Day 6- Height Difference!AU/Game of Thrones Crossover Darcy/Pietro Rated E
Day 6
Height Differences AU- Game of Thrones Crossover
Darcy/Pietro
Rated E
Just Outside Vaes Dothrak 302 AL
Darcy Sand was sick to death of horses. Not for the first time, she decided she and her twin Elia should have switched the rolls they had taken up to in service to their uncle. While she was here, riding with a group of strangers on a wild goose chase to find a lost queen, who was the lost princess of a kingdom that was tearing itself apart with too many kings, her sister was probably seeing all the best parts of Westeros at the elbow of the Princess Arianne.
Still, Darcy had been given a task, and though it had proven more difficult than originally thought, (which was saying something because she’d thought it sounded rather far reaching to begin with), she was determined not to fail. Her uncle wanted her to find Daenerys Targaryen and serve as an emissary of House Martell, then find her she would. Besides, Daenerys was basically family, being the sister of her aunt’s husband, and though Darcy herself was a bastard and her aunt and her aunt’s husband were both dead years before she was even born, that still meant something to Darcy.
Besides, she could appreciate a woman who had gone from outcast pauper princess to warrior queen who had set Essos and the Free Cities ablaze. Plus, Dragons. So, that was impressive.
She reminded herself of her dedication and determination as she stood waiting outside the command tent of Daario Naharis awaiting an audience with the sell-sword commander and leader of their merry band of rescuers. She had been summoned in order to receive instructions for their approach to the city of Vaes Dothrak in the morning. She hoped.
When voices inside became raised in argument, and she caught the words “Sand Snake bastard” and “not to be trusted” she decided she’d had enough of playing the part of the silent, respectful maiden and figured it was time to put an end to these foolish men’s bickering.
Darcy pushed aside the flap and slipped into the shadowy heat of the interior. “I don’t suppose you would be arguing about little old me, would you?”
The arguing stopped abruptly as 4 sets of eyes turned to her. She recognized Daario and Jorah Mormont from her introduction after she had arrived with the small group of troops loyal to Daenerys that had been summoned by the knight and the mercenary once they realized the queen’s situation might be more dire then they’d originally feared. The Unsullied emissary, Black Fly, and one of the Dothraki warriors, Pietro, she knew from the rapid journey from Meereen to Vaes Dothrak. They’d only managed to catch up with the other two men a few days before they’d arrived here and made camp just outside the Dothraki city.
She put her hands on her hips and flipped her long dark braid over her shoulder and leveled her Viper’s eyes on them one at a time. “Let me guess, you need me to do something, but you don’t believe you can trust me, yes?”
Daario gave her a cocky smirk and then looked at Ser Jorah expectantly. Jorah cleared his throat and scowled at him. After a few seconds he straightened his spine and met her eyes defiantly. “Yes.”
“Right, well, let me save you some time then, shall I? I’m here to find Daenerys Targaryen because my uncle Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, and the Lord of Sunspear wishes to know if she would be a better choice to support for the throne of the Seven Kingdoms. I have sailed across the Narrow Sea following rumors and tales of this Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons only to arrive in Meereen to find she’d been carried away on the back of one of her dragons. I spent weeks petitioning for audience with her trusted advisers and when the messenger came with a request for reinforcements because she had been taken by Dothraki, I had to work to convince them to allow me to accompany them. I have raced across the Dothraki Sea suffering in ways I care not to describe to catch up with you, since our goals seemed so perfectly aligned. Now, here I am, sitting, waiting, being basically ignored and wasted as a resource by the men that claim to want to find the Queen the most.”
Jorah raised a hand and opened his mouth to speak, but she raised her hand higher and pointed right at him. “No, you will listen to me now. I am done waiting for you to be convinced to trust me. Tomorrow, I am going to continue my journey into the city of Vaes Dothrak and my search for Daenerys. If you have a plan with a part for me to play I will hear it and decide if it’s worthy of my time and efforts, and if I find it agreeable I will then, and only then, agree to help you with your plan. If you don’t have a place for me then I will take my leave now and bother you no more. I do not, nor will I ever, require the help of men to accomplish my goals.”
She reigned in the contemptuous glares then and reached for the training she’d received for many years at the knee of her uncle Doran, her courtier’s graces and diplomatic skills. Darcy smiled then, open and full of promise. “What say you, gentlemen?”
They wanted her to ride into the city dressed as a Dothraki escorted by Pietro. Since he spoke only Dothraki and a few words of the Common Tongue, and she spoke Common, Valerian, Lahazareen, and some Quartheen, they had most of the major languages that might be spoken in the city marketplace covered.
She was to find out anything she could about Daenerys’ location with Pietro to guide her through the Dothraki, and then he would attempt to contact his sister, who was a member of the Dosh Khaleen and discover what she knew.
Their hope was, best case scenario, that Daenerys was simply being held as a slave by whichever of the Khalasars had taken her. They could then make gifts to the Khal of the Khalasar in an attempt to trade for the Queen.
Darcy feared it wouldn’t be as simple as that, since the world she knew rarely, if ever, worked out as a best case scenario. Still, she decided a trip into the city to get information wouldn’t go amiss. Since she spoke the required languages and could pass for one of the horselord’s women with her Dornish complexion and dark hair, though her blue eyes would make her stand out a bit, she was an ideal choice for the job.
She agreed to the plan, much to Daario’s delight and Jorah’s consternation then inquired of Black Fly where she might find water for a bath, knowing he would be aware of any available, and was directed to a nearby stream.
Jorah exchanged words with Pietro in Dothraki and then told her that her guide would bring her proper attire and help her dress the part as well.
“I’ll be bathing. He can find me there.”
She followed the instructions given by Black Fly and found the small stream without any trouble. She removed her leather girdle, white undershirt, and the bindings from her breasts and knelt beside the water. She set down the small wooden bowl containing the merger remains of her Dornish soap and a small square of soft cotton that she had carried with her all the way from her Sunspear.
She dipped the cloth in, first and then rung it out over her chest. The water was cool on her heated flesh and she relished the feel of the rivulets running down over her shoulders and breasts, leaving tingling little paths of skin free of the never ending dust of the trail. She whipped down her arms and neck and then used the little bowl to collect water to pour over her hair so that she could work the soap into her dusty tresses.
She worked at getting her top half as clean as possible then stood to remove her leather leggings. That was when she noticed the Dothraki standing in the hip high grass watching her. She continued to remove her pants and bent at the waist to run the washing cloth over her legs, not acknowledging his presence, yet, and giving him quite a show, as well.
She took a step upstream and rinsed the cloth were the water was still clear, then she stood and ran the cloth over her breasts, then down between her legs to wash the insides of her thighs and pressed the cool cloth to her womanhood.
It was almost burning hot in contrast to the chilled, wet rag, and she tipped her head back as she shivered. She let her hair brush over her back, dripping water over her hips and the curve of her flank. Finally, when he remained silent and didn’t move, she decided to speak.
“You want to help me wash my back?” She paused in her ablutions and then turned to look over her shoulder at where the man stood.
“I thought you do not require help of man.”
His response was swift and confirmed her suspicion that he knew more than a little of the Common Tongue. On the swift race across Essos there hadn’t been much time for socializing. Their fast pace and long hours meant there was little time to do much more then eat and sleep between the stretches they spent in the saddle. She had noticed Pietro, though, for several reasons.
First, as the one of the three Dothraki in their small party he always took time whenever they stopped to care for the horses. Second, she had noticed that compared to the other Dothraki she’d seen his features were slightly different. His eyes were not as almond shaped, and they were blue, also, his hair was only just past his shoulder. He was still fairly young, she guessed, but she had seen other men his age with longer hair. There was a story there, but she doubted she’d ever get to hear it, because the third thing she’d noticed about Pietro was that he spoke very little.
Instead, Pietro preferred to watch. He liked to watch her, in particular, she had noted, his eyes following her around camp each night with a distinctive intensity. She could guess why, though, and she didn’t much mind.
“Require? No.” Darcy agreed and then turned slowly to face him, her hand outstretched offering her sodden rag. “But I don’t mind using it, from time to time.”
He was watching her now, his eyes surprisingly on her face as he studied her. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect. As a Sand Snake and a daughter of a prince of Dorne she was given much more freedom to run wild and free than most women, she knew this. She also knew that the horselords, more often than not, treated their women as possessions to be won and fought over, instead of people to be protected and cared for.
Still, he seemed different enough from the others to investigate. She admired his long, lean muscles and strong but pleasing features and she had wanted to bed one of the fierce Dothraki since hearing of their prowess in battle during her lessons as a child. Seeing their stamina as they charged across the sea of grass day after day had given her an even greater appreciation that she hadn’t had time or opportunity to partake of. Until now.
“I suppose you have heard them call me a Snake, and you are afraid I will bite you?”
His mouth curled up into a slow suggestive smile as his eyes finally swept down over her naked body. “Fear is not what I have.”
She raised a challenging eyebrow at him and waved the rag back and forth. “Then wash my back.”
He took one step forward, then two. “I do not-“ he paused, perhaps searching for the right words, “-I not want make clean.” He took another step closer, his eyes appreciatively lingering on her large, round breasts.
Darcy let one side of her mouth twist up. “What do you want, then?”
“I make you – of mud?” he spoke the last words as a question as he took one last step to stop right in front of her.
She frowned a little in confusion and then glanced down at the edge of the stream where the ground was soft and squishy between her toes. “Make me of mud?” she repeated unsure and a bit confused.
He bent slowly, setting down the clothing he carried and placed his hand against the ground and then straightened and placed his hand on her hip. When he released her there was a perfectly shaped, muddy hand print on her skin. She laughed as understanding gleaned in her mind.
“You’re going to get me dirty.” She placed her hand over the print, her small hands didn’t even begin to cover it, and then moved her mud streaked hand to press against his abdomen, on the bared skin between the two edges of his vest. “Yes, I suppose you will. Is that a concern or an incentive?”
It was his turn to frown in confusion, his bottom lip pouted out from the midst of his facial hair. “What is in-send- ive?”
She reached up and looped a hand around the back of his head and pulled him down as she rose on her toes to meet him. “This is incentive,” she whispered and then pressed her mouth to his.
As a girl growing up in the water gardens of the palace, Darcy had heard all the gossip and rumors that made their way around the kingdom. A few years ago she’d overheard her half-sister Nymeria talking with one of the castle merchant’s daughters about how the Dothraki did not kiss their women and how they all fucked just like horses because their cocks were just as large.
At the moment she assumed the first fact was true,given his gasp of surprise and the way his whole body jerked. His mouth seemed frozen, lips half open. She pulled his bottom lip into her mouth and sucked delicately.
His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a soft moan. Her tongue made swirls over the tender flesh between her lips and he slid his arms around her back and pulled her close. His rider rough hands dropped down to her ass and pulled her hips tight to his.
Beneath his leather pants and breech-clout he was hard. She was slightly disappointed to learn he was built just like other men, and not the size of a horse, but she supposed half right was better than not at all.
Darcy rolled her hips against him as she spread his lips wider with encouraging pressure from her own and flicked her tongue in to brush over his teeth. He grunted and raised a hand to grip the hair at the nape of her neck.
He towered over her, not by virtue of being a giant of a man, but because she was so small. She felt her arches start to cramp and dropped back on her heals, their mouths separating with a wet pop.
“I like in-send-ive,” he growled, his voice low and deeply accented. She used her hands to push his vest back off his shoulders and he released her to let it fall to the ground.
“That’s how we love in Westeros,” she said with a smile. “Well, it’s one of the things we do. There are so many things we do. I can show you more later if you like. For now I want you to show me how Dothraki like to fuck.” Her hands were making their way over his chest and stomach as she spoke and when she finished they dropped to his belt.
His eyes were soft with lust as he watched her hands begin to unfasten his clothes. “Fuck…” he repeated the word, tasting it like he had her mouth on his. “This is athhilezar, yes?” He gave a little thrust of his hips just in case she missed his meaning.
“Yes,” she smiled and lowered one hand to press firmly against his erection. “Show me?”
He grunted his agreement and, after a moment, reached down to take her hands in his. He picked up the clothing that he’d dropped next to their feet and pulled her over to where the grass was longer. He laid the pieces out over the grass, folding it over, and creating a sort of makeshift cushion then knelt and pulled her down with him.
She giggled at the serious expression on his face as she lay back on clothes and looked up at him.
“You show more in-send-ive later, yes?”
She giggled again and nodded.
“Dothraki athhelezar now, yes?”
“Yes,” she said and scowled in a mimic of his own serious expression.
He nodded once, and in a movement almost too fast to follow he grabbed her around the hips, flipped her over onto her stomach so fast she was lightheaded afterwards, and nudged her legs apart with his knees.
She felt him behind her as he finished unfastening his pants and pushed them down far enough to release his phallus.
He placed one hand on her shoulder to shove her head down and the other on her hip to guide her how he wanted. It wasn’t rough, not really. She’d certainly had rougher, but neither was it gentle. Once she was right where he wanted he removed the hand on her back and use it to guide the head of his cock between the lips of her cunt and then, once positioned properly, grabbed her hips and slammed home.
Darcy was more than a little grateful that she was plenty aroused, or the lack of foreplay might have made this a more than a little uncomfortable. He squeezed her hips and began building a merciless rhythm.
When he wasn’t holding her hips in place so he could pound into her, he was curled over her back his hands on her tits, squeezing a bit harshly. Her knees were constantly jarred against the irregular weave of the clothes he’d brought for her, and the ground beneath. The pace was brutal and the slap of his hips and thighs against the skin of her ass stung enough that she knew she would be red and sore by the time he finished.
And yet…
There was something so primal and animalistic about the way he commanded her and used her body for his pleasure that sparked her passion, and with the constant, deep plunging of his rock hard cock inside her throbbing passage she felt the burning of climax building, slowly but surely. She moaned and arched her back, trying to rock back against him and control enough of the angle to drive herself to completion more quickly.
The sound of his hand coming down over the curve of her right buttock was just as jolting as the shock of prickly pain that made her yelp in surprise.
Her yelp brought him to a halt. He ran a hand over what was probably a nice red hand-print on her ass and caressed it with sudden mildness trying to sooth the hurt away.
“Is too much?” He asked, his voice strained with obvious concern.
“No,” she gasped, still trying to recover from the shock. “I can take it. It’s good. I was just… startled.”
She didn’t know how well he could understand her, but, after a short pause, he began to work his dick in and out of her again, a little more slowly, with more deliberation. The hands on her hips relaxed a bit and one of them even drifted up over her waist and back, not to force her down as he had before, but in a caress.
Now that his pace was not as punishing she tried rolling her hips again, just a bit, just enough to have his next thrust draw a long line of intense pleasure up the front wall of her pussy. She shuddered and placed her mouth over the bar of her forearm to keep the sound of her appreciation from carrying back to the camp.
Behind her, he grunted and adjusted to her movements to keep the head of his cock pressing the place that made her whole body quake over and over again. It was probably very similar to the way he moved with his horse as he rode. The difference was night and day.
Her climax burst through her quick and sharp and she gasped and panted through the clench of her lower body. When the tide of her ecstasy had receded and she relaxed once again he slowed his movement once more and leaned over her, his chest pressed alone the line of her spine.
“Is good fuck, yes?” he whispered against the side of her neck after pushing the still damp strands of her hair out of the way.
“Oh, yes,” she groaned and fought the desire to melt into a boneless puddle under the heat and weight of his body. “Yes, very good fuck, Pietro.”
“Good.” That said he leaned back and continued to drive into her again and again until, finally, many minutes later, he reached his own culmination.
After they lay in the grass side by side and looked up at the darkening blue of the sky past the waving strands of grass rising up around them. She mentally tallied the various aches and pains and residual shocks of pleasure as she thought over the experience as a whole.
He had promise, this young savage warrior, as a lover, but he was very ragged around the edges. Just as she finished thinking this somewhat uncharitable thought, she felt his hand bend around her wrist and then slot up against her palm, their fingers entwining. It was a surprising move that had her rolling on her side to look at him attempting to not just study his features, but to look into the man underneath.
Eventually, he turned his head and looked right back at her, his intense gaze familiar.
“I am glad that you showed me that, Pietro. Thank you.”
Two small lines appeared in the space between his brows as he continued to look at her.
“What is thank?”
She considered how to explain the concept of gratitude to someone who was raised with the expectation that if you wanted something, you simply took it.
“It’s a word I can use when I want you to know that what you did pleased me.”
He considered that a moment and then those two little lines melted away and he said, “I say thank to you, yes?”
“Yes,” she agreed with another smile and leaned down to kiss him again.
He had no objections.
The next morning, after they’d ridden into the city together and entered the market she was less that pleased with what he was doing.
To but it simply, he was hovering. More than hovering, he was doing his best to convey murder with his eyes at every person that dared look at her or touch her, or look like they might touch her. It was beyond possessive. Now that it was not about bed sport, she no longer had tolerance for his more aggressive behaviors. He had started grabbing her whenever she tried to move away or change direction. After this happened the third time, she turned on him and gave him her best viper’s glare.
“You must stop, Pietro.” She said, pushing against his chest to put some distance between them. “Just because I let you between my legs once, does not make me yours to control. You do not own me!”
He glared at her and shook his head. “Not own you. I keep you safe, yes?” His eyes moved away. “Too many ifak,” He growled, scanning the crowd over her head. They had started with the Western Market, since the Common Tongue was spoken almost universally here, and fewer language issues meant fewer mistakes in their information. Darcy noticed that for so early in the day, there was already a large crowd squeezed into the rows between the stalls and booths. She tried to see it from his point of view, and appreciate his concern for her well-being instead of just resenting his attempts to restrict her movement.
“Well, You need to calm yourself,” she hissed and grabbed his chin to bring his eyes to hers. “None of these men will speak with me if they think you’re about to slit their throat for doing so.”
He glared at her, “I not do this thing. Is forbidden, yes?”
“Right. No killing. I know that, you know that, they know that. So what’ are you worried about.”
He tried to look away, but she gripped his chin more tightly and brought his attention back to her.
He took some time to find the words, then said. “You small. Get lost. Men can take you. I must vijazerok.”
She didn’t understand vijazerok, but she could make an educated guess.
“You don’t want us to get separated, right?” She held up the index finger of each hand, pressed them together and then pulled them apart. “Separated is bad, yes?”
“Yes,” he nodded, understanding.
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Very well.” Darcy reached out and grabbed his left hand with her right. “Now, stop scowling.” She pointed to her brow and then at his face. “Smile,” she added, gesturing as she lifted the corners of her mouth to show him.
He shook his head, but his glare lost some of its menace.
In the end, it didn’t really matter. Either none of the merchants knew of Daenerys, or they weren’t talking. It was the same in the Eastern Market.
When exhaustion and frustration caught up with her, Darcy leaned against Pietro’s side and squeezed his hand trying to reassure herself, more than anything. “You can still go to your sister, yes? Maybe she’ll know something.”
He nodded somewhat absently and then started pulling her out of the crowded market place towards the center of Vaes Dothrak.
Once they were past the crowd, Darcy expected Pietro to release her hand, but he didn’t. She relaxed her hand, but he still kept her fingers locked securing between his. There were only a few Dothraki in view on the street as they pressed deeper into the city of tents and shanties, but all the people they saw stared at the two of them as they walked hand in hand down the paths between the semi-temporary dwellings.
“You can let go now,” she said, pulling back on her wrist just a bit. She liked Pietro, she did, but it was important that he understand that she was no helpless lamb. She was a Sand Snake.
“We are almost there, yes?” he huffed and gave her hand a light squeeze.
Unexpectedly, he came to an abrupt halt and she nearly ran right into his back. She was opening her mouth to prepare a scolding when she noticed what had made him stop. A large group of Dothraki men was blocking their way.
Hearing scuffing behind them, she turned to find men closing in on them from the rear as well.
One of the men before them stepped up and addressed Pietro in their own language. He sounded pissed off and threatening. Then again, the horselords’ usually sounded that way.
When Pietro answered she could feel the tension in his body even if she didn’t comprehend his words. His tone suggested he was at least attempting to talk with them reasonably.
When the other man responded, he sounded even upset, if it were possible. She caught the words dosh khaleen and knew that was the name of the group of women who were considered wise women and priestesses. In fact, they were mentioned several times as Pietro continued to try and converse with the man who’s long tail of hair jingled with many bells every time he shook his head at them angrily.
After a few more terse exchanges Pietro turned to look at her, the expression on his face a mix of determination and- oh how she hoped she was reading him wrong- what looked like fear.
“What did he say?” she asked calmly, determined in her own right, to stay strong.
“They know we seek the Khaleesi. They say we must stop, that we must go.”
“Or what? They can’t hurt us, right? It’s forbidden, yes?”
He shot her a frustrated look that also seemed somehow to convey pity. “Only in city.”
“Oh,” she said, frowning at the implications. “But they know where she is, right? Are they holding her here? Is she a slave, like we thought?”
Pietro’s eyes shifted from her to the men who were surrounding them nervously. “They say- they say she is dosh khaleen now. That she-“ He shook his head in frustration. “They want Vezh fin saja rhaesheseres. It means the Stallion.”
“A stallion? They want to trade her for horses?”
“No,” he shook his head at her again and gestured at his belly. “They want her rihz.”
Something in either his words or his gesture seemed to set the other man off again and he started shouting at Pietro and waving his arms and dancing around aggressively.
“We go now,” he stated abruptly and began pulling her back the way they had come.
“But your sister-?” she began but he cut her off with a jerk on her arm.
“Cannot help.”
He pulled her by the hand until she thought her bones might break.
“Stop!” She yelled and yanked out of his grip. “I can’t leave without her.” She stepped away from Pietro who was looking around desperately as he reached for her again. She dodged out of his reach and slapped his hand away. “Tell them I demand to see her,” she told him, and his eyes flew back to her looking frantic.
“We go,” he insisted and reached for her again.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “I have a job to do and you can’t order me around like that. You don’t own me, remember?”
His eyes grew wide as he seemed to plead with her then wider still as they shifted to look past her.
She felt a large, meaty hand on her shoulder and spun to strike at the owner, but the angry man who had spoken simply snatched her raised hand in one fist and pulled her roughly against his chest.
She heard Pietro growl behind her, then felt his arm around her waist as he dragged her back. Again, his speed and agility astounded her as she had no sooner blinked than she was behind his back as he faced off with the snarling warrior.
He reached for Darcy again and Pietro swung, his fist connecting solidly with the man’s face, twisting him around and knocking him to his knees.
Around them, stillness became a palpable thing. No one moved. Not Darcy. Not Pietro. Not the men that surrounded them. Not the man crouched on the ground.
Then, slowly, he got to his feet and turned back to face them. As he moved, he raised a hand to wipe at his face. From his nose Darcy could see a steady trickle of red dripping down over the man’s mustache and lips and into his beard.
Something in her gut twisted in horror as she realized she had made a grave mistake.
“Kadi mori,” the man hissed and spit a glob of blood into the sand at their feet.