riverviewlogs | ( closed ) winter she'll howl at the walls

who: Dany & Jon
what: Being gross, and generally "celebrating" the season together
when: Forward dated to Dec 24/25th
where: Their apartment
warnings: Talk about murder and death eventually, and knowing these two sexual content.

They've heard some conflicting things about the holiday called Christmas and its apparent meaning or purpose. Dany had decided early on that she doesn't feel like fully immersing herself yet—but a little, to learn more of the culture of this place and its people while still retaining some familiar elements for her and Jon's sake. To that end, she's been busy, coming home late in the days leading up to the day when they're meant to celebrate, preparing more than simply his gift.

She's wearing hers to herself, and Jon's is packaged neatly. The apartment isn't decorated with lights and a pine tree, but rather several plants she'd found at the market to lend some colour. What she's spent the afternoon cooking (and not burning the entire building down in doing so) will be able to be smelled down the hall, its aroma wafting down all the way to the elevator.

There's a pitcher of fine wine she's bought, a wheel of that cheese he'd so enjoyed earlier, some of the Scotch Eggs and sausages he'd devoured at the diner—and other fare, including her own cooking: dishes close to what she'd had to eat and been fond of in Essos. To contrast it all, the radio is playing softly in the background. Modern Christmas music. Go figure.

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Jon smells the food from down the hall when he steps out of the cage lift that isn't a cage at all, but he doesn't realize that it's coming from his own chambers: he doesn't even consider the possibility, though the scent makes his stomach rumble. It makes him think that he might take Dany to a restaurant for supper when she comes home, assuming it's not another late night.

He isn't expecting the surprise, but for other reasons... the fact that it's still early days in their courting and he has a strong impulse to delight her when he can, the fact that gifts have been mentioned in his hearing more than once, the fact that some goods that are very dear at home are bounteous and inexpensive in the Quarantine... he's picked up a few small presents for her here and there, and has been waiting for the right time to give them to her.

When he opens the door, he realizes that the tempting, delicious scents have indeed been coming from their kitchen. He hears this world's strange music, something still alien to his ears, and he catches sight of her, looking as he's never seen her before. More beautiful than she's ever been in her clothes, maybe, and every inch a queen.

As he crosses the room to kiss her, he looks around, a cautiously pleased expression on his face. "What's all this?" It's not her name day, or his, but he catches the word Christmas in the distant singer's song.

Some had been afraid that she might burn down the entire building in her attempts to learn to cook; unwarranted, really. Over the past several weeks, she's learned, trial and error more or less being her guide. The classes at the community centre had helped, and tonight it's begun to pay off with the way Jon looks when he enters their apartments. Nose raised to the air like that, she can't help but smile a little. That bodes well.

His gaze has heat rising in her thanks to the way his eyes take their time trailing over her figure, and her smile turns knowing for a moment. Then, her expression softens. Tonight, her hair is mostly loose, done in a way he's not seen it before, with waves trailing down her back. She feels every inch the Queen; but it has only a little to do with the dress, and more with the atmosphere, his presence. The mood.

Dany raises her head, rising up onto her toes to kiss him back, and then remains close, looping her arms around his neck. "Many people claim this is a holiday where lovers exchange gifts and enjoy each other's company. I thought... I might bring a little bit of home into it, so we might make it our own. And—" Her eyes sparkle, dancing in the low light. "At last, you can see me in blue."

His gift is nearby, several parcels that appear larger than they are simply because of their contents. He need not feel outdone; she's not even thought anything along those lines.

He's always thought that she would look pretty in blue, but at home, she'd mostly worn the colors of her House, something she has to do if she hopes to reestablish it in Westeros. The dark greys he mostly saw her in there are winter colors, colors that are very familiar to him, not far from Stark colors: if someone were to embroider a white wolf on one of her grey dresses it would still be entirely appropriate. Since coming here, though, she's worn her own dress and a few purchased things, with the vast bulk of her wardrobe made of things she'd found at the clothing swap, things that hadn't been too objectionable. His own clothes are the same way, and he likes the soft pliant shirts and the heavy woolen jacket she'd found.

But the irony of him seeing her in blue at last won't be fully apparent until she opens her gifts.

With her arms looped around his neck, their faces close together, he wraps his arms low around her waist and speaks nose to nose with her.

"I enjoy your company whether or not it's a holiday. This is like everyone's name day all at the same time."

And, in all honesty, he has no idea when to celebrate his name day, or hers... not with the way the calendar here seems to differ from the one he's used to.

Maybe, she'll learn to embroider, too. And design a motif incorporating a white wold with the three-headed dragon on her clothing. To her, there is nothing at all wrong with that. he'd been right in the beginning, that her claim to the iron throne had been entirely hinged on her blood right through her father's name. The name of a madman. A murderer. Both of them have killed others over the course of their lives, but they've (in her mind) never felt any joy or glee in the doing of it. Unlike her sire. She doesn't want Viserys' dream anymore: she wants theirs, hers and Jon's.

Of a Westeros cleansed of the Dead, and the wretched filth and cruelty of Cersei Lannister. One they will rule together, in one way or another. This man is far more than her lover, her husband: she wants him to be her partner, too. She looks radiant now, the hope and peace he makes her feel stamped clear as daybreak upon her features.

"And I yours. It may not be either of our name days today. But it did occur to me that being thankful for what we have, and sharing it with others is a fine sentiment."

Leaning up onto her toes, she kisses him, and then whispers: "Come and eat, before we get other ideas about 'sharing' together."

He chuckles softly at that, and when the kiss breaks, he moves to the little closet to stow his coat away on a hook inside. As he hangs it, he looks over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

"What have you been cooking? It smells good."

"I bought some of it," She freely admits. "Things I know you like. What I've made are things close to what I ate most often in Essos. Since I can't show it to you from here, I thought you might like to sample some of the better dishes I enjoyed." What she doesn't say is that she's nervous, unsure if he'll like it simply because she's not made this food on such a scale, even in her classes. Or for that matter, if it may be too contrary to his personal taste.

She moves to the long table she'd had brought in to act as a sideboard for them some weeks ago, and prepares them each a plate.

Setting both side by side at the table, she turns to smile at him over her shoulder. "I thought you might like to spice the wine."

That makes him smile a little on its own. Back when he'd first joined the Watch, when he was a steward, one of his tasks had been to prepare the Old Bear's drinks. There was beer with lemon in the morning, and spiced wine at night, and the former Lord Commander had been very particular about the recipe for the latter. He's not sure that Dany is so meticulous, though he hasn't subjected her to batches that burned before he learned where to set the stove to make its heat comparable to that of a fire, and he's still not sure where to source a few of the ingredients.

"I will. Did you find the nuts and raisins for it?" And then he's beside her and behind her at the table, and bending to press another kiss to her neck, and reaching onto one of the plates to grab a morsel of cheese.

No, she isn't; and she's thought that perhaps he might like a further reminder of home. It's strange, how thankful she is for the time this place has afforded her with him, the certainty and joy it's brought to her heart. But it's a daily exercise in restraint to prevent herself from being overwhelmed with guilt that they are free to enjoy all this while their people either face the Dead alone, or exist in some manner of limbo. There's only smiles today, though, and she's sure to give him another as she tips her head sideways, sighing when he kisses her.

"On the sideboard," she responds automatically, chuckling softly. The rice and other things she's made are tempting, but what she's put on her plate first is one of those Scotch eggs. This time, she's determined to try one in its entirety, though she reaches for a piece of meat first, taking her time to chew while she turns to watch him prepare their drink.

( closed ) winter she'll howl at the walls

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