel. He had not been with a woman since Ygritte, and hadn’t even felt the urge to take himself in hand since his death. But now, months later, the urge to be inside this angelic figure washed over him like the tide, vast and profoundly deep. She had all the beauty of Lady Catelyn, but none of the iciness. She had Ygritte’s fire, but not her acidity. She was warm, and willing, and she would be his.
Jon pulled back, shivering as his name left her lips yet again in a deliciously pleading moan. His goddess closed the distance between them and peppered his face with kisses, but allowed him the space he needed to unstrap and discard his armor. His hands left her body as he rushed to pull off his soiled gauntlets and gloves. It took all of his willpower to stay away from her long enough to work the straps at what pieces of his armor remained after the brawl, and something primal roared in his chest when she began to unlace his tunic once the weight of the chest plate and hauberk left his shoulders. He moaned as her hands worried over the bruises covering his chest and stomach, and nearly tore through the laces of his breeches to get his hands back on her.
Although his mind still felt clouded, in a moment of clarity he was grateful that the sludge of the battlefield had largely been removed with his clothing, meaning that he would no longer tarnish his prize with his touch. And touch he did, one hand groping the surprisingly bountiful flesh of her tit. He roughly thumbed over where he suspected her nipple to be, earning him a moan and shiver from her which in turn caused his cock to throb. She resumed kissing his mouth aggressively, driving her tongue inside his lips to rub against the rough patches where his teeth had cut into the flesh from blows to his head. Rather than disgust her, the taste of his blood only seemed to inflame her more, and she tugged at the hem of his breeches in a clear plead to remove them.
Remove them he did, sliding them off to the side along with his smallclothes. His hand that was not again busy at her breast went behind her back, pulling at her laces one by one with patience that would have been excruciating were it not for her hand that caressed his cock and stones as he did so. He could tell he was on a hair trigger, like a crossbow wound too tight, but his desire to fill her womb kept his seed inside. Soon enough, her fine thick travel dress came over her head, leaving her in a silk shift and filigree-embroidered wool stockings which drove him wild. He stood with her in his arms, sliding his hands up her thighs to grip her ass as her legs followed and wrapped around his waist.
Jon’s cock strained against the warm silk smallclothes it was compressed against as he carried her to the room’s bed, pulsing with vulgar intent. He threw her down without gentleness or kindness, but she did not seem to mind and kept her legs spread wide for him, her knees flexing to point her dainty feet toward her treasure. “Jon,” she said again, this time the only thing that needed to be said, to communicate her desire for him. He did not know how she knew his name, or anything else about her, but that was diminishingly important as her thumbs hooked the waste of her smallclothes and slid them up her legs, her knees briefly coming together as the silk slid off her body.
This left her cute pink cunt exposed to him for the first time. Her inner lips protruded slightly from the outer, flush and pink but also dainty compared to Ygritte’s, which had been larger and more ungainly if no less desirable. Her bush was as fiery red as her hair, although it had clearly been shaved into a triangle to be contained in her smallclothes, something his wildling lover had never been concerned about. Jon felt his breath leave him at the realization that he was about to fuck a true lady such as this.
Despite the protests of his cock, he failed to resist the urge to dive between her soft thighs to feast. She was hot and wet, such that the drops of natural lubrication dripping down between the cheeks of her ass became the perfect appetizer for his meal. He soon finished his treat and quickly made good on his earlier promise to himself by setting his tongue to attack her clit. He pushed up the little hood to better expose her sensitive nub to his ministrations, while his hands wrapped around her hips to pull her into his mouth and hold her as she writhed. She somehow maintained enough presence of mind to pull off her stockings before she exploded, soaking his beard in delicious nectar which he lapped up with his tongue as his hand soothed the contracting muscles between her skin and her womb.
Her tug on his hair as her convulsions slowed was a clear enough signal even in his overloaded state. He crawled up her body and bracketed her with his arms. An errant thought was grateful that her hair was bound so he did not have to worry about accidentally pulling on it with his elbows, although he hoped she would still be agreeable to doing this again with her flaming locks freed. His cockhead was now exposed, his foreskin having retracted while he ate her cunt to reveal its angry red tip capped with a pearlescent bead of seed threatening to drip into her belly button.
She pulled him down to her mouth and immediately wrapped her delicate tongue around his in mimicry of the treatment he had just given her, grabbed his shaft with her hand, and positioned him against her slick cunt. His hips fell into hers involuntarily, and his stones only had a handful of strokes to ache and throb against her ass before he emptied his soul inside of her, the tight wet warmth too much to bear. What felt like a dozen pulses of seed filled her cunt as his moans filled her throat. Her soft hands caressed his back much like he had her stomach after her own orgasm earlier, but rather than feeling drained he felt more worked up than ever.
Jon pulled out of her, relishing the sight of his seed pouring out of her lower lips to stain the sheets, tinged with red from either her maidenhead or his roughness, not that he cared which at this moment. She sat up to chase his lips, which allowed him to pull her shift over her head and finally expose all of him to her. Her breasts fell one after the other out of their silk prison, pointed pink nipples mounted on coin-sized areola still quivering with arousal. He kneaded and pinched both of them with his rough fingers before flipping her over, needing to claim her again. The scars crisscrossing her back were a surprise, but marked her as a survivor and only increased his desire to fill her with seed as many times as she would allow. He traced a few of them with his fingers from her shoulders down to her hips, eliciting shivers each time.
The cheeks of her bottom were round, full, and pillow-soft as he pried them apart to line himself up with her still leaking cunt. As he filled her, he cherished the clenching heat of her which had been overlooked due to the speed of his orgasm during their first round. Her walls stretched and caressed around him as he began to truly fuck her, the lubrication from his seed allowing him to set a punishing pace that made the flesh of her ass bounce enticingly against his hips. Lest the sight unman him quickly yet again, he bent over her body and pressed his chest into her back as she braced herself on her elbows, sinking into the bed under his weight. This freed his hands to hold her bouncing breasts as his hips pistoned into hers from above.
The pleasure from his cock had now completely replaced all previous thoughts of battle, politics, wars, and loss in his mind. There was nothing else in the world besides the beauty underneath him and her tight cunt wrapped around his cock. He was moaning, but so was she, chanting his name in what sounded like reverence as he fucked her. His mind cleared enough to remember to give her pleasure too, so he moved a hand down to mash against her clit. Once again, she didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t gentle as her cunt clenched down on him tighter than a blacksmith’s vice, causing his balls to throb and erupt into her once again. He slammed his hips tight against hers, feeling the head of his cock push against the entrance of her womb as thick ropes of seed filled her cunt.
He fell to the side once they were both finished shaking and pulled her into his chest. He felt tears slide down his face, not from sadness but perhaps due to the sheer physical and emotional exhaustion of the past few hours. He caressed her as lovingly as he could as their breathing evened out, and not even her full ass pressed against his cock was enough to arouse it now. It felt like his brain was also softening, now that he felt safe and satisfied for the first time since that cave with Ygritte. Thoughts of guilt began to creep to the surface through his sleepiness, he didn’t even know this woman’s name. He was able to ignore them though when she twisted around in his grip to face him, kissed him soundly and whispered his name softly.
“I missed you so much,” she said, before gently laying her head on his chest. Exhaustion pulled him into sleep, wrapped in her mutual embrace. Consequences were for the later; for now he finally had peace.