Mountain - Part 17 – Possession

She sat on her Lord Husband’s lap and closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the sounds of the wedding feast. Voices, people laughing, the music of the harps, the sound of the dancers’ feet, the bustle of the servants, the sound of wine flowing into goblets all fading to a distant roar as she listened to the beating of her husband’s heart. She was so tired and her ribs and her head ached. She’d had too much wine. She felt strangely happy all the same. This is what she was meant to do, had trained all her life for… she had finally become a Lady of the Realm. 

The feast had been magnificent, she’d been awed by the abundance of food, the variety of dishes was astounding. The musicians and entertainers could not have been more delightful. If she hadn’t been injured, she might have been a bit disappointed that she didn’t get to dance more, but all she really wanted now was to rest. Melicent opened her eyes again and looked up at Lord Gregor who sat back in his chair, drinking, his hand resting heavily on her leg. He looked tired too, she thought, she knew he had slept little. He looked handsome too, in an extremely powerful, unpolished sort of way. The way a mountain was beautiful, she realized, understanding it wasn’t only his size and strength, but his countenance, which had earned him the name “The Mountain That Rides.” 

He drained his cup and looked down at her. His dark eyes clouded, seemed to drink her in, and she felt something stir deep inside her tummy. Melicent bit her lip and gazed back at him, and an understanding seemed to pass between them. Still holding her, he stood, rising with ease and addressing their guests. Relief flooded through her when he announced he would allow no guests to help with the bedding. That was something she had dreaded … to have various people she did not even know helping to undress her seemed vulgar. She was glad to avoid it. It was overwhelming enough to be bedded by one’s husband, she thought.  

 

A part of her dreaded losing her maidenhead, and yet another part of her wanted him badly. The way he made her feel… when he touched her, when they’d kissed… she wanted more of that. And yet… the thought of his manhood entering her, tearing her apart? That was terrifying. She had been told that the loss of maidenhead was very painful. She had also overheard Mynne whispering to another servant that a man like Lord Clegane would likely possess an appendage that matched the rest of him… oversized. That, she thought, was putting it mildly. She had felt it press against her when he’d held her and kissed her… now tonight, she was frightened.

Her mother cried and her father watched anxiously as her new husband carried her away from them. She felt a pang of longing for her home and her family, however, she was Lady Clegane now, and her place was here. They could no longer protect her. Exhausted, she let her head rest on his chest again as he navigated the long passages and climbed the winding stairs to his chamber. He did not speak along the way, and she was glad to have a moment to breathe before she would experience the act of truly becoming Lord Gregor's wife. 

When they reached his apartments, he kicked open the thick wooden door and entered, slamming it behind him. He carried her through to his bedchamber and set her down to face him. A fire had been lit in the huge hearth, making the far corners of the room appear very dark. She did not pause to take much notice of the chamber, other than noting that the bed was even bigger than the one she had shared with Nella. Instead, she looked up at the huge man towering over her. The Mountain that Rides. Her Lord husband. 

He frowned at her, and looked her up and down. ”Turn around, girl.” He grunted, and she turned slowly while he watched her. Her heart pounded in her chest. What if he’d changed his mind? What if he didn’t want her now? What if she didn’t please him? What if she failed him somehow tonight? She faced him again and gathered her courage. 

“Do I please you, my Lord?” She waited several seconds for him to respond, holding her breath. Finally he nodded and walked around behind her, lifting a huge hand. She realized she was shaking as he pulled the combs from her hair, sending it cascading down over her shoulders. Gregor tossed the combs aside and stood behind Melicent, moving close and gathering her hair in his huge fist, pulled it back over her shoulder. He looked down on her and tightened his grip on her hair, pulling her head to the side, placing his fingers on the tiny pulse that beat in her neck, pressing his hips against the small of her back. 

“Are you afraid, little doe?” The Mountain leaned in and growled, his breath hot on her neck. He breathed her in, and she knew she could not lie to him. He could feel her pulse, see her shake. She wondered if he could even smell her fear. 

“Yes...” she whispered. “Will you be gentle with me?” 

“No.” He grunted. “I don’t know how.” 

His hand moved over her shoulder to cup a full breast, still holding her head tilted almost painfully to the side. Melicent closed her eyes and breathed deeply. I will not cry. He let her go then, turning her to face him and lifting her off her feet. The Mountain kissed her hard, his mouth covering hers, crushing her lips, hungry. She responded without knowing that she did so, opening her mouth to him, kissing him back. Her arms went round his neck and he slid his hands under her thighs, turning to push her hard against the wall.  Her ribs ached, but she did not cry out, instead she kissed him harder and Gregor growled into her mouth. 

Pulling away, he moved to her neck, trailing a series of hard bites down to her shoulder, hurting her, marking her as his own. He thrust his hips hard between her thighs and she could feel his manhood there, pressing against her through their clothing. It frightened her how desperately she wanted him now and she dug her fingers into the fabric of his tunic, feeling rock hard muscle beneath. He held her up with one hand, pushing his fingers into the neckline of her low cut gown and ripping it open to expose her full breasts, already spilling over the top of her corset. Gregor made a rumbling noise deep in his chest and cupped a breast in his huge hand, running his thumb back and forth over a pink nipple, watching it harden, chuckling at her sharp intake of breath. He bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth, working it with his tongue until she whimpered helplessly, then sinking his teeth into her sensitive flesh, causing her to cry out.

He turned abruptly, tossing her onto the bed and pain sliced through her ribs like a knife. He pulled his tunic over his head and she watched his muscles ripple as he tossed the garment aside and bent to pull off his boots. “Undress, girl.” He grunted, as he moved to unlace his breeches. Melicent did so, sitting up and shakily removing what was left of her ruined gown, trying not to look at him standing naked before her, watching her. She slipped out of her beautiful smallclothes, but fumbled as she tried to unlace her corset. Gregor stepped closer and ripped the lacings apart. He pushed her back onto the bed, covering her with his huge frame, pinning delicate wrists above her head with one hand. Her injured arm throbbed in his iron grip. Her eyes filled with tears and she concentrated on his face, as she could not bring herself to look anywhere else. 

The Mountain’s gaze roamed over her body and Melicent felt her cheeks burning. No one had ever looked at her this way before, but she tried hard not to struggle. This was his right. She belonged to him now. He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her again, greedily. She returned his kiss, her tongue mingling with his, her body relaxing slightly as desire surged deep within her. He ran his massive hand down her side, lingering at her waist, sliding over the curve of her hip. Biting her lip, he then moved to her throat, nipping and licking a trail between her breasts. Gregor let go of her wrists and cupped her breasts in his hands, kneading hard, pinching her sensitive pink nipples, making her moan loudly and rock her hips under him. “Please…” She begged him, it was wonderful and terrible, she wanted him to stop, and she wanted him to go on forever.

“What, girl? What is it you want, eh?” Gregor growled, looking into her eyes, his expression ominous; there was no hint of mirth in his dark eyes. He slid his hands down her body, nodding as he traced the line of her hips, as though in approval. He moved his hands to her knees, pushing her legs apart. Without thinking, she resisted and he laughed. “I’ll see your pretty flower, little one. Don’t fight me girl, show me what’s mine.” A tear escaped her eye and she turned her head away from him as he spread her legs roughly, bending her knees and pushing them up against her chest. “You would hide this from me, girl?” Gregor chuckled and she could feel his gaze move between her thighs, as though he were touching her. “This is mine now, Little Doe, as is the rest of you. You’ll do well not to forget that.” 

Melicent gasped as the Mountain ran his hand down the inside of her leg, coming to rest at the junction of her thighs. Easing his thumb between her soft folds, sliding over the core of her sex, he laughed as he felt her wetness, felt her lift her hips a little in response. “Good girl. Your readiness pleases me. It’ll go easier for you than for the others. Never had a wife wet and ready for me before.” He said as he rubbed the sensitive bud up and down, watching her face soften, her long dark lashes lowering until her eyes were nearly closed. “I’ll make it worth your while, little one, I promise you that.” He dipped his head again, running his tongue over her nipple, then taking it between his teeth and pulling, moving his thumb faster. She cried out and held his head to her chest, her hips moving against his hand. The pleasure was so intense she thought she might die of it.

She opened her eyes, watching him as he worked first one nipple, then the other. Alternating between licking her roughly, biting, sucking hard. She was surprised and aroused by the sight of his mouth on her breast and she cupped the back of his head with her tiny hand. His hand between her legs, touching her, made her moan and thrust her hips toward him. It seemed so wrong to be touched like this, and yet it was the most exquisite sensation. She felt an intense heat building deep within her core and he lifted his head to look down on her face as she pressed her sex against his hand. Eyes open wide, mouth falling open, she stared up at him, meeting his dark eyes as wave after wave of acute pleasure burned through her like dragonfire. Gregor Clegane was not smiling anymore. He looked at her with an intensity that frightened her anew, and she feared what would come next.

He reared up over her and grabbed her by the hips, his thick fingers hurting her. "Look at me, girl." She'd avoided looking until now, but saw it then, his manhood huge and erect, and she shook her head, pleading with her eyes. He moved her roughly, tilting her hips upward, pressing the tip of his massive cock against her opening. Gregor looked into her eyes for a moment and he looked angry, ferocious, she thought, and in that moment, she knew true fear. He thrust his hips forward hard, mercilessly, groaning loudly, embedding his entire length in her tight sheath. She tried to scream, at the blinding pain of it, but the pain was so intense that no sound would come. Melicent clawed at the bed under her, twisting her fists in the fur covering. It was worse than she could have imagined. She felt herself ripped open, stretched beyond her limits. To have a normal sized man take your maidenhead was painful, she knew. This, however, was beyond any pain most women would ever experience. 

He held steady there, unmoving for a moment, looking down at her. Blinking up at her husband, her vision blurred by tears, she imagined his dark eyes were penetrating into her very soul. This man owned her, and at this moment he possessed her fully. She was completely open to him, at his mercy. He began to move then, pulling his hips back, withdrawing slowly. Tears poured down her cheeks, but she cried silently, unable to make a sound. As he pushed back into her, her tears flowed so freely that she could no longer see him as more than a giant, hulking shape abover her. Melicent squeezed her eyes shut, praying to the Old Gods and the New that he would be quick, that she would survive this night. He began to move faster now, his huge hands holding her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, hurting her yet again. He grunted like a beast and leaned forward, licking the tears from her cheek. For some reason, this terrified her more than anything he had done so far, and she lay frozen beneath him, not daring to move.

Lowering his head, Gregor sunk his teeth into her shoulder, drawing blood and she cried out again. That seemed to arouse him yet more and he increased his pace further, pounding into her again and again. He moved a massive hand to her throat, pinning her down, choking her. The pain was too much to bear, and now she couldn’t breathe. Panicked, she grabbed at his muscled arm, digging her fingers into his skin, scratching and clawing at him, kicking her feet to try to find purchase, trying to push him off of her. He growled loudly. “YES! That’s it,  Little Doe… fight me, girl… I knew you had a little fight in you…” 

And she did fight. She bucked under him, raking his forearm with her fingernails, gasping for breath, she fought her husband for her life. He bellowed a harsh animal sound, ramming himself into her the hilt, increasing the pressure on her throat so that for a moment, her vision went black as she began to fade out of consciousness. Then suddenly, relaxing his grip, Gregor collapsed on top of her, shuddering, breathing hard, burying his face in her long, chestnut hair. 

Melicent lay beneath the Mountain, gulping lungfuls of precious air, shaking, feeling his hot, wine scented breath in her ear. The weight of him made it difficult for her to fully catch her breath, but his fingers no longer encircled her delicate throat. He raised himself then, pulling his spent cock from her, and causing her to whimper like a small, wounded creature. He rolled off of her then, settling onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. “Good girl.” He said, giving her his version of a smile. “You’ve pleased me, greatly, Little Doe.” 

She turned her tear stained face toward him and met his eyes. “I’m glad, my Lord." she managed in a faint whisper. "My only wish is to please you, my husband.” 

He laughed and absently fingered a lock of her hair. “Your wish? I think not. Your duty is to please me. Your wishes are many, I’m sure. Pretty frocks? Scented oils from across the Narrow Sea? Jewels as beautiful as you are? You'll have them all girl, and more." He raised a dark eyebrow and looked at her more closely. "Or mayhaps your wishes are not so frivolous. Your family’s safety, then? Your father reinstated at Karhold? You needn’t worry about any of that now. I’ll keep my promise to your father.” He ran his hand over the curve of her hip. “And you. You will do your duty. Manage my household. Warm my bed. Give me sons. You’ll be the happier for it... as will your House and your family.” 

She shivered at the words he did not say. If you do not do these things, you will suffer. Your family will pay the price. She was a clever girl, she knew what hung in the balance and she knew she could not fail. She looked straight into his eyes and nodded. “I will be a good wife to you. You won't be disappointed in me, I promise you.” 

He nodded and slid his hand between her legs again. She stiffened, but he withdrew his hand, holding it up to show her. His fingers glistened red in the firelight. “A maiden no more, girl.” He said. Then he bent to claim her lips with his, cupping her cheek in his hand. She could feel her blood still warm on his fingers as she opened her mouth to accept his kiss. As the kiss deepened, he moved his hand to her breast, feeling its fullness, toying with her sore, sensitive nipple. To her surprise, despite her pain, she felt a stirring in her tummy and she slid her hand over his huge bicep, feeling the muscles of his arm moving beneath his skin. 

He laughed and pulled away, smiling down at her. “You’re lucky, girl, it’s been too long since I’ve rested and I need sleep this night.” 

Melicent looked back up at him. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I’m tired too, my Lord.” She said softly. “May I clean myself before I rest?” 

“Hmm? Oh. Yes … if you wish to.” He said gruffly, rolling onto his back and grunting. “Funny the things you think of.”

She lay still for a moment, bemused. He seemed so puzzled by her. Melicent wondered how different she could truly be, from his past wives… his mother… his sister. All dead now. She decided not to think of them. Not tonight. She made to rise, pushing herself up into a sitting position, but she found she could barely move. Very slowly she managed to slide to the edge of the bed and swing her legs off the side. Standing, she had to grip the side of the bed to keep from falling. 

“Is it bad?” He asked, frowning as she stood shakily trying to find her balance, bracing herself against the side of the bed. She bit her lip to keep from whimpering. 

“I'm… No. I'll be alright, my Lord.” She managed to respond, taking a step and faltering. Pain and exhaustion made her weak and trying to move was excruciating. 

He rose silently and came around to her. He picked her up as though she weighed nothing at all, carrying her through to what was to be her adjoining chamber. She could see that Mynne had already moved her things here. There was water in a basin and he set her down on the bench before the dressing table. “You may call for me when you are finished, girl.” He said gruffly. 

“Thank you, my Lord. You are very kind. I shall try to manage on my own. It’s not far to walk, and you need your rest.” Gregor looked at the bed on the other side of the chamber and nodded. "Yes. Well... goodnight, then, wife." He turned then and left her, returning to his chamber.

The fire was lit in this room as well, so Melicent did not bother to light the lamp on the dressing table. She took a cloth from a basket and wet it in the basin. The water was cool, but she didn’t mind. It didn’t matter in comparison with the pain she felt. She bathed herself slowly, wiping away the blood on her face, cleaning the bite wound on her shoulder, washing away the sticky fluid between her thighs. She brushed out her long, chestnut hair as best as she could in the glow of the fire. When she was finished, she rose carefully and slowly, painfully made her way through the dressing room and back to Lord Gregor’s bed, climbing carefully in beside him. 

He was already asleep, she could tell. She took a moment to look at him, sprawled on his back, the arm closest to her was bent, a massive hand rested on his rippled abdomen, his other arm thrown out at his side.  He had pulled a fur up to his waist, but she could see his chest was immensely broad and heavily muscled. She saw he bore a number of scars, most likely earned in battle, which marred his otherwise perfect form. She watched his chest rise and fall in long, slow, even breaths. This was her man, and there was no doubt he was impressive. In all of the pain Melicent felt a sense of pride. She was drawn to him, that was certain. She wondered if she could even learn to love him. 

The need for sleep overcame her then, and she slipped beneath the furs and tucked herself under his bent arm, resting her head on his shoulder. His body was warm against her cool skin. Although he had been asleep, she felt his arm tighten around her, pulling her closer, and she fell into an exhausted slumber, listening to the steady beating of his heart.

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