Oberyn Martell was deeply irritated as he strode through the open halls of his families ancestral home, the warmth of the sun dancing across his skin as surely as his beloved Ellaria's own hands as the guards saluted him as he passed through the twin birch doors that led into the keep.

"What is Doran playing at?" he asked himself venomously as he clenched his fists and thought back to the cloaked figure that walked through their gates not more than an hour ago with that monstrous hound at his heels. "Aligning ourselves with those Northern bastards who helped lead the rebellion that murdered our sweet Elia and her children!" he raged aloud as he stopped within the hall, seething in ever increasing rage as his blood boiled and his soul screamed that he kill the boy now; to have even the smallest piece of his long sought revenge even at the expense of the fragile peace between his House and that of House Stark of the North.

A cool hand caressed his cheek then, Oberyn now so distraught and consumed by his grief and fury that he sought the touch of the person like a man starved of food. 'A woman's hand,' he thought drearily as the soft touch of satin skin played across his own, an all too familiar and indeed welcome whisper travelling across his ear.

"Peace my love, all is well," Ellaria Sand, lover and consort of the Viper whispered soothingly as she threaded her silken fingers through her beloved's long mane of silken black hair. "Your niece is utterly taken by the boy, show at least a little restraint tonight. For her at the very least. Who knows, perhaps in time you will come to like the boy. He is of the South through his mother after all."

Oberyn gave her a guarded look, until he released a sigh and smiled softly as he wrapped his arms around Ellaria's waist and held her close. "Only you it seems can calm my temper in these trying times my love," he murmured gently as Ellaria draped herself upon him and placed soft kisses along his neck and chin.

"As it should be beloved," she whispered seductively into the Viper's ears, laying her head to rest upon Oberyn's shoulder and sigh in content. "I know you seek vengeance, and rightly so for your sister and her children, but you must remember that it was not the boy's father who committed those deeds. Eddard Stark, as honorable a man as any born into this world was just as disgusted and angry as you were when he learned the fate of your family. The family of Stark is of noble stock and upbringing, even if the company they keep is as far as the sea from the sky in comparison."

Oberyn remained silent as he felt Ellaria's words wash over him, and he hated to even conceive the notion that some part of him, that which had grown stronger under Ellaria's tender care admitted she was right. Yet he could not doubt her words, for she spoke of nothing but the truth when it came to him. When he had learned of Eddard's desertion of Robert after the Sack of King's Landing, it had surprised him and many of the Lord's across the Seven Kingdoms deeply, and had thrown Oberyn's whole perception of the matter into question.

For Ned Stark, a man renowned for his nobility and loyalty to those close to him to suddenly abandon Robert at such a critical time… The action alone spoke deeply of how much the Northern Lord had disagreed with both Tywin and Robert's actions in regards to the butchering of the Targaryen heirs and Prince Rhaegar's wife. Oberyn's sweet sister and her children. Even now the Viper felt his blood boil at the thought of the Old Lion and the Mountain Stag, yet he resigned himself to his sweet Ellaria's request. He would give the boy a chance to prove himself, to allow his beloved niece a chance to perhaps be happy with the arrangement made. Yet if the boy so much as stepped out of line or dared to harm Arianne, it would be more than the Viper who would prowl the sands to hunt down the Wolf far from the ice and snow of his home.

Yet both the Viper and his lover remained oblivious to the large crow that perched above them with not a sound uttered from the frightening creature, its eyes sharp as steel as they fixed upon Oberyn as the Dornish nobleman released a small grin and nodded in acquiescence of his lover's request before he pulled Ellaria close and kissed her hungrily. An action that was immediately and quite eagerly reciprocated by the woman held in the Viper's arms. With a beat of its wings the crow perched above the couple vanished deeper into the keep, fading like a shadow into the darkness of the rafters as the sun hung high over the horizon and Dorne was aglow with life.

Jon remained silent as he accompanied Arianne towards the dining hall, his dark eyes cold and flinty as he stayed by the older woman's side whilst she kept herself well within his personal space. With one of her arms wrapped around one of his own, her voluptuous form pressed tightly into his side Jon knew she was sending a message to the staff of the keep in her own way. Yet despite obviously marking him as being off-limits, Arianne did not seem troubled by the few errant looks and wide-eyed glances that the female staff within the keep had laid upon him.

Jon also knew that she had no doubt noticed the lack of stares sent at her in return, though Jon felt it had something to do with him having idly twitched his wrist on occasion when he noticed the none-too secretive looks sent at his betrothed. It mattered little to him however, for as long as they realised that the Lady Martell was his, and his alone from this day onward… Then he'd need not send a message to the people. They'd learn on their own soon enough. They always did.

He just hoped they learned quicker than the Dothraki had, lest he be forced to leave the castle guards understaffed as he had his friend's Khalasaar. Drogo had not been pleased at Jon's actions the night some of the Dothraki had sought to take Daenerys to their beds, yet some stiff drinks and a night hunting the plains had done much to earn back the Khal's good grace.

It helped immensely that Jon was a warrior of great skill, and not some milk-drinker like Viserys had been. Else not even wine and bread would appease the angry Dothraki warlord. Drogo was a strange friend to have of that Jon knew, but he was one all the same. Jon would sooner take his own life then betray the trust his friends gave him. Drogo was much the same, save it would be someone else's life he would offer before ever thinking of breaking Jon's trust. After, the Khal of Khals was eager for the Long Night to arrive; anticipating the challenge of facing the ancient enemy of Man for the first time in over a thousand years.

Jon was soon snapped from his thoughts when Arianne relinquished his arm from her grasp, turning to give him a small seductive smile as she stood before him at the twin doors, the wood a dark onyx that acted to emphasize her bright silk robes as she looked up to him. She moved to stand pressed against him, her eyes dancing with mischief as she traced a thin and finely cared nail down the scar that ran through his beard.

"Are you ready mine husband-to-be? To take your first step to being Prince of the Land of Snakes?" she asked him with a quirk of her lips, eyes no longer glinting with her mischievous demeanor as they seemed to search within him for whatever answer he would provide.

Jon merely gave Arianne a small smirk as he glanced down at her, a wild and predatory glint in his eyes of stone grey that seemed to bore into the buxom woman's soul. It seemed she had found her answer. It seared her very soul being under her betrothed's intense gaze, and made her so very hot in very familiar places.

"More than ready," Jon said with a confident, and wolfish glint in his eyes as the light flashed and cast a shadow across Jon's face that seemed to make his scars all the more clear. With a confident stride did Jon step forward and push inward the great doors, the hallowed and hushed din of the great hall vanishing in an instant as the occupants seated at the table turned as one to face him. He merely grinned in response, canines bared as the Wolf entered the Nest of the Viper at last.

While far to the north of Dorne in the land of Lions and Stags, Eddard Stark was sitting down beneath the shade of a tall pine tree. His eyes remained ever watchful as the King's caravan rested once more on their journey to King's Landing, the journey finally beginning to take a toll on the people that comprised it. The lush trees and dark colored grass of the South was an array of color normally not seen in the North, and this knowledge brought with it a sense of foreboding upon the Lord of Winterfell. For even now he could see the color of the trees was not as vibrant as it had been so many years ago when first he had travelled the roads. 'The road to King's Landing is not as warm as I remember it to be,' Eddard Stark thought to himself with a grim look on his face, the Wolf Lord content to be relieved at last of his furs and the heavily layered leather jerkin offered to him by Ser Jory as the caravan made the journey towards the capital.

It had been almost a sole month since Robert had asked for him to be Hand of the King down in the crypts… A month since they had set out on their journey, with King's Landing less than a three weeks' ride from their current position on the King's Road by the Trident. Ned sighed as he wiped the cloth laden with oil along the blade of Ice once again, the gentle touch of his hand to the steel a familiar comfort in this place so far from home. It was no secret that Ned had no love of the South and its blistering sun, much preferring the bright skies and cool mornings of Winterfell.

Even then, that was secondary to all the South represented to the Starks. Ned had in the span of a year lost his father, older brother, and his younger sister because of the Targaryen Prince and Mad King Aerys. To be back in the place that had seen the deaths of so many members of Ned's family filled the Quiet Wolf with a melancholy and dour feeling. Though from the darkness and grief that had surrounded the Red Keep for the Stark Lord, it had given him a son in all but blood. Perhaps that should be enough for now.

A shadow soon loomed over the silent Liege Lord of the North, causing Ned to lift his head and smirk at the small grin on Robert's face.

"Still sat here on your arse watching the clouds?" the King asked with grunt as he sat down at Ned's side, the wineskin quickly pulled from his hip as the former Lord of Storm's End offered it to the Lord of Winterfell.

"Aye, brings me peace despite knowing I ain't to see home again for some time," Ned said as he gratefully took the offered drink and lifted it to his lips. The sweet wine was pleasant to the Northern Lord, the tang mixed with the light burn warming his body as it settled in his stomach. Lowering the skin Ned quietly offered it back to Robert with a small smirk on his lips.

Robert laughed then, his heavy frame quaking with every peal of laughter as he reclaimed his wine and took a hearty swig. "I suppose it does bring back some memories, me and you riding off with only our swords and our wits to protect us from the world. Gods I remember the freedom of it all…" Robert said fondly, smiling gently as he looked at his new Hand and nudged him with his broad shoulders.

"Do you miss it? The freedom of our youth."

"Every day…" Ned said wistfully, leaning back against the tall tree that dominated the fringe of the forest and feeling the rough bark press into his back through his leathers. "Back then it was so much simpler. All I had to worry about was making sure you didn't sleep with the wrong woman and keep you out of trouble. Especially since Jon, Gods Old and New protect him, couldn't do it without a wineskin in his hand."

Robert guffawed at the Quiet Wolf's snarky remarks, laughing happily as he clapped his hand on Ned's shoulder and brought him close.

"Haha, that he couldn't Ned, that he couldn't," Robert admitted, sighing deeply as he took another drink of his wine. Silence settled between them for a few moments, only broken by the rustle of the leaves and the gentle whispers of the wind as it crossed the land lain before them. "I loved that man like a father," Robert said sadly, his eyes darkening to a shallow blue as he leaned back and rested his large hands atop his stomach.

"We both did," Ned responded, releasing a long sigh through his nose as he gently sheathed Ice and lay the greatsword flat at his side. Until the sight of the butcher boy sprinting away from the Ruby Ford as if the Hounds of the Night King were hot on his heels got his attention.

Rising to his feet, Ned disturbed Robert as the two men watched the boy run, looking at each other before the sound of screams could be heard in the trees by the river. Familiar screams.

"Sansa!" Ned cried out as he grabbed his blade and dashed for the trees, Robert desperately rising to his feet and going after his friend in pursuit. Ned wasted no time as he drew his blade, the sharp ring as Ice was bared for battle ringing in his ears as Ned broke through the underbrush and snarled at the sight before him.

"I'll gut you like a fish you miserable little cunt of a wolf fucker!" Prince Joffrey snarled as he raised his sword over his head, eyes glaring hatefully at Arya as she tried to get back to her feet. Yet his daughter's faithful direwolf was soon bounding towards the Prince, her hackles raised in a snarl before Ned sprinted forth.

"Nymeria down!" Ned cried as he tightened his grip on his blade and swung, deflecting Joffrey's sword and shattering the battered and chipped blade as the young Prince fell to the ground with a terrified yelp. The appearance of their father shocked the two girls as they stared at the new Hand of the King in silence, with Joffrey cradling his hand as blood trailed from the thin line that marked his palm.

Ned slammed Ice into the earth as he stared down hatefully at the golden haired Prince, his breathing deep and barely controlled as he felt Nymeria come to his side and press her head into his hand affectionately.

"Good girl," he said shortly, running his hand through the wolf's warm fur as he stood between his youngest daughter and Robert's oldest son.

Soon enough Robert to burst through the trees, his antler hilt longsword drawn and gleaming wickedly as Ser Barristan followed close behind him.

"Ned what happened? Are we under attack?!" Robert demanded gruffly once he caught sight of his son laying in the grass and whimpering in pain, while he saw his oldest friend stare at the boy with utter loathing in his dark grey eyes.

"I wish it were so Your Grace. Your boy tried to kill Arya, had his sword drawn and ready to cut her down if I hadn't stepped in," Ned said grimly, placing both hands on Ice's hilt as he tried to calm himself. Looking down, Ned contemptuously kicked aside the large section of steel blade he had managed to cut off from the hilt into the Trident; the flash of the steel flickering through the water as it landed with nary a splash.

Robert felt heat rush to his face as he stared at his son, the fury made famous through the words of House Baratheon rising like a wave as the King stalked forward and hauled Joffrey to his feet by the scruff of his tunic.

"By the fucking Gods boy I hope you have a reasonable explanation for this!" Robert roared, staring into the dark green eyes of the boy he called son as the tall youth trembled in his grip.

Ser Barristan remained silent all the while, staring at the Prince in barely disguised contempt as the aged Knight moved to gently guide Sansa towards her father's side. She seemed disturbed by what she had just seen, her eyes wide and her lips trembling as she stared at King Robert gruffly shaking Prince Joffrey.

Robert having grown impatient with his son's whimpering raised his hand and smacked the boy asunder, with Joffrey crying out in pain as he fell to the grass once more.

"When I ask you a question, I expect a Gods be damned answer boy!" Robert growled harshly, managing to restrain himself but a little longer as he lifted his head and turned to face Ned.

"Take your girls and go Ned. They shouldn't have to see this," Robert said gruffly, glancing meaningfully at Ser Barristan who slightly nodded his head. Ned bowed his head to Robert and swiftly gathered his two children and the silent direwolf before the Starks made for the tents. Joffrey's pained grunts echoed for a time, until they too were silenced and the King returned with the whimpering boy strung over his shoulder.

That evening Robert convened most of the caravan to his personal quarters, a large tent which now acted as a makeshift throne room as he addressed the incident that happened not but a few errant hours ago. Both in an attempt to dissuade any rumors that might emerge from the incident, and to try and waylay Cersei's no doubt vicious attempt at revenge. Cersei, to the surprise of no one was absolutely livid at what Ned and Robert had done and made her opinion of the matter well known.

"How dare you simply sit there as our son bleeds before your eyes because of what this northern savage and your own actions did to him!?" she demanded shrilly, her emerald eyes glaring with the intensity of a hot forge into Robert's eyes of thunderous blue as she then turned to face Ned and his daughters.

Ned felt his mouth tighten into a thin line as he glared at Cersei in turn, using his incredible will to not give into temptation and freeze the woman into a statue of ice. The new Hand was near beside himself as he seethed in silent fury as he gazed at the sneering and bruised face of Joffrey Baratheon and his mother Cersei Lannister. The Lord of Winterfell stood before the assembled party members on the journey from Winterfell to King's Landing, his daughters safe at his sides as he kept Ice close at hand. Robert sat in his makeshift throne and stared at his old friend apologetically.

"For the last gods damned time woman I will not have it! Ned acted as any father would and protected his daughter from a threat. Let alone the fact that it was our son who tried to murder the daughter of a Lord Paramount and the new Hand of the King!" Robert thundered as he stared at Cersei in contempt, his face flushed from wine and his own rage as he rubbed at his temple. Sighing deeply, he shifted his gaze towards Joffrey, the young boy's gaze fixed to the ground as he clutched at the wrapping that covered his wound.

Robert merely scoffed, unbelieving that someone born of his loins could be so spineless before him and from so small a cut. His sweet Mya, bless her soul and gods be good was as staunch and gruff as he was, but far more appealing to the eye with her womanly figure and his Baratheon hair and eyes. She put her younger brother to shame for his inadequacy. If he were to have his way, Robert would have named her Lady of Storm End but alas, his bitch of a wife wouldn't stand for it. However he needed to focus on the now, and not on his sweet little girl who had lived her entire life in the Vale of Arryn.

"Be grateful boy that Ned only left that little reminder of what you tried to do. If it was I that had caught you, by the gods you'd be even more a sore sight then you already are. My own son, trying to kill his future good-sister over the fact she wanted to wield a sword. Pathetic."

The matter seemingly settled for now, Robert rose from his throne and beckoned with his hands towards the gathered crowd.

"All of you out! I must speak with my wife and Lord Stark about this matter in greater detail. Ser Barristan, since you are a witness to what occurred today you alone shall remain. The rest of the Kingsguard can return to their tents. I'm too fucking angry to put up with any nonsense tonight."

His Grace's command given, Ned as befitting his station as Hand quickly ushered out the rest of the retinue and ensured that Ser Jory was the one to get Sansa and Arya as the two girls were taken to his personal tent. He didn't dare trust any of the Lannister party to leave his girls alone so being near him for the evening was the safest option. Now he only had to deal with an irate Lady Lannister. By the gods this was going to be a long night.

King's Landing, Street of Steel

The ring of forged iron echoed through the large shop as a young man with hair black as coal and eyes a stormy blue hammered at the glowing hunk of iron lain upon the anvil, the corded muscles of his arms and chest bulging with tremendous strength as he forged another work for Master Tobho. Gendry sighed deeply as he wiped at the sweat beading his brow, locks of his hair clinging to his skin as he lay down his hammer and used a pair of tongues to move the dull yellow sword blade to the oil bath for a swift quench and to bring it ever closer to completion.

Steam and flames licked along the blade as it was immersed in the bath, the young man counting under his breath for the span of three beats before he carefully removed the blade and sent it back into the flames, using tongs to twist the metal to roll through the coals to even the heat and ensure it was removing any impurities from the steel. Seeing it begin to glow a brilliant yellow once more, Gendry took a specialized cutter and trimmed a small ridge into the billet, grabbing the opposite end to fold it over itself as the rough blade soon began to even out with each successive strike of his hammer.

"Boy, come in here!" the voice of Tobho Mott called out from the solar he'd had constructed adjacent to the shop, the other shop hands content to continue to toil away at the orders that stocked their walls.

"What in the name of the Gods does the old man want now?" Gendry groused to himself angrily as he pumped the bellows and gave new life to the flames, allowing the steel to sit within the forge to prepare for its final run on the anvil. Wiping a rag over his face to remove the sweat and oil that clung to it, Gendry soon wiped his hands on his leathers as he moved towards Mott's solar. A sense of unease settled in his stomach as the young man licked his lips nervously, dark blue eyes glancing about as Gendry gathered his courage. Taking a steadying breath the young man then placed his hand on the wooden door and pushed.

Slowly opening the door, Gendry stepped in and moved towards the desk Mott had placed in the center of the room, the aged blacksmith using a stick of charcoal to sketch out a design on parchment, something Gendry soon recognized as a large war hammer. It had a rather simple design, being a massive rectangular head with sharp spikes embedded into the sides that were no doubt used to piece armor and flesh. Yet Gendry was rather confused at the image of a stag, its antlers held high and connected to the base of the head and which seemed to be the central focus of the hammer itself.

Gendry remained silent however as he lifted his gaze from the parchment as Mott continued his work, the young man looking around the inside of the solar as his sharp eyes pierced the veil of shadow swept over the room from the cloth covering most of the window to his left. Yet as the sole beam of light danced across the wall, Gendry felt his eyes widen as he caught sight of the telltale dark, smoky coloration of Valyrian steel as he looked towards the wall.

Large chunks, numbering close to almost thirty and all perhaps a little larger than Gendry's fist littered a shelf off to the side of the room; with the largest hunk of metal in fact the size of a large stone and little wider than Gendry's head.

"I see you've discovered the reason I called you here," Mott's voice said suddenly, the simple and no-nonsense tone Gendry had long learned to expect of his mentor drilling through the boys sense of wonder as he turned and bowed his head.

"Raise your head boy, else you're to make me regret my decision to have this piece made for you," Mott muttered sharply as Gendry raised his head to stare at the old smith.

"For me, ser?" Gendry asked confusedly, blinking thrice as he tried to process what the famed forge master had said.

"Aye lad. For you, by you." Mott clarified, rising to his feet and idly blowing away any excess dust on the parchment as he then moved towards the pieces of Valyrian steel.

"In my homeland across the Narrow Sea, I learned the secrets of working Valyrian steel in my youth," Mott explained, idly picking up a thin sheet of steel before looking at Gendry and then shaking his head. "Not to make it, not by any stretch of the word. No, no, those secrets were lost to the sea at Valyria's fall and with the smiths that died trying to flee the destruction. Rather… In the Free Cities we are taught to forge the steel anew. Give a new piece life through the sacrifice of the old as it were. In a sense, like alchemy which is practised by maesters in their labs and their Tower. Equivalent exchange, the very thing which acts as the foundation of working with Valyrian steel."

"What does any of that have to do with what you summoned me for Master Mott?" Gendry interjected loudly as his patience at last began to wane. Only to freeze in shock as he was momentarily caught off guard by the boldness that had surged within him, before a sudden realisation came to the young blacksmith's mind.

Mott smirked as he saw the light of recognition in Gendry's dark blue eyes as he chuckled good naturedly at the boy. He recognized the look immediately, having seen it many a time when the boy's father and his uncles had visited the shop for their own weapons and armor some fifteen years ago. Even now it felt like Mott was reliving his past. Paying back a debt that was more than due.

"I see you've figured it out for yourself boy. I have but one thing left to teach you lad… It is my hope that these lessons will be used to forge for you a weapon worthy of a king. Worthy of a hero told of in the songs of the years to come. Dark times are ahead Gendry, things that have lain silent have begun to creep from the dirt to roam the land once more. I confess that I know your strength shall be needed to battle this coming darkness. For even the swiftest of warriors must rely on a strong companion at his side to weather the mightiest storms. Now… Let's get started shall we? We've a lot to cover and not enough time, so I hope you're as quick a study as I hope you are boy. Your final lesson begins now!"

Oberyn Martell was silent as he stared at the dark clothed figure that stood before him and his family; a sense of unease and excitement coursing through the Viper's veins as he felt the young man's gaze shift towards him. He recognized those eyes well enough, having seen them many a time on men who were not to be trifled with in all his years in the arenas across the world. It put a little of Oberyn's unease to rest, the Viper now at least assured that his niece would need not fear for her life when in the presence of Jon Stark. It seemed those of the North had some fangs to them after all. Oberyn had assumed that Eddard Stark had been the last wolf to have been sired in the North, but now it seems a new generation has come to roam. It excited him to no end. That his family would be a nest of Vipers and Wolves tickled Oberyn to no end.

Perhaps his brother was not as naïve and weak-willed as he had originally thought. He had more than chosen an adequate match for Arianne, grudgingly so. After all, man had learned many things from the beasts of old, and the desire for vengeance for slain kin was one that wolf and man alone shared. Yet a sense of familiarity trickled into the Lord's mind as he gazed at the young Northern Lord, something about the sharp eyes and the light quirk of the mouth he had last seen on a young girl before she had been so brutally taken from the world.

Then there was the solemnness within those same dark grey eyes, the sense of foreboding and grim resolution that seemed to press on the young man's shoulders reminded Oberyn too of another man he had known. One with silver hair and amethyst eyes. He would have to try and investigate further.

Arianne merely smiled demurely as she guided her betrothed to their place at the table, with the Northerner quickly moving forward and pulling back Arianne's seat for her. The Dornish princess shot Jon a bemused smile as she stared at him, his dark eyes alight beneath the shadows of his hood as he gestured towards the seat.

"Thank you my lord," Arianne thanked him graciously, a smile tugging at her lips as she gathered her skirt and sat herself as elegantly as possible. Jon said nothing but offered a small smile in return as he then gently tucked in her seat before taking his own, lowering his hood as he did so and revealing his face to the others at the table.

Oberyn and his daughters were rather surprised at the handsome features of the man sat before them. It was a rather harsh beauty to be sure, enhanced by the scars he bore upon his face and the darkness of his gaze. All the same, three of Oberyn's eldest daughters felt a sudden sense of envy for their cousin at being able to marry such a handsome lord.

"It seems Uncle made an appropriate match after all," Nymeria Sand, second eldest daughter of the Red Viper murmured as she took her goblet of wine in hand. Her dark eyes were sharp beneath thick lashes of vibrant copper as she gazed appreciatively upon the wolf blooded Lord, noting the rugged profile of his face and the scar that curved through his beard. Oh he was certainly a fine catch indeed. Perhaps her dear cousin should note to keep a close eye upon her betrothed. Else Nymeria steal him away from Arianne's bed into her own.

Her elder sister Obara, broad shouldered and with hair a dull rat-brown rolled her eyes at her sister's words; crossing her arms and scowling darkly. Tyene smiled demurely as a curtain of fair colored hair fell to cover one of her sapphire eyes, her gaze hungry as she stared at her cousin's betrothed.

"I suggest you control your urges dear sister, for I doubt our cousin would be willing to share her wedding bed with one of her kin now that her Lord has arrived," Obara taunted at Nymeria, smirking as her younger sister glared venomously at her and her unoccupied hand reached into the sleeve of her gown.

"Hush my little ones, let us not spoil our appetites or sully the table by drawing our blades and spilling blood now hm?" Oberyn said calmly, leaning back in his chair and idly lacing his hands together upon his lap. "Forgive them for their candor Lord Stark, I am afraid that such an attitude was one often passed down through my bloodline. As well as their… more intimate inclinations, which rest solely upon my head sad to say."

Jon chuckled as he gazed at the lightly flustered Sand Snakes, careful to ensure that his weapons were close at hand as he reached into his armor and drew forth a pewter flask. Carved with the image of the Stark Sigil, Jon quickly brought it to his lips and took a small sip before closing it again. The sharp burn of the spiced rum was a pleasant feeling on his tongue as the sweetness soon gave to a sharp burn. He had learned to favor rum during his travels, finding the sweetness far more likeable than the sour and bitter taste of wine that was famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms. It was also a keen reminder of one of his more fatal blunders when he travelled the world and met unfriendly ears.

"None taken Your Grace, I often found myself beholden to such remarks across the Narrow Sea but a few years ago," he admitted with a grin, placing the flask back in his robes and taking a bite of his meal. The juices from the meat were a welcome delight to the Black Wolf, as the weeks of travel aboard his ship had left him in dire need of proper food. Yet even now he waited for some inkling of the poison the Martell's might have placed within his meal, the Lady Tyene's reputation with poisons known even across the Narrow Sea. Sadly, they would find their options limited. His many mentors had spent a great deal of time adapting him to poisons found across the world. Better to survive his stupidity rather than suffer for his naïve trust of people back when he was a boy.

"If I may be so bold Lord Stark, perhaps after our meal you and I could have words in the parlor? To discuss certain terms brought forth in the engagement that my brother put forth?" Oberyn asked calmly, his eyes flashing as he stared at the young wolf who returned his gaze unflinchingly.

Arianne watched the exchange between her husband to be and her uncle in exasperation, shaking her head as she took a sip of her wine and began to idly chat with a few of her cousins. Not even married and already her sweet uncle was trying to intimidate her betrothed, who seemed just as stubborn as her uncle it seemed. Arianne could already imagine the trials to come if she so wished to play her future husband's strings as she did all the other men she had taken to her bed.

"I hope that this meeting is not to threaten my future husband Uncle. I have yet to have my fun with him before you can do as you please with him," Arianne said coyly as she traced the rim of her goblet, glancing at the playfully affronted expression on her uncle's face as he clutched at his breast. As well as the gauging yet mischievous look in the eyes of her betrothed as he turned to stare at her.

"How your words wound me dear niece, to think so low of me that I would stoop to threaten the future Consort of the Princess of Dorne," Oberyn said as he took up his own goblet and took a steep pull of the wine. "I can promise he will be unharmed Arianne, however I must confess that you best keep an eye on him. Lest you find him more than satisfied in my bed rather than yours."

Jon raised a single brow at the words that left Oberyn's mouth, the teasing smirk on the Red Viper's lips sending a chill down his back. Yet Jon was able to overcome the errant chill, deciding to hold his tongue so as to enjoy his supper in peace. However, Jon could not stop himself from smirking ever so gently as he saw the genuine love within Oberyn's eyes. Such warmth that grew brighter in the sharp Dornishman's eyes as he teased the future ruler of Dorne, gazed upon each of his children, and proceeded to converse in gentle tones with his lover.

It reminded Jon of Winterfell many years past, when Uncle Benjen would come down from the Wall and spend a few nights visiting Jon and his siblings. The nights spent dining in the hall where Robb would come and sit with him if only for a while whilst their father distracted Lady Catelyn by whispering into her ear. He longed for the cold harsh winds of the North, but Jon also felt attached to this strange place.

This was land of his birth, far from the safety of the North and the world he had known for all of his life. A world he had so longed to be a part of ever since he was a small boy. Now he had the chance to learn of his birthplace, and the people that inhabited the deserts of the South. The thought alone excited Jon more than he would ever admit aloud. Yet he knew that if his plans were to succeed, and the world itself were to survive Jon could not let down his guard.

Later that evening, Jon made his way towards the solar that he was meant to meet with Prince Oberyn; sword strapped to his waist and hidden blades secured to his wrists. He had forgone the heavy cloak he had worn upon his arrival, wearing a set of robes colored a dark grey with a black sash around his waist. It bore a striking resemblance to those worn by his Master from his time Beyond the Wall, save for the hood which was whole and undamaged. Approaching the two guards, Jon stood before them and gave a small nod as they swiftly bowed and then pushed the doors open.

Striding forward, Jon felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand as he surveyed the room whilst the door closed behind him with a resounding thud. The solar was what Jon assumed a vibrant white and was cast in and amber like glow from the setting sun, the many balconies that overlooked the courtyard lining the far wall opened to allow such a thing to occur. Fine silk curtains hung from floor to ceiling, fluttering in the gentle summer breeze as the smell of perfume filled the air; as incense burned in numerous shrines scattered throughout the room. Jon's nose wrinkled in disgust, the heady smell settling on his tongue as his gaze moved towards the lavish furnishings that all bore the colours of House Martell. The velvet seats were of vibrant gold, with blood red highlights a spectacle for the eye and no doubt a sign of House Martell's considerable wealth.

Yet the man who currently occupied one of them was the much bigger issue at hand, Jon reminded himself. The smiling Prince Oberyn, facing him from his seat by the window leading towards the gardens, with a bottle of wine set upon a small table before him.

"Come Lord Stark, there is much we must discuss," Oberyn said cheerfully, his smirking visage unable to hide the sharp edge in the Red Viper's eyes as Jon met the Prince's hard gaze with his own. The Black Wolf said nothing, eyes a dark grey as he moved and sat himself beside the Viper and keeping Longclaw within easy reach. Oberyn quirked a brow at the sword, curiosity clear in his eyes as he looked to Jon once more.

"Valyrian Steel? I had thought House Stark possessed only one such treasure, and that sword is far too small to be the fabled Ice of your father's house."

Jon smirked as he gently lay his hand upon the direwolf pommel of his sword, teeth flashing as he reached out and gently poured himself a glass of wine.

"Many things have changed since I have been away from home Your Grace, the sword among them. Though that, I believe, is a story for another time. After all, you would not have gone out of your way to set up a meeting like this if you were only curious about my possessions and wished to share a drink with me." As he spoke, Jon in turn refilled the Dornish Prince's own goblet; the dark red of the wine now almost black as night descended upon Dorne. "No, there is something else you're after."

Oberyn merely chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, placing his hand on his chin and staring amusedly at the younger man.

"Seems my brother was right about you after all Northerner," Oberyn admitted with a pleased look on his face, idly reaching out and lifting his goblet to his lips. "It is as you say, I did not invite you for simple pleasantries. If I had, we would be in a brothel right now," Oberyn said without shame, an amused smile on his lips at the slight tensing of Jon's shoulders at the information. "Something I have no doubt would displease my dear niece quite a bit as you are to be her consort in a few weeks' time."

"I might not have known Princess Arianne for long Your Grace, yet I cannot help but agree that she would be more than merely displeased if she were to discover such a thing," Jon said simply, taking a sip of his wine and feeling the pleasant taste settle on his tongue.

"Aye, that she would," Oberyn agreed, looking out over the gardens with a gentle look on his face which softened the hard lines of his mouth and the fierce set of his brow. "She is much like her mother in that regard, fierce and proud woman that she is," Oberyn said fondly, times with his good sister flashing through his mind and the pure happiness he had once seen in his brother before Mellario had left for her homeland years ago.

"She is across the Narrow Sea is she not?" Jon asked curiously, leaning to rest his arms on his thighs as he looked at Oberyn. "Does she not know that Arianne and I are to be wed?"

"No doubt she knows. She always does, even after all these years of not seeing her children," Oberyn admitted begrudgingly, knowing that the bitterness that remained between his brother and Mellario was something he doubted could ever be mended. "I've no doubt that she is more than likely to arrive before the vows are made, but who can really say save for Mellario herself."

Clapping his hands together Oberyn then turned to face Jon once more, the relaxed atmosphere between them having vanished at the abrupt sound.

"Now, back to the matter at hand. My brother believes this to be a suitable match, and as a means of ending the tension between your house and mine," Oberyn began, eyes narrowed as great fury emerged from their depths as the Wolf and the Viper tested their wills against one another. "Make no mistake northerner. I will kill you if you do anything to harm my niece, or any of my family. Damn what my brother thinks, and damn your family in the North if they think this will erase all of the bad blood between us. I will watch Wolf, and I will wait. Remember that."

Jon felt fury simmer in his chest like the coals of a forge, the lingering threats only pouring air into the bed and adding to the fire. His wolf blood burned through his veins as he glared at Oberyn, eyes flashing a vibrant blue as he clenched his fists upon the arms of the chair.

"If you so much as threaten my family again Viper, then I shan't be the only one with something to lose. I will not cower before you like some whipped dog who has displeased its master. I would sooner take my own life than dishonor your niece, the woman who is to be my wife," Jon growled, his voice more akin to a beast than a man as he rose to his feet and tightened his grasp on his sword. "We're not so different you and I, Prince Oberyn in regards to the lengths with which we go to protect the people we love."

Pausing to gather his thoughts and to sooth his wolf blood, Jon pressed on. "Mark my words Viper. If it comes to blows it will not be me who is to be covered in a shroud and buried in the earth. Not so long as the sun still rises each and every morn, and my family is in need of me. As they say, The North Remembers Prince Oberyn… and my memory is long indeed." Jon vowed as he stared at the silent Prince of Dorne. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe Princess Arianne wished to see me before I retire for the evening." Giving a slight bow, Jon made sure to never take his eyes off the smirking Dornishmen as he moved away from the Red Viper. "Goodnight, Your Grace."

Turning on his heels Jon marched for the doors, throwing them open with brute strength as the guards moved aside in alarm and watched the hooded man vanish into the darkness of the halls. Muttering obscenities, they returned to their posts leaving the doors open as was customary whenever the Prince wished to sit by the balcony on nights such as these. In the solar Oberyn simply remained where he sat in silence, idly reaching out and finishing off Jon's nearly untouched goblet. Downing the wine quickly, Oberyn felt a brilliant smirk pull at the corners of his mouth as he threw his head back and laughed. The sound echoed through the garden and into the halls, as the Prince of Dorne was at last fully convinced that his niece was in more than worthy hands.

Jon's anger had yet to recede by the time he had arrived at Arianne's chambers, his fist banging against the door with perhaps more force than necessary as he tried to rein in his temper. The sound of quick footsteps met his ears as Jon felt the wolf push against his control, and as the door opened Jon knew that he wasn't going to win this time.

Lemon warning. I repeat, LEMON WARNING! If under the age of 18 please skip ahead to the next bold line. Everyone else, this is my first time writing something of this nature so feedback is highly appreciated and welcome.

Clad in a flattering gown that clung to her voluptuous frame, Arianne was utterly captivating as she stared at him in a mixture of arousal and concern. Her dark hair hung in soft curls that framed her face. The elegant features that were common among the Rhoynar, were only enhanced by the shadows cast upon her body from the moonlight streaming through the windows. No words were shared as Jon lunged to her, pulling her close as he captured her lips in a passionate kiss that felt as if fire scorched his veins. Arianne moaned throatily as she clutched at his hair, returning his passion with her own aggression and lust as she guided Jon into her quarters and the door shut behind them with a resounding thud.

Jon's hands traced down Arianne's sides, his hands cupping her flesh and caressing her skin as they traveled down until they came to rest on her hips. Wide and soft under his palms, Jon groaned hungrily as he used his strength and lifted Arianne into the air and wrapped his arms around her slim and curvy waist. Her long legs, strong and soft as velvet coming to wrap around his waist as she molded herself to his body as her lithe stomach flexed against his own through their clothes. Her moans only intensified as Jon planted his palms firmly into the cheeks of her ass, clutching at them with ferocious zeal as he bathed in her heat. Striding forward, Jon felt his knees collide with the side of the bed before unceremoniously tossing the Dornish Princess to the sheets; a laugh answering him as Arianne landed flat on her back. Laying before him, Arianne smiled wickedly as she moved her body in a dance made to drive any men with blood in their veins to a frenzy. Her hips moved to a music none but she could hear as she clutched and kneaded at her breasts through the sheer silk of her gown as she moaned in pleasure.

Jon merely growled deep in his chest as he gazed upon Arianne, a possessiveness overtaking his rational thoughts as he clawed at his robes and quickly discarded them over his head and exposed his chest and scarred torso to her eyes. Arianne was ever playful however, getting to all fours and crawling towards him with a sinful smile on her plump lips. Kneeling before him, Arianne laid kisses along Jon's chest and arms as she grabbed at his belt and relieved him of his weapons, Longclaw clattering to the floor amidst Jon's shirt and robes. Having enough, Jon grabbed Arianne and pulled her to him in a violent kiss; grasping at her gown and growling in frustration as she pushed him away with a wag of her finger. Arianne then traced her hands down her breasts and to the hem of her gown, grasping the lip and then lifting it over her head.

Jon simply stared, mouth dry and his cock rising to attention as heat coursed through his body at the sight of his betrothed. Her breasts were full, firm, and tanned a lovely copper that stood defiant and ever bountiful before Jon's eyes. The nipples the color of chocolate were large and erect as she ran her hands down to her stomach and into the lower half of her gown. Her eyes were hazed in lust as she stared up at the towering Northern Lord from behind thick lashes, smiling demurely as she began to play with herself and moaned. Jon near tore his trousers to shreds as he relived himself of them, throwing them aside as he near pounced on Arianne and pinned her beneath him with strength that surprised and delighted the Dornish Princess.

"So quick to succumb to a pair of tits and some light kisses beloved?" Arianne asked, her teeth nibbling the Northerner's earlobe as she scratched at his back and pressed her full breasts flat against the Stark's muscular chest. "I thought you had more iron in your spine rather than just your cock," she teased, trailing kisses down Jon's cheek before nipping at the crook of his neck passively, assured that she was the one in control. Jon's hand moved then, his calloused fingers clasping around Arianne's chin as he pulled her to him. Arianne was struck silent as she glanced into Jon's eyes which glowed purple-black in the moonlight, as he growled deep in his throat and firmly planted his body in between her spread thighs.

"Make no mistake Arianne, it is not I who will be broken by the end of this night," Jon vowed between kisses, clutching Arianne's wrist in his free hand as the other moved downward and grabbed roughly at her breast. The Princess of Sunspear was taken aback at the dominant show of aggression in her newest lover, moaning in a mixture of pleasure and pain as Jon treated her like she was his possession. Like something he could never dare live without. "A wolf takes what he wants, and he does not share. So I will say this once. You. Are. Mine. Mind, body and soul. From this day until our last," Jon told her, his every word punctuated by a kiss or bite that marked Arianne's supple flesh. The heat of her womanhood, so close to his cock excited them both as Jon positioned himself, the head tracing Arianne's arousal as she bucked beneath his much more powerful frame.

"Say it," Jon growled as he teased her again, enraptured as Arianne moaned pitifully under him and thrashed at his touch. Yet the words of House Martell were not mere promise but fact as Arianne glared at Jon in both lust and challenge. Grinning wickedly as she rocked forward and back, Jon's future bride ensured that every inch of her body rubbed against his own, the sweat that now covered their flesh creating a wonderful slickness between them.

"No Martell has ever bowed in a bed chamber Lord Stark, and I shall not be the first," Arianne told him, both as challenge and as a vow as Jon merely grinned wolfishly at her. Her locks of raven hair stuck to her skin as she breathed deeply, her chest heaving and doing wondrous things to her breasts only caused the fire in Jon's belly to surge. He would claim this woman as his own if it was to be the last thing he ever did on this earth. No other man would ever dare get the chance to see her like this, not after tonight.

"We shall see," Jon replied, aligning his cock with her heat and burying himself to the hilt in one vicious thrust. Silence was all that greeted him in that moment, as Jon saw Arianne's eyes go wide in utter surprise and delight as Jon's manhood sheathed itself within her molten core. Grinning in triumph, Jon simply remained still as he relished in the feel of her velvet walls and burning heat; as the Princess's muscles jumped and flexed around his cock as if milking him for his seed. She was not the first woman he had lain with since he had left Winterfell as a boy, but Jon knew without question that she would be one of his most challenging and yet rewarding lovers yet.

Arianne's scream of utter bliss shattered the silence between them as Jon's cock filled her, a small voice in the back of her mind relishing in the fact that he was the largest she had ever had and how he made every movement of their bodies so powerful and pleasurable. Her body and soul were in conflict at these pleasurable feelings, so used to controlling the flow and leaving her lovers like puppets beneath her. Yet now here she was, beneath something stronger than her who resisted her charms and ensnared her in his own however little. Yet she would not surrender without a fight.

"Is that all you can do? I thought that having been so blessed by the gods you would be more knowledgeable as to how to use your sword more effectively on a woman," Arianne remarked, leaning back into the satin sheets that covered her bed as Jon gazed at her possessively. His eyes furrowed into a scowl as he released her wrists and lifted himself upwards, his hands then falling to clutch at her hips with a grip that was far stronger than any Arianne had felt before.

He said not a word as he pulled his hips back, Arianne and Jon moaning in pleasure at the sensations it caused. Jon relishing in the feeling of Arianne's walls as they clutched at his manhood while Arianne felt a sense of emptiness in her stomach. Jon then drove himself forward, pleasure surging through their bodies as Arianne lay beneath her husband to be and relished in the feelings that his rough lovemaking had begun to give.

Arianne knew not how long that she and her lover joined in carnal bliss, only that it was perhaps one of the most wondrous nights of her life and promised more to come in the years to follow. Something made all the more apparent as she felt the coil in her stomach begin to unwind, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she clutched Jon to her body and felt him groan and spasm within her.

As one she felt Jon's seed shoot into her womb, her walls fluttering around him as she tried to get all that she could from him as Jon held her close and they climaxed as one. Collapsing to the bed as at last their euphoria faded away, Jon drew Arianne close as his cock slipped from his betrothed's depths and they basked in the afterglow of their passion and sleep soon swept them away.

Lemon over.

The next morn found Jon laying contentedly in bed, his hands entangled in Arianne's locks of silken raven hair as the woman buried her head further into his chest and pressed her body closer to his own. Jon's inner wolf crooned in satisfaction at the feel of a female pressed into his side, the need to impress upon her his place as her one and only satiated for the moment. Yet even still Jon knew that the trials had only just begun, and that in King's Landing he would need to find those who would stand with him against the Long Night... Or all of humanity would face its end at the hands of their ancient enemy. But for now, he would enjoy the bliss that came with the summer and all of its passions. For as it was said, lions may roar, stags may rule, and dragons shall burn in light of day... But only the wolf howls through the Long Night.