They spoke of the Prince of the North as if he were a monster from a wives' tale in whispers around campfires. They said he was more wolf than man, an animal through and through who had blood dripping from both his wolf's fangs as well as his own jaws. He was rumored to be vicious, wicked, murderous.
If you stood before him, he would let you live or he would end you in a moment.
Rickon Stark knew that the people of Westoros thought of him as a womanizing savage at best, a monster at worst. He would be lying if he said that he didn't have a small amount of satisfaction at garnering this reputation; he had never wanted to be like the highborns he had met outside of Winterfell. Bran had informed him recently that some of the stories told of him had been exaggerated to the point that many would be surprised to discover that he didn't communicate through howls.
It was because of this that when Rickon was called to Bran's chambers for a family meeting, he entered with his usual smirk, not even considering that it was his future that had been debated. He fell into his seat besides Meera with his usual silence and shot her a wink, to which she returned with a roll of her eyes. This had become a sort of strange tradition between the two, ever since Meera had become Bran's wife and sat in on her first council, something she had clearly found uncomfortable. Rickon and she were similar in that respect - both were of more use in the woods than in a lord's quarters - and so they had formed their joking exchanges in order to try to overcome the awkwardness that often formed.
Rickon, Bran, and Arya were the only three of the Stark children who were living permanently in Winterfell. Sansa was in Highgarden with Willas, and Jon in King's Landing sitting beside Daenerys's iron throne. The seconds seemed to stretch for hours, and Rickon silently observed Bran's fidgeting as they waited for Arya to arrive.
Something seemed off. The hairs on the back of Rickon's neck had risen when he noticed that Bran's fingers had not stopped tapping frantically against the table since he arrived, and yet Bran had not acknowledged him. Bran rarely projected anything but a calm composure – it was only moments of anxiety like these that Rickon saw the boy his brother had been, and was reminded that although he was King of the North and carried enough pain for many lifetimes, Bran was still only two-and-twenty.
Rickon's musings were interrupted by a the sound of steps outside of the chamber doors, and a moment later Arya entered with Gendry right beside her.
"Sorry, didn't mean to keep you waiting, but someone didn't wake me up at the usual time this morning."
Arya sent Gendry a glare, but he only smiled more widely and turned to the table, "I apologize My King, My Queen, Prince Rickon, but my wife's vast beauty is enhanced greatly when she isn't hitting or shouting at me, and those moments are most often found when she isn't awake."
A moment later Arya's fist landed hard on Gendry's side, but he barely seemed to notice and laughed instead. Arya was blushing fiercely as she took her seat across the table from Rickon, muttering something about a 'stupid bull-headed man', but when Gendry sat beside her and looked at her adoringly, Rickon noticed that their hands slipped into one another's beneath the table top.
Bran would usually laugh at such a display, or tell Gendry to stop using their titles when they weren't in public, but instead only a tense smile covered his face for a moment before it was replaced by a look of complete seriousness.
The feeling of unease Rickon had felt before multiplied one hundredfold when Bran's eyes finally flashed to his and held a silent apology. It was in that moment that he realized this meeting would not be a monthly routine meet, rather it involved him somehow.
"Everyone, I have received a raven from Queen Daenerys and our brother Jon. It seems that there have been attempts on the life of Dragonstone's heir. The individuals who attempted the murder are imprisoned, but the queen suspects that she remains in immense danger." Bran cleared his throat and looked around the room. Gendry had a particularly pained expression on his face. The heir to Dragonstone was Shireen Baratheon, his cousin by blood. Though he had been legitimized as Lord Gendry Baratheon, he had forfeited all claims to any Baratheon land, and had met his cousin briefly when he had done so.
Bran took a deep breath, and his eyes flashed down to the roll of parchment in front of him. "Daenerys and Jon think that the only way to protect her, as well as the Baratheon blood line, would be to unite her to a much stronger house, such as the Starks." Rickon felt as though his muscles had all contracted, and he could no longer move. His lungs had stilled, and even though he knew what Bran was about to say, he had the childish urge to flee from the room and into the woods with Shaggy.
"Through a marriage to Rickon."
All eyes turned to stare at him, and he nearly shifted into Shaggydog at that moment. His years with the Wildings still left him with Wilding instinct, and all of the eyes trained on him made him feel as though he were tied to his chair and behind barred doors.
Arya looked shocked, and he felt a small happiness in knowing that his sister had not known of this betrothal contract either. The betrayal of his sister, who had married a blacksmith for love, by her supporting this without consulting him would have been too much to bare. Meera and Bran both looked with a mixture of apprehension and pity, but Gendry's was the hardest to meet. Rickon liked Gendry very much, and his good brother had become nearly a blood sibling to him, so he knew that Gendry would never outright ask this of him. But the look of suppressed pain spoke volumes, and in that moment Rickon knew that there had never been a possibility of turning down the contract.
He allowed for a few minutes to pass, knowing that if he answered right away he might shout or become truly enraged. Only when his temper was in check did he allow himself to speak. With a low, reverberating growl, he shoved his chair back from the table and stood. He walked to the door in carefully measured steps, still trying to suppress the sudden influx of emotion and spat out a single word over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.
"Fine."
The moment Rickon shifted back into his own skin, his body still propped against a tree in the Godswood, he knew that someone was sitting beside him. With an annoyed sigh, he turned and met eyes with Gendry, who was leaning back against the tree next to his.
Shifting back after running free in Shaggy's body only enhanced his feeling of claustrophobia, and being once again bound by human physical limitations was enough to make him go mad.
"What?" His voice had come out as much more emotional than he meant it to, and he quickly reverted back into the apathetic mask he wore the majority of the time. Gendry studied his face and furrowed his brow, thinking for a while before answering.
"She may be my cousin, but you're my brother. Don't –" he let out a frustrated sigh as he struggled to find words, " – just don't, I don't know, don't do this because you think that we'll hate you otherwise. Obviously they would be disappointed, and you'd have a pissed off Dragon Queen, but there wouldn't be anything that couldn't be fixed."
Rickon absorbed his words for a moment, and briefly entertained the idea of going back on his word, refusing, causing an uproar, yet knowing it would eventually be okay. However, that moment passed and he had to realistically focus on the situation.
He was twenty years old, relatively handsome, a prince of the North. Whether it was this girl or the next, it was his duty to honor the Stark name. Family was everything, and Bran had asked nothing of him until now.
"Her or another, I'll have to marry eventually. If I refuse, I only cause problems for the family and delay the inevitable of having to withstand another arranged betrothal."
Gendry laughed quietly and twisted his wedding ring around his finger, asking, "And you don't think you will ever fall in love with a woman? Only arranged relationships for you?"
Rickon drew the dagger at his side from its scabbard, attempted to shine it against the fabric of his vest and scoffed, "I know I won't ever fall in love with a woman."
Gendry still had on his bemused smile, the one that made it seem as though he had a joke he didn't want to share, and stood up, brushing the dirt off of his breeches as he turned to walk back to the castle.
"Gendry! Everyone knows about her greyscale, how am I supposed to be wed to, let alone maintain a conversation with someone all delicate and fragile-like?" Rickon rubbed a hand through his mop of curls roughly, the implication of his decision to agree to this beginning to sink in. He was a savage. He had torn out throats with sword and fangs alike. How the Seven Hells was he supposed to look at some meek doll of a woman and see her as his wife, a partner, even as a bed-mate?
The woods were silent for a moment before Gendry slowly turned back around, facing Rickon. His eyes widened slightly and he mumbled seemingly to himself, "That's right, you left before we spoke of…" He trailed off and suddenly his face grew red as he tried to keep his lips pressed together, holding in laughter. A few seconds later and he lost the internal struggle, guffawing and nearly bending over, clutching his stomach. Rickon stood up angrily, not one to stand being laughed and snarled, "Why the hell are you laughing?"
Gendry seemed to sense that Rickon was genuinely on edge, and his laughter died down. His face was now calm, but amusement could be seen still sparkling in his eyes.
"I apologize, it's just that you don't need to fret over her being delicate or meek I think." He turned back around yet again and walked at a leisurely pace, adding distance quickly between the two good brothers.
Rickon still did not understand the source of Gendry's laughter, and his frustration was clear in his voice as he called out, "And why would you think that?"
Glancing over his shoulder, Gendry smirked and replied, "She was the one who knocked unconscious and hog tied the three armed men attempting her murder."
Two months followed during which Rickon tried to avoid his family when he could. Arya's anger with Bran only incited his own, meanwhile he could not meet eyes with Bran and Meera without snarling at their pity.
She was to arrive today. Shireen Baratheon, his betrothed.
As much as he wished he could feign indifference, or maintain his usual apathy, he couldn't help his curiosity. How in the seven hells had she managed to overcome three armed men as a noblewoman? Sure, Arya could have done it, especially after she had returned from Braavos, but this woman was not a warrior from what he had managed to find out about her.
She had not fought in the War Beyond the Wall, but apparently she had helped her father coordinate battle planning before Daenerys had arrived and saved them all with her armies and dragons.
So she was intelligent, and he was sure that involvement in the war had destroyed any naivety or innocence he had assumed she would possess.
His curiosity was the reason for his current position. He was outside the castle, on the edge of the road she would be traveling on with only two of her guards, wanting to see and assess her before anyone else could.
He was also twenty feet in the air and sitting amongst the leaves of a sycamore tree branch.
Rickon hated being caught off guard, not knowing or understanding something. And this woman he had not even met yet was driving him insane. From his years as a spying killer during the war, he knew that people were typically their true selves when they did not know someone was watching them. He didn't want to meet her when she was dressed up, smiling falsely and laughing on cue.
By the time he could see the three awaited figures on the horizon, Rickon was furious with himself. He was a Prince of the North, and even more important, he was Rickon, the wildling prince, the savage they told stories about around campfires, a man that had been able to take any woman to bed, provided they drank moon tea. And this mere woman was forcing him to act like a fool.
Their horses were breathing heavily, and he saw the three cloaked figures dismount before pouring some water from a large flagon strapped to the saddlebags into their thirsty horses' mouths. They were speaking in hushed tones, and he strained forward in order to hear what they were saying.
The figure he knew to be Shireen from her cloak's Baratheon colors was diminutive. A small slip of a thing, and his contempt set in. He had been right all along. The story of her apprehending the assassins must have been falsified, or at least exaggerated. Perhaps she was able to avoid them or prolong their capture of her, but she could not have physically done the deed herself.
As the horses stopped their loud drinking, he was finally able to make out the conversation.
"-doesn't like me? Let us be honest, Davos, I never expected to marry at three and twenty. I had thought my father would live long enough to produce an heir, a boy who could take the blasted castle. And I'm sure I am not exactly the type of girl anyone would want to marry, let alone a war hero and prince."
"My lady, I will not hear you speak of yourself in such a manner. Anyone would be lucky to have you."
"Lucky? Seven hells, Davos, your flattering has become much too obvious, must be the cold making your thoughts skewed."
Rickon had nearly fallen from his perch when she began speaking. Her voice was hushed and had a slight rasping to it that made it enchanting, but what she was saying was even more intriguing. She was not prideful, despite being a Baratheon whose father was remembered and commemorated as being a hero due to his involvement in the war. She must have had countless suitors, seeking her title and fame.
And still she was standing before him as an informal, blunt woman who swore like a common ruffian.
A small smile had crossed him at her swearing, and he had immediately stifled it. He was determined to keep her at a distance. He could not find her endearing in any way. Love was for fools, he had seen it at every turn. Arya had nearly gotten herself and Gendry killed when she left her position during the final battle in order to come to his aid and then gotten stabbed herself.
Their conversation continued, and she shrugged back her hood, giving him a view of long, curling black hair.
"My lady, I know you have heard the tales, but I need to tell you for I have seen it myself. This man is a brute. Cold as the ice that surrounds us and twice as deadly. You don't need to go through with this."
"The Dragon Queen and her Hand have very nearly commanded it. You have been a father to me, but I have to turn down your advice. I have heard the tales, yes, but I think –"
At that moment, Rickon chose to adjust his position. As soon as a twig snapped beneath his foot, several things happened at once. Shireen whipped around, extending her arm, and a throwing knife was suddenly lodged into the wood of the tree trunk, approximately three inches from his torso.
The forest stilled. He dared not take a breath. From her vantage point, she could not see him cloaked among the leaves, yet he felt a strange apprehension as her eyes searched the tree in the area he was seated.
Her face was revealed to him. A prominent feature was indeed the ashy skin that covered a cheek and trailed down her neck, but it was not as terrible as the people whispered. Her face was not peeling off, instead it was only colored gray with some darker patches, and appeared to be rougher than the rest of her face.
The greyscale was a pity, but what made it even more of a curse was that the rest of her visage was quite pretty. Ice blue eyes framed by long lashes, high cheekbones, and dark, full lips that were at the moment pursed into a frown.
"My lady?" Her second traveling companion asked.
"I must have been mistaken. The night draws near, let us leave and finally reach the heart of Winterfell."
Only when they were far enough down the road that they were invisible to him did Rickon descend.
He was terrified.
And he was more turned on than he had ever been in his life.
He was not in the castle when she arrived, having to slink back through the woods. He only saw her again at the dinner that had been planned for the royal family, which would be followed by a grand feast the next night.
He arrived on time to the dinner, a bit early in order to sit across from her seat. He wanted a full and clear view of her to scrutinize what she would act like around his family and himself.
She arrived quietly and by herself, curtsying with a graceful fluidity, politely thanking Bran for the dinner and greeting everyone at the table by name. When she greeted him as 'Prince Rickon' her eyes seemed to search his as they met and he realized that she must possess the same curiosity as he, though perhaps not to his extent.
The dinner continued smoothly enough, with Gendry and Arya leading all discussions with their usual dynamic humor, and he saw her slowly become more comfortable, even laughing quietly when the tales became more and more improper. All questions that they asked her were simple, such as the weather, Dragonstone's status, and how to journey went. Her answers were always kept polite, agreeable and short, and Rickon began to loathe the prospect that this fascinating woman before them would instead act like this quiet, simple thing before him now when they were married and in the presence of one another.
All of his hope was not lost, however, when halfway through the meal she squinted at him and amusement began to show in her eyes when she looked at him. Rickon had not spoken the entire meal, only saying her name in a formal greeting when she had entered, and the source of her silent japing was lost on him.
Arya and Gendry departed first, followed by Meera. When Bran began to wheel himself to the door, Shireen stood as well and nodded to him as a farewell, and walked beside Bran's chair, chatting idly. She allowed Bran to leave through the door before her, and Rickon had risen and followed. They were still surrounded by guards, but this was the first time they had been in the same vicinity without a throng of people.
For a moment, she lingered, allowing him to reach her and stand beside her. He motioned for her to depart before him but instead she stayed in the room. Taking a step forward, she was far too close and left him uncomfortable, not being one who allowed people into his personal space.
"… My lady?" he questioned, in a gruff tone, wanting to return to his room and Shaggydog as soon as he could.
She raised a hand to his head and her fingers traced along his scalp as they combed through his hair, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Next time I would recommend a pine, my lord. Branches aren't nearly as fragile."
She raised her hand once again before him, but she now held a sycamore leaf between her fingers, placing it in his frozen palm and smirking before leaving, walking off to her chambers.
Their next encounter took place the following morning, when Shaggy had loped away from him during the first of their daily walks just outside the castle. He had found the direwolf standing in front of a startled Shireen, and when she looked to him she wore a small, bemused smile.
Shaggy stepped closer, and he knew the black beast must appear menacing, so he found himself admittedly impressed when she extended her arm and faced her palm up, allowing him to catch her scent before running a hand slowly over his snout. When he leaned into her touch, she laughed quietly and scratched gently behind his ears.
Not one for propriety or false conversation, he heard himself blurt out his thoughts, though he immediately regretted the somewhat angry and confused tone of voice.
"Many people told me that you were weak."
She did not crumple or cry, only raised an eyebrow as she responded.
"Many people told me that you were a savage, terrible monster of the North."
"And how accurate do you find their statements?"
She searched his face for a moment and he wore his neutral expression well, though he waited for her reply.
She turned from him and answered her question as she stroked along Shaggy's flank.
"I think any man who would do all that you did for your family and sacrificed as much as you did during the war can't be that bad. My father spoke well of your selflessness in battle, and compliments from my father were not easily won."
She raised her head and wore a small smile now when she continued, "All in all, I would say I have not yet decided."
He let a small twitch of his lips escape, and she turned from him, picking up a bow beside a cache of arrows he had not noticed leaning against a tree. In fact he just took in her appearance now , and noted that she wore tightly fitting breeches paired with a loose tunic style shirt and covered by a tight leather vest. Leather protection for her forearms was also adorning her, and her hair was pulled into a tight braid, though a few dark tendrils had escaped.
Rickon realized that he and his direwolf had encountered her during an early morning shooting practice. She was already slightly pink in her visible cheek, and he could make out a sheen of light sweat. He had to force himself to stop looking at her up and down, and he nearly groaned in frustration when he noticed beads of sweat traveling slowly down her body.
Shireen confirmed his suspicions a moment later when she turned back to look at him and asked, "Would you like to do a bit of archery with me this morning?"
"I believe it would be improper without an escort, would it not, my lady?"
"Shireen. When we aren't surrounded I would prefer to hear my own name for once. And I swear I won't take advantage of you, my lord."
She extracted a genuine laugh from him before he remembered himself, but he had already realized that he was doomed. There was no way to keep her at a distance, instead he allowed himself to entertain the notion of actually becoming a friend to her. He was Rickon the womanizer, and he knew that there was no possibility of forming a romantic relationship with her, so there was no need to be apprehensive of extending friendship.
"Then I would prefer if you would call me Rickon as well. And I would like to accept your offer."
She led him on a lightly treaded path, and he saw that she had drawn a makeshift target on one of the larger trees. A few arrows were already embedded in the wood, near to the center. Without preamble, she raised the bow and shot another one that struck just below the center section.
She muttered a curse and then blushed furiously when she realized she had spoken aloud, but Rickon only raised his eyebrows and held an amused look. He wanted to see her face that color as often as he could put it there.
"You cannot lock your elbow."
"Pardon?"
He approached her and stood immediately behind her, gently grasping her bow arm and bending it very slightly. He had genuinely wanted to simply improve her stance, but he couldn't help but feel the wave of lust when they touched, and because of his relatively large height he had a perfect view of her cleavage over her shoulder.
She turned and watched him, her face mere inches from his own. Slowly, he grasped a lock of her hair that had sprung free from its braid, and tucked it behind her ear. However, when he drew his hand back he brushed lightly over the grey area of her neck, and her reaction was immediate.
She stepped away quickly, flinching from his hand, and the charge between them, the tension, was shattered.
"I think I should return to the castle. I just remembered that I am meeting your sister this morning, and I ought to bathe and dress properly beforehand."
"I didn't mean to offend or hurt you, if that was the outcome of my actions. I was being forward, I apologize."
Her head bowed, and her voice was much quieter than before when she replied, "I had no issue with your actions, I just know my greyscale can repulse some and I did not want you to feel a similar disgust."
Once again approaching her, Rickon spoke seriously when he replied, "I feel no disgust. It is only a mere scar that you cannot alter, and yet it is a medal that attests your will to survive. I bear scars much more gruesome beneath my clothes, and of the two of us, I should be more worried for when you see them all."
An image flashed across his mind just then. Their bodies with clothing shed, sweaty and moving in tandem. Her rasping voice called out his name, black hair arranged like a halo on his pillow as he moved above her, in her.
He was the one who had to look away in embarrassment when he had realized his implications.
She laughed lightly and said, "Let us head back to the castle, I am positively famished."
They walked back in a comfortable silence with Shaggy beside her, to Rickon's immense surprise. He usually did not take to strangers. Their connection caused him to react to Rickon's tendency to mistrust people. His affectionate behavior only meant one thing; he liked this little slip of a girl.
When they parted, her heading to her chambers to bathe, an image that left him shivering and beginning to harden, she looked at him over her shoulder one final time.
She wore the same look of hunger he knew he had shown her, and her light blue eyes seemed to had darkened.
He realized that Shireen was just as longing for him as a man as he was for her as a woman.
They did not see one another until the feast that night, Shireen had been busy with meeting Arya and Gendry for breaking her fast, then touring the castle and Winterfell. She had been immediately led away to be bathed and pampered for the feast, a formal event that forced Rickon to be dressed in the fine clothing that he loathed.
However, the moment that she entered the great hall he found himself thanking the old gods for the occasion.
A form-fitting golden dress was on her small figure, with black trimming; proudly showing the Baratheon colors. Golden ribbons had been laced throughout her black hair, which was pulled from her face but left tumbling down her back.
His mouth went dry, and he didn't realize he was gaping at her until Arya snorted from across the table, giving him an amused but knowing look. She leaned forward, and though he had not asked her opinion, she gave it anyway, in a typical Arya fashion.
"When she opens up, she is actually funny. She has a quiet cunning, and she's dangerous. I took her out to the practice yard. She's quite handy with throwing knives. I like her. She might actually wind up being good for you."
Rickon rolled his eyes and tried to maintain a stoic look, but at seeing Shireen's shy smile, he looked at her more warmly, if not a bit hungrily.
He stood immediately and walked over to her, saying with what was the closest to a formal air as he could produce, "My Lady." She smiled a bit wider and had a touch of a laugh in her voice as she seemed to mock him with her exaggeratingly solemn, "My Lord."
He felt everyone's eyes on them, but he couldn't bring himself to care. For all of her wit and humor, he knew she was a naturally shy creature, and even if it was in an unorthodox manner, he was determined to draw her out.
"Would you like to sit beside me tonight? The feast will be starting soon."
"I would enjoy that," she said with a crooked smile. He offered his arm to her, and she took it, looking a bit pained as she peered around the room.
They were out of anyone's hearing range, so he quietly leaned close to her and asked, "Shireen?"
"I apologize, it's just that I really can't stand these type of feasts. Being put on display while a swarm of people judge and criticize."
Rickon knew the feeling, and though he did not care much what people thought of him, he understood being out of one's element in a crowd. He gently squeezed the hand that was crossed over his arm, and she blushed furiously.
They sat beside one another, but because they were both naturally quiet people, there was no real discussion between the two. However, from others' questions he discovered her love of heights and jam covered bread, as well as her fear of fire due to the Red Woman that had lived with she and her father for a while.
Despite their lack of conversation, Rickon was inwardly thrilled with how it went, because beneath the table top he and Shireen kept their hands close to one another, occasionally brushing fingers, and when whispers concerning her or her greyscale were loud enough to be heard, she would grip his hand tightly.
When the time for the dancing began, Rickon had already drunk a few cups of wine, and found himself feeling bold.
"Would you grace me with a dance, my lady?"
She nodded and stood from the table, and as he led her to the great hall's center she leaned to him and whispered, "I am a bloody terrible dancer, be warned."
With a cocky smirk he turned her so they were in the proper position, a hand closed around hers and one rested on her waist. "Well as it would happen I am fairly fantastic, so you would do well to simply follow my command."
Her clear eyes had a flame of indignation in them, but a moment later a mischievous one replaced it as she leaned in closely, her hair lightly brushing against his stubble and her lips a hairs breadth away from his ear and whispered, "Well, Rickon, I look forward to you showing off your experience."
He froze completely, not fully believing she had actually spoken and he had not just imagined it. She leaned back from him and resumed their previous formal pose, an expression of feigned innocence covering her laughing eyes.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, he began to lead their steps. Shaky at first, Shireen soon found the rhythm and was dancing with relative grace, laughing when he spun her around quickly. When he turned her back in however, he wrapped his arm around her lower back and drew her in close, pressing their bodies flush against one another.
"You are nothing like the woman I assumed you would be," he murmured in a bemused tone.
Her eyes softened, and she looked at him with a surprising amount of fondness when she replied, "And you aren't the monster everyone speaks of."
He cast his eyes down and spoke with a harsher tone than he perhaps intended as he answered her, nearly growling, "You don't know all of me."
"Well, I'd like to." He met her eyes and she looked defiant, angry even. "We're going to be around one another for quite awhile, might as well actually get to know each other. And you haven't seen me when I'm crying and a complete, utter mess; everyone has parts of themselves they try not to show."
She paused, and her eyes became less burning, as she said in a quiet, controlled tone, "Just because there are ugly sides to people doesn't mean the good is poisoned."
Their dancing had continued, bodies still completely touching, so he knew she could feel him tense, but then subsequently relax as she stopped speaking. The hand that laid upon her waist remained, and he gently stroked the fabric of her dress with his thumb. He felt her shiver, and when her grip tightened on his shoulder, his hand moved from her waist to her face, and he gently ran a thumb over her flushed cheek as he cupped her jaw, murmuring, "Would it be alright if I escorted you back to your chambers?"
She nodded shyly, and though their hands remained clasped as they walked, it remained comfortably silent, a sensation they both seemed to enjoy.
However, when they reached her door and she moved to enter it, he grasped a hip and turned her. Now holding both of her hips, Rickon bent his head considerably so their foreheads nearly rested against one another's.
His next words were quiet, as if he wanted to pretend he could retract them.
"I think it would be best if you got to know me."
Shireen took a step back and met his eyes challengingly and said, "Then you have to let me. Completely."
For a moment, all was still. Rickon knew that this was the moment he had to choose. He did not want to be weak, compromised, but he could no longer deny himself of this woman. He was already drowning in her and he felt the urge to surrender himself to his impulse, a sensation he had never before experienced.
With a small growl of surrender he stepped forward and grasped her face, lifting it to his as he pressed his lips to hers in a gentle, yet fervent kiss. Her lips were soft and she tasted of the wine they had drank with dinner. He thought that there would never again be so sweet a taste.
He drew back, and saw that her cheek was pink, but her eyes showed no embarrassment or nervousness, only lust. As she drank the sight of him in, her eyes roamed his body and her hands reached up, seizing his collar and pulling his lips down to hers once again. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he immediately wound a hand into her hair, the other wrapping tightly around her and pressing her hard against him.
He gently nipped at her lower lip, causing her to emit a small gasp before she parted her lips for his tongue. He was gentle with her as he explored her mouth, and when they drew back from one another, they were both panting softly. He couldn't hold back though, and instead he began placing soft kisses along the edge of her jaw and then down the clear side of her neck, and when he reached the juncture between her neck and shoulder, she shuddered and sank more heavily into his arms.
He walked her slowly back against the wall, until his hands were placed on either side of her head and her hands clutched his curls, tugging slightly when his tongue ran lightly over her bottom lip.
Suddenly she released her hands and gently pressed him back. He immediately felt worried that he may have come on too strong, and tried to gently apologize.
"I didn't mean for that to get so out of hand or to make you feel pressured, I apologize -"
"Rickon, stop. That wasn't bad at all." She was breathing heavily as she said, "It was good. Really, really good. That's why I had to stop. I – well – I wanted to do more."
He spoke into to her softly when he replied.
"I can wait for our wedding. We should go about this properly."
They stood there for a minute more, simply enjoying the feel of each other's company, before she stepped forward and placed a chaste kiss on his lips, saying goodnight and entering her chambers.
He wandered back to his own rooms, deep in thought, and by the time he reached the door, he was desperate to be alone. Walking through the door, he leaned against it and ducked his head, burying his hands in his hair.
Rickon had begun to care for her.
He was deeply, utterly fucked.
For the next two weeks, Shireen and Rickon would meet at least once throughout the day. They never kissed as deeply as they had before, trying to restrain themselves and keep relatively chaste, though when the kisses he trailed down her neck caused her to whimper, it took everything in him to pull back, rather than wrap her legs around his waist and press her against the nearest wall or tree.
They spent much of their time in the woods with Shaggy by their side, and he was surprised to find that he actually enjoyed talking to her, telling her stories of his, sharing details about himself and recalling stories of his youth.
He wasn't much of a talker ordinarily, but he found it difficult to stop when she asked him questions and was genuinely interested in his responses. Her laughter was genuine, and her laugh was a snorting, unladylike sound that caused him to smirk in response. She told him of her life being kept in a castle, separated from the rest of the world, and how Davos had been the one to actually raise her. How she had begun to learn to fight when her father commanded his armies to assist in the War Beyond the Wall. She had though she would never be betrothed, and she was keenly aware that people would be trying to kill her in order to gain Dragonstone, so she had begun to train in specialties that could be practiced on one's own.
They trained together, he helped her perfect her archery, and she taught him to throw knives. At first when he was terrible, he would become angry and often snap at her before stalking off. Rather than fear or shy from his dangerous temper, she would instead follow him and speak in an equally sharp voice as she told him that he wouldn't be good at everything, and to stop acting like a child.
She was the only one besides Arya who put him in his place. She would not accept any of his bullshit, though when he was angry justly, she would allow him to rant for a while before offering advice.
Some nights they would simply bundle up as much as possible, and lay on their backs in the snow, as she pointed out constellations and they shared the different stories which were told of them. Some nights as they lay side by side it was simply silent, and they wouldn't speak as they laid beside each other and then walked back to the castle. Neither had any problem with this, though every night after kissing her, sometimes a bit more heated than usual, he found himself incredibly frustrated and having to finish himself to fantasies of her.
That was why when Arya came across him in the practice yard where he was violently throwing dozens of knives at targets nearly as hard as he could while Shaggy paced and growled at anyone who walked by, she was extremely surprised. Everyone in Rickon's family had begun to see the effect Shireen had on him, though nobody had asked about it, knowing Rickon would shut down.
"What has you acting like the targets are Lannisters?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Typical of Arya, instead of leaving she hopped onto a nearby bench usually used for laying down weapons, and crossed her legs.
"Did you and Shireen have a row?"
"No."
"So you two are okay?"
"Yes. That is sort of the problem."
Arya snorted and leaned back, propping herself up with both arms behind her and looking at him knowingly.
"Stop for a minute. Sit down."
Rickon sighed, annoyed, but complied anyway, pulling a chair over beside her. He took a few deep breaths before deciding to talk with her; her being the only other person he knew who might be able to empathize.
"I don't want to be weak. I feel weak around her, as though she could hurt me or be hurt. I don't want to feel like this."
Arya nodded, and then looked far off as she began to speak quietly.
"When I came back, Gendry was the only one I could be around. He brought me back to myself. I felt like I owed him, or he was my only tether to the world, to myself. I felt like a child. If he left me, my world would freeze. It is not normal for people like us, people who like being alone, to become vulnerable."
Rickon gently bumped his shoulder against hers. Speaking of her time in Braavos always made her a bit detached, sad for the girl she was, and remembering why she had left.
She turned to him them, and had a wistful smile on her face when she said, "It's worth it though. And she probably feels the same way. Just let yourself go, because after you do, you'll feel stronger than ever, knowing she's behind you."
Turning back to the targets, she hopped off of the bench and picked up a few of his knives, turning to him and challenging, "Want to see who can hit the center more with ten throws?"
"Don't be upset when I put you to shame."
He hit the bull's eye six times, she hit it five.
As she stormed off, she slapped Gendry's arm when he laughed at her annoyance.
A week passed, during which Rickon began sneaking into her chambers at night. Though his desire for her increased every day, he didn't enter her chamber with the intention to further their physical relationship. Instead, he would tell her of his day, and revealed his fears, hopes, and many other things he did not share with anyone apart from his family before. Shireen seemed to understand this, and she would lay in silence, holding his hand or stroking along the forearm that held her. When she spoke of dark times, the hopelessness and worthlessness she felt as a child, how she saw her father slipping farther and farther away, he would hold her tighter or press light kisses against her hair.
That was why, when she had been at Winterfell for three weeks and their wedding was just one week away, and she seemed to be avoiding him, he couldn't help but be alarmed. He went to visit her that night, and found her sitting against the headboard, her knees pulled tight against her chest and her arms encircling them. When he entered her room, she didn't meet his eyes. When he sat cautiously on the edge of her bed, she pulled her furs up nearly to her chin.
"Shireen, is everything all right?"
She cleared her throat before answering quietly, "Yes, I'm fine."
Whether instinct or merely common sense, he knew to move slowly as he moved along the bed to be sitting beside her.
"Shireen –"
Finally she seemed to come to life as she lifted her blue eyes, stormy with emotions he couldn't name, and blurted out, "Was my greyscale the first thing you noticed the first time you saw me?"
Rickon felt his eyes widen and eyebrows raise in astonishment at her question. She was very self conscious about her greyscale, this he knew, but he wanted to know what had suddenly caused her to question him about it.
"What in the Seven Hells has you thinking about that?"
Her eyes watered slightly but she didn't look away as she now asked in a slightly quivering voice, "Was it?"
He pulled her against his chest and combed his hand through her hair the way he knew she liked it.
"I first saw the back of your head. Your hair was wild, tumbling down your back and shining like dragon glass. When you turned, I saw your eyes," he lifted her chin and gently kissed her eyelids, "a nose", a gentle peck on the tip of her nose, "two cheeks," he now leaned down gently, first kissing the clear side of her face, and then, even more gently, kissing every inch of her grey and rough skin as tears began to silently stream down her face, "and a pair of lips that were so incredibly tempting, even though they were turned into a frown," He leaned down, and gently pressed his lips to hers, before drawing back and holding her face. He stroked a thumb over her grey cheekbone and forced her to meet his eyes.
"You have a grey cheek and side of your neck. I still think you are beautiful."
Still silently tearing, she shook her head and whispered, "No, I'm not."
"You are. Not just your appearance either. Your loud, snorting laughter. The way you stick out your tongue when you notch an arrow. How you flick my ear when I say something salacious to you. The way you are, the way you've survived. Sure, your looks make me speechless, but it is who you are that makes your arrival in Winterfell one of the best things that has happened to me."
He held her close, and for a few minutes, nothing was said between the two, he simply tucked her head into the notch of his collarbone and traced random swirls along her spine.
She finally spoke into his chest, not sounding sad anymore, only tired and weary as she said, "I was sitting at the tables next to the practice yard, waiting for Arya and Gendry to join me. A group of women were sitting at the table beside me. They all spoke of how they had been in your bed" Rickon flinched at that, and for the first time felt regret for his womanizing tendencies before he had met Shireen, "and how you had always been wild when they laid with you. They said that I was," she cleared her throat and a touch of embarrassment entered her tone, "They said that I was too ugly, diseased, fragile to hold onto you. That you must loathe being paired with someone like me. Each bragged at being prettier than me, and then laughed at the prospect of luring you out of our bed and into theirs after we were wed."
Shireen turned to look at him, and startled for a moment when she noticed that Rickon wore a murderous expression and let out a soft growl. He separated them and turned her, grasping her chin and staring into her eyes with as much intensity as he could when he snarled, "Those women are stupid. I will never stray from our bed or from you in any way. We both know you are tough as the Seven hells. You have a hold on me. I'm yours."
Shireen looked into his eyes, and when she saw only truth, her gaze turned hungry. She gripped his hair and pulled his mouth to hers, her mouth pressed hard against his. He let out a low moan as she lifted up her night dress to sit on his lap, gripping his hips tightly with her thighs. She bit his lower lip before running her tongue over it. She plunged her tongue into his mouth, taking complete control of him.
He had never been so happy to relinquish control in his life.
Her mouth left his lips, leaving wet kisses in a trail over the edge of his jaw, nipping his earlobe before kissing down his neck. When she felt him shudder as she traced his pulse point, she began sucking on the skin in earnest. Rickon felt himself harden, and unthinkingly gripped her hips and thrust himself up, rubbing himself against her through his breeches and her small clothes.
Rather than pull away, as he expected, he simply heard Shireen let out a small gasp and freeze, before hesitantly grinding down against him and burying her head under his chin as she let out a moan. His fingers traveled from her hips and moved up her sides, before softly running along the underside of her breasts. When he stroked her nipples through her nightdress she let out a whimper. Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, he flipped her over.
Her hair was splayed against her pillow, legs slightly parted, and he lay between them, resting most of his weight on his elbows and forearms. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest heaving. Rickon thought that he had never seen something so seductive in his entire life.
He pressed his lips to hers gently, then whispered close to her ear with deep gentleness, "I won't lay with you before our wedding, but can I do something that will make you feel good?"
Shireen looked at him and smiled softly before nodding and pushing herself slightly up to press a quick kiss to his lips.
He kissed her slowly down her neck, running his lips lightly along her grey roughened skin. He dipped his tongue in the hollow of her throat and grazed his teeth along her collarbones, smirking when she whimpered. As he licked, kissed, and bit every inch of her neck and upper chest, Shireen began to slightly pant. When he reached the top of her nightdress, he traced his fingers along the skin directly above it. His lips brushed her ear as he slowly asked her, "Is it alright if I go lower?"
Her voice was rasping and nearly a sigh when she said, "Gods, yes" with a quiet laugh.
He smiled as he drew back and slowly unlaced the top of her nightdress before shrugging her out of it completely. When her breasts were bared she suddenly blushed and crossed her arms over herself. "I know they aren't much-"
"You are ravishing. Don't cover yourself."
Rickon grasped her wrists lightly and drew her arms back, letting her see the lust filled look he had and his eyes drank the image of her in.
Any self consciousness Shireen possessed was lost the moment he began to caress her breasts with lips, teeth and tongue. She gasped and tangled her fingers into his curls, arching her back and pressing herself closer to her.
He removed a hand that had been lightly grazing a fingernail across her nipple and trailed in slowly between her breasts. The pads of his fingertips traced along the line of her small clothes and before he had to ask, she let out a chanting moan of, "please, Rickon, yes."
Without hesitation he pulled down her small clothes and moved his hand to her center, and let out a growling moan. "Fuck, Shireen, you're so wet."
He ran a single finger along her lips and her hips bucked up to meet his hand when she let out a keening sound. He moved his body farther down the bed and left a line of kisses until he was licking just below her belly button.
His finger entered her and began a steady rhythm, and a second soon joined it. When he finally lowered his head and ran his tongue over her clit, she let out a sharp cry and lifted her arms above her head to grip her pillow. As he worked more thoroughly over her center, her entire body began to shiver. Just as he felt her get close to the edge, he lifted his head from between her legs and bit down softly on her hip bone, saying harshly, "You are mine, Shireen Baratheon."
Leaning back down, he sped up his rhythm considerably and grazed his teeth over her clit before sucking on it in earnest. With a final cry her body fluttered around him and she came, arching her back high and saying, "I'm yours, Rickon, I'm yours."
When her panting had slowed, she propped herself up on her elbows and smiled softly at him with hooded eyes. When he licked his fingers clean, she simply looked on in fascination. He crawled up to lay beside her and she leaned down to kiss him. Tasting herself on his tongue, she pulled back and let out a surprised, "huh."
Rickon let out a loud laugh and after putting her nightdress and smallclothes back on he moved to wrap his arms around her, but Shireen instead sat back onto her knees. Confused, he looked at her with surprised questioning at the expression of concentration and determination on her face.
"Wha –"
"I want to make you feel as good as you just made me feel."
Multiple scenarios flashed through Rickon's mind, but he tried to stop them, not wanting her to feel obligated.
"You don't have to do anything, Shireen."
"I want to, you dolt. I've just never done this before, so you'll have to teach me what to do."
Just as he began to protest once again, struggling to maintain chivalrous, she reached down and rubbed against his hardness through his breeches. He let out a loud moan, causing a smirk to cross Shireen's face.
However, her face softened as she lifted her hand to run it gently down his face, then continuing down his chest until she reached the bottom of his tunic, grasping it and lifting it over his head. With light touches from her delicate yet calloused fingertips, she trailed over every plane of his chest, causing him to shudder.
Scars littered his body. He had not been lying when he told her they were more unsightly, gruesome even than her greyscale. But Shireen was used to seeing scars, having seen them herself every time her face flashed across a reflective surface.
Her hands lingered over a particularly large one that spanned from below his left pectoral down and across his torso, ending just above his belly button. When her eyes met his with a questioning look, he answered her before she had to ask.
"The final battle of the war. I had gotten my group of men back to our base camp, but my second in command saw a young woman injured in the snow at the edge of the forest. He ran out to help her and was then ambushed by a few wildlings that had deserted the actual fighting. I'd already removed my armor, so in killing the four of them I nearly died myself, lost almost half my blood."
He wasn't deeply emotional or anguished as he told the story, as his family had heard it before, but the only ones that had seen the wound were his second in command, and Jon Snow as he had carried him in his arms to the maester. When he had been with women since the battles, it had never been intimate or slow, not ever removing his clothing- it was always a quick fuck.
She nodded to him in understanding, and leaned down, pressing her lips to it just once before finishing her exploration of his body with her fingertips and lips.
Laying him back, she straddled his knees and slowly pulled down his breeches, leaving him completely revealed. She looked at his length with a curious look that almost had him laughing, but the moment she began to trace her fingers along him all thoughts of laughter were gone as he let out a guttural moan.
He helped her as she explored his body, giving suggestions and guiding her. When she finally wrapped her hand around him and began to move, he let out a groan of "Fucking hell, Shireen." She grew bolder, and gripped him tighter. Within minutes, he came harder than he had in what seemed like forever, coating her hand and his stomach.
She sat back and Rickon grabbed a cloth from her bathroom, returning to clean himself and herself up. He met her questioning stare and when she asked, "Good?" in a forced nonchalant tone, he laughed lightly and replied, "Gods, more than good. Much, much more than good."
They laid beside one another and Rickon pulled up her furs to cover them. She let out a loud yawn and he smiled at her, wrapping his arm around her middle and pulling her to him before tucking her head beneath his chin.
"You probably shouldn't be sneaking into a lady's chambers and participating in carnal activities," she said in a mocking scandalized tone.
"I'm the Prince, I can do as I please."
"Well then, I am glad that we discovered I can perform my wifely duties and satisfy my prince husband's needs in the future."
"And what sort of husband would I be if I could not reciprocate your actions?"
He bent his head and lightly lifted her chin, meeting her eyes with a wide, unguarded smile that she wore as well.
They kissed, slowly and sweetly. When they parted Shireen laced her finger around a curl that had fallen in his eyes, twirling it gently. She continued to look at her finger when she whispered, "I think I may care for you very much, Rickon."
Rickon could barely breathe. This girl in his arms, this beautiful, confusing, sensitive, deadly woman, had penetrated every one of the walls he had spent years fortifying. Not a single human had ever known him more thoroughly, and she had deemed him worthy of being cared for. His ugly sides, anger, viciousness, pride – she had seen them and accepted them.
He remembered what Arya had told him, how letting go was the only way to overcome the weakness he felt, to feel stronger with her beside him.
He took a deep breath and met her eyes before lifting a hand to caress the grey side of her face. He laid his forehead on hers and whispered as quietly as he could with her still being able to hear, "I think I may care for you very much as well, Shireen."
She leaned her head against his chest, and they fully wrapped around one another, warm beneath the furs. She let out a content hum and said, "I'm yours, and you're mine."
Her breathing slowed, and when she was on the brink of sleep he whispered back, "You're mine, and I'm yours."
The following morning, a group of women were discussing Rickon's betrothal. From nowhere, a black direwolf dove towards them, stopping inches away from the lot of them. Each one of them froze, paralyzed in their seats. Everyone in the practice yard witnessed as the direwolf snapped its jaws dangerously near their faces and let out a low, long growl, falsely charging but leaving them unharmed.
As it stalked away and then disappeared into the castle, the crowd who had watched were left a bit shaken and extremely confused.
Their confusion increased even more when Lady Arya, who had been approaching the women with fury in her face, began to laugh hysterically.
For the next three days, Rickon and Shireen were constantly busy, being sized, poked, prodded, consulted; all activities involved with their upcoming wedding. Both nights Rickon entered her chambers and they would desperately press one another against her bed, tangling in the sheets and bringing one another over the edge.
However, on the fourth day –three days before the wedding – Sansa was due to arrive. Rickon was so young when Sansa had left Winterfell, and he didn't really see her that often, once a year at best. She seemed to be much happier, living the life he knew she had always wanted. Though he may not know her very well, he still loved her as his sister, and showed her the same protectiveness that he showed Arya, Bran, and Jon.
Apprehension still coiled in his stomach. One of the few things he did remember from his youth was how proper she was, how she disapproved of Arya's unorthodox behavior and her tendency to defy what was appropriate for a lady.
Though Shireen was incredibly resilient and fierce, he still noted how she slightly flinched when overhearing gossip about her appearance and how she shouldn't be marrying him. If Sansa did not like her, Shireen would no doubt pick up on it with her ability to read people incredibly well.
When he broke his fast with her for the first time this week, she was incredibly quiet, picking at her food and tapping her foot against the ground. As she turned to leave and be fitted in yet another wedding dress, Rickon reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers. She turned to look at him and had on a small smile.
"She doesn't bite, you needn't worry or be scared," he said.
She let out a snort and rolled her eyes. "Seven hells, I'm not afraid of her, I'm just scared that she'll be vocal about her disapproval."
"And what, you've already decided she'll disapprove? Don't be stubborn, you managed to win my approval and much more and we bloody well know I'm a bit harder to win over than the average person," he replied with a sarcastic tone.
Instead of agreeing or disagreeing with him, she just squeezed his hand lightly and turned to reach her fitting on time, perhaps a bit late.
Sansa arrived at late morning, accompanied by her husband, Willas Tyrell. He stepped slowly down from their carriage, carefully placing his cane on each step. His limp was not so severe as people said, similar to how one might walk with a sprained ankle. When he reached the snow covered ground he turned and grabbed a small hand that had reached from the carriage, and an enormous grin covered his face that Rickon could see even from his position near the castle's entrance beside Bran, many feet away. When Sansa stepped out, she walked down the steps with an equally slow gait, and when she straightened, it became immediately apparent why. Her cloak was now opened at the front and revealed a small but clearly visible bump on her stomach that she laid a hand across.
Rickon maintained his position and they walked to him. Bran reached a hand toward Willas and said in a warm but formal tone, "Lord and Lady Tyrell, I'm honored that you've journeyed so far to Winterfell." Sansa laughed and slapped aside the extended hand that was customary, instead leaning down and wrapping him in a tight embrace, whispering, "I've missed you, Bran." Bran laughed as well and hugged her back.
She turned to Rickon and looked at him with amusement in her eyes as she said, "The last thing I would ever expect in a letter from Winterfell would be the words 'the wedding of Rickon Stark'. And I understand Willas and I are to dine with Bran and Meera as well as you and Lady Baratheon?"
"Yes, we'll give you an hour to settle in and ready yourself, we'll be meeting in the Great Hall. Gendry and Arya are away, but we'll be seeing them tomorrow when they return," he looked down at her stomach and a smile crossed his face as he said, "and congratulations on the upcoming addition to the family."
Willas smiled widely and looked down to Sansa, who looked back with love shining in her eyes. He then turned to Rickon and in an ecstatic tone of voice replied, "We're so excited, and already I'm the most overprotective father in the world."
Bran spoke again and began turning his chair, calling out, "I have some things to attend to, Willas and Sansa, I'll show you to your rooms. Rickon, I'll see you at lunch with Shireen."
As Sansa walked past, Rickon heard her muse quietly to her husband, "Shireen Baratheon, who would have guessed?" and Rickon felt a pit of dread weigh down his stomach.
Bran, Meera, Willas, and Sansa were already seated when Rickon entered the Great Hall, and he was relieved to see that Shireen had not yet arrived. He was the only one who could draw her out of her shell almost immediately, and he didn't want for her to have been alone with Sansa without him by her side.
He sat beside Meera while Bran sat at the head of the table and Willas sat on Bran's other side, placing him directly across the table from Sansa. He was pleased to see that there wasn't the usual retinue of guards around to make the situation even more tense, and besides, he knew how to kill a man twelve ways with the cutlery in front of him.
When he heard the door slowly open slowly, he caught Shireen's gaze immediately, nodding to her and sending a small reassuring smile. Her nervous expression transformed into one that seemed relieved and her lips twitched into a similar smile.
He felt Sansa's gaze on him, and she didn't look away when he met her guarded gaze. Shireen nodded to each of the men and women seated at the table, quietly greeting them before sitting down quickly besides Rickon. Her fingers brushed against his and he quickly laced their hands together, giving a small squeeze.
Willas was the first to address her, asking polite questions that she could answer easily. The first course was served and wine flowed, yet Sansa did not speak. She watched Shireen in silence, appraising Rickon as well. Rickon felt himself grow angry as Shireen's discomfort was nearly tangible, though Bran and Meera were trying to keep a conversation going as a distraction.
They continued eating, but as he caught Sansa's eyes narrow as she glanced between the two of them in deep thought, he finally had enough. Placing both hands on either side of his plate, he began to stand to address her. But when he had risen nary an inch, Shireen gripped his forearm and tugged him down with surprising force. He turned to her and gave a questioning glance, but she only rolled her eyes. Realizing that he had nearly caused a scene, he relaxed into his seat and let out a small huff.
Finally, Shireen met Sansa's eyes and asked in a controlled tone, "Lady Tyrell?"
Rickon froze, ready to defend Shireen from any barb that Sansa might throw at her.
Instead, Sansa cocked an eyebrow and her scrutinizing look instead turned to one of amusement and warmness as she replied, "Gods I'm sorry, I know I can't stop staring, but you must tell me how you have managed to actually make my brother act like he has human emotions."
His mouth dropped and Sansa now grinned widely and laughed, saying, "I never thought he would actually meet his match."
Shireen seemed to be shocked as she replied in a stilted tone, "Lady Tyrell, there is no need to apologize-"
"Sansa, please call me Sansa. After all, we're about to be good sisters. And there is, I know it was abominably rude, it must have seemed like I was about to make the both of you stand up and turn for me to see. It was just so hard to believe that someone outside of the family managed to actually get to him."
Rickon groaned in exasperation and leaned into the palm of his hand, "Seven hells, Sansa, please don't start."
From his side he heard Shireen's snorting laughter and she bumped her shoulder against his.
"It wasn't the easiest task."
"And Bran informed me that you were the one who thwarted your own assassination attempt. How did you manage that?"
Sansa now led the conversation and continued to throughout the entirety of the lunch, asking Shireen questions that she now felt comfortable answering, and Sansa was genuinely interested in her responses.
When the meal drew to a close, Meera grabbed Shireen's arm and led her from the Great Hall, discussing bakers and the wedding feast.
Willas left as well with Bran, and only Sansa and Rickon remained.
They walked to the door in silence, but he couldn't help himself and pulled her into a hug, whispering "thank you" into her hair before pulling away.
She wore a soft smile and replied, "She is good for you. And you care for her?"
"Quite a lot."
"Then I'm glad for you, little brother."
She turned and began to walk away, laughing at him when he shouted out in an indignant voice, "I'm no longer little!"
That night when he entered Shireen's chambers, she was sitting on her bed, still dressed, deep in thought. She met his eyes, and her stormy eyes looked absolutely determined.
"I don't think you should sneak into here again before the wedding."
Rickon was immediately worried. Had he made her uncomfortable at all? Did she regret what they had been doing in her bed?
Seeing his obvious panic, she stood and walked over to him. She stood on her toes and wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, pressing a kiss and smiling against his lips.
When she pulled away, she looked a bit nervous and said quietly, "I just want our wedding night to be special, and I thought if we were longing for each other even more it might make it better."
Rickon let out a groan, but he understood her point. Already the mere prospect of not being with her for the next two nights was killing him, and his excitement for their wedding night was heightened beyond the incredible degree of what it already was.
"Our wedding night will be special no matter what, but I understand completely. However, we won't be seeing much of each other during the next three days, so may I get a proper good bye?"
Shireen tightened her hold on his neck and answered his question with a hard kiss, which he deepened immediately, gripping her hips tightly. He walked her to the door, pressing her against it, and she hitched her leg around his hips. He ground against her and she gasped, but he then stepped from her.
A smirk covered his face when he saw her surprise quickly turn to frustration and annoyance.
"You are an evil man, Rickon Stark."
Rickon laughed and a grin covered his face as he replied, "That's what they say."
He moved around her and opened her door, taking a step out of her chamber when he felt her grab his upper arm. When he faced her, she stepped forward and placed a slower, soft kiss on his lips, embracing him and tucking her head against his chest.
Her voice was a mere sigh as she said, "I'm yours, and you're mine."
He stepped away from her, placing one last kiss on her lips before repeating back to her, "You're mine, and I'm yours."
Rickon had not been japing when he had said he and Shireen would not see each other very much in the days before the wedding. They were only able to see one another at meals, and it was difficult to sneak quick kisses in hallways, and impossible to sneak off into the woods.
Arya and Gendry had returned from their short trip, having wanted a few days to themselves. At meals she and Sansa argued constantly, but he noticed it was only about trivial matters, primarily jokingly. After Sansa's time in the Red Keep and the war she seemed to now understand that family should not be taken for granted.
Something that made him struggle not to beam obviously was that whenever Sansa and Arya's arguments escalated beyond their joking, Shireen subtlety interjected with a comment or question, directing the conversation from the argument into whatever she had said.
She fit perfectly into the family already, and for the first time it really hit him that she was about to become that – a part of his family, not only his wife. And that was another thing that made it difficult to maintain his usual stoic behavior, his knowledge that in just days Shireen would be Lady Stark.
As the night before their wedding drew to a close, he laid awake in bed, arms crossed behind his head. Only a month ago he had loathed the idea of marrying some random girl, a stranger. But now she had become everything to him. And tomorrow, he would place his cloak on her shoulders and officially mark her as his.
He drifted off to sleep with a small smile, the image of her becoming a Stark ingrained in his head.
The morning of his wedding, Rickon was woken early and immediately fed a quick breakfast. He was shaved, bathed, and forced into layers upon layers of clothing over the course of a few hours.
Bran entered his chambers along with Willas and Gendry, arriving for a late lunch. They could see Rickon's nervousness – it was clear in the way he couldn't stop bouncing his knees or tapping his fingers along his table. They put him at ease, joking as they told stories of their own weddings. Rickon laughed as Gendry retold the story of the bedding ceremony. A group of very drunk men had stumbled towards Arya, intent on stripping her and leaving her in her smallclothes. She had incapacitated all of them in moments, at which point Gendry had strode over and lifted her up from behind the knees and back, carrying her to their bed as she loudly protested being carried 'like a bloody damsel in distress' for all of the Great Hall to hear.
Bran recalled the moment he saw Meera put on the Stark cloak.
"I was so overcome, you'll see Rickon. For her to become an official part of everything –Winterfell, the family, the legacy – it will make you the happiest man in the world."
Gendry chose this moment to laugh and then raise his eyebrows as he smirked, "Until a few hours later when you bring her back to your chambers."
Rickon felt immediately protective of Shireen, but when he realized that beneath all of Gendry's joking he was somewhat serious, he sobered. Everyone knew that Gendry and Arya had been through hell, but very few people knew the actual chain of events, only the Starks and a few friends.
He continued in a much softer voice, his face looking at something none of the others could see as he said, "Physically you'll be close, yeah, but it is something so much more when it's your wife, your life partner. I'd laid with women before Arya, but gods, it is so incredibly different."
They spoke for hours, effectively distracting Rickon from his nervousness and acting as the brothers they were. When the afternoon drew to a close and evening began, it was time for him to be escorted to the hall that had been decorated for his and Shireen's wedding. Arya, Sansa, and Meera arrived, each smiling widely as they entered the chamber.
Sansa was nearly singing as she announced, "Time to go, everyone!"
They walked him to the alter, told him where to stand, and went to their seats. All except Arya, who he knew Shireen had asked to be the one to walk with her down the aisle. Before leaving him to find Shireen, she stood on her toes and said quietly, "Wait until you see her, Rickon."
People were moving in their seats, talking quietly before stopping as music began playing. Rickon didn't notice anything around him, because at that moment Shireen had entered the room, walking down the aisle with Arya by her side.
She was the most precious thing in the world, the most important thing in his life. She looked around shyly as she began her walk. Clothed in a shimmering golden gown and covered by a Baratheon cloak, she began to walk with more purpose after Arya whispered something into her hair.
The moment her eyes met his, it felt like an electric shock. Her stormy blue eyes looked at him with relief and happiness. Though his face showed only a small smirk to everyone else, he knew that she could see what he was feeling anyway. She always could.
She stood before him and they repeated words that had been said for hundreds of years. The moment she shed her cloak and turned her back to him, his fingers shook for the first time in his life as he fastened his own around her.
Bran had not been exaggerating. To know that she was real, she was going to be a part of everything in his life, was staggering. Very little of the ceremony he actually heard, instead he and Shireen looked at one another with amusement, nervousness, and deep feeling.
When the man performing the ceremony began the call for a kiss, Rickon cut him off as he quickly wound a hand through Shireen's hair and around her lower back, pressing her to him and giving her a hard kiss.
The cheering and clapping was a roar, and when Shireen and he broke apart, they were both laughing. Their laughter trailed off, and looking at him in wonder she said, "I'm yours, and you're mine," as if she couldn't believe she wasn't dreaming.
Rickon brought her in for another kiss – to hell with tradition – and laid his forehead against hers, smiling slightly as he responded, "You're mine, and I'm yours."
There was no feast following the wedding ceremony, instead drinking, laughing, and dancing. Rickon and Shireen were torn from each other, him dancing with his good sister as well as his sisters while she danced with Willas and Gendry as well as conversing with Bran.
After just a few minutes, Bran cleared his throat and made an announcement to the relatively small crowd of people populating the wedding.
"Prince Rickon and his Lady Stark are tired and must rest, therefore the bedding will take place when they deem it right."
Rickon was standing on the opposite end of the hall from Shireen, but from his vantage point he saw a few drunks lurch towards her, drunk enough not to consider the fact she was Rickon Stark's newly wedded wife. Before they could touch her, Arya strode to her side, her sword clearly worn on a belt over her dress.
Shaggydog had somehow entered the Great Hall and had followed Arya, now sitting beside her with his lips pulled back in a snarl.
Arya looped her arm through Shireen's and escorted her out of the hall, and to their chambers, Shaggy standing at the door they had left from like a guard.
Rickon ducked from the room as quickly as he could, not wanting anyone to note his eager face that he could not for the life of him replace with his stoicism.
Shireen was his wife.
When he entered his bedchambers, Shireen was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking around curiously and tracing the patterns of wolves that covered his pillows and blankets. He had always been the one to sneak into her room and this was the first time she had been in his.
The image of her on his bed was one he liked. Really liked. When she heard him close the door she startled and looked up to him. Her smile was nervous and she began to pick at the embroidery of the blankets, a habit he had noticed she seemed to do at feasts when she was anxious.
Wanting her to be completely at ease, he approached her slowly, looking at her with as much sincere appreciation as he could convey in an expression. He was wearing only his smallclothes and a tunic, and he watched her gaze drink him in, lingering between his thighs.
He sat beside her and reached forward with both hands, cradling her face and brushing his thumb over the grey cheek he hardly noticed anymore.
"Seven hells, how did I find a woman like you?"
She smiled and seemed to forget her worry, replying in a japing tone, "The gods must like you very much, I suppose."
His response was a low hum as he released her face, placing a hand in her hair and running the other down her side to her hip, where he slowly traced a looping pattern. His gaze followed his hand's path, and when his eyes returned to hers she wore a longing expression for a moment before she leaned in, tangling her hands in the curls she often liked to twist around her fingers, and pressed a kiss to his lips softly.
He drew back, wanting her to see his gentle expression, for her to have the knowledge that this was special, but before he could say anything she let out an impatient growl and pulled his face back to hers, kissing him hard and nipping at his lower lip.
They seemed to anticipate one another's movements, and simultaneous they moved further onto the bed, until Rickon sat against his headboard and Shireen straddled his lap.
Rickon laid his hands on her thighs gripping them gently and running them up and down, from her knees to her hips and she continued to take the lead of their kissing. When she ground against him hard, she gasped and pulled back, her arms loosely crossed around his neck.
Bright Tully blue eyes met the grey-blue eyes that had graced the Baratheon family for generations, and their bodies stilled. Shireen reached down and grasped the bottom of his tunic, pulling it off of him slowly. Her fingers traced over his chest slowly, as if it were the first time she was seeing him. He grasped her chin and pulled her gaze back to his, kissing her softly.
After that their movements were slower, seemed to hold more purpose. Each kiss was an exploration, and their touches tried to map and memorize one another's entire body. The smallclothes that covered her breasts were shed soon after, and each kiss, bite, and suck that Rickon gave them caused her to gasp softly, finally letting out a keen that he could not take anymore.
Rickon flipped them over gently, holding most of body weight on his own arms, though he was still pressed flush against her.
He reached between them, slipping a finger into her slowly, smirking when she gasped and let out a smile whine. His rhythm soon had her grinding against his palm, and he added another finger, trying to stretch her out. When her fingers tightened in his hair and she panted out, "Please, please, please," Rickon rubbed his thumb along her bundle of nerves, causing her lean up and bite the juncture of his neck and shoulder as she rode out her orgasm, fluttering and clenching around him with a high pitched groan.
When she stopped clinging to him and rested against the mattress once more, he pulled the final bits of fabric that separated them off of their bodies. His length pressed hard against her thigh, and her hooded expression showed no hint of her previous nervousness.
He trailed his lips over her jaw and to her ear, repeating the pattern. When he pulled back, he searched her face.
His voice was filled with wonder and sincerity as he met her eyes and said, "I love you."
She smiled softly and looked at him with amusement as she replied immediately, "And I love you," as if it should have been obvious.
She parted her legs and bent her knees. Slowly she traced her toes up from his calves until they reached his lower back, where she wrapped her legs around him fully. He lined himself up to her entrance.
Shireen reached a hand up and trailed her fingers down his face, finally running her thumb along his lower lip. He turned his head and gently kissed the pad of her thumb and she sighed softly.
He moved until his tip brushed against her center and shuddered as he felt how warm and wet she was, burying his face against her shoulder.
"Do it quickly, yeah?" she whispered, and he met her eyes searchingly. Shireen looked nervous, but there was not any real fear or uncertainty as he had feared he would find.
"Of course, Shireen. I'll do anything, just ask."
She seemed satisfied, calmed from his answer. She curved her spine and tightened her legs around his hips, pressing him into her gradually until he met her barrier.
"I'm yours, Rickon. Make me yours."
He kissed her hard, and in that moment pushed fully inside of her, tearing her maidenhead in one movement.
Shireen instinctually bucked against him trying to shy from the pain and let out a cry, so Rickon held himself still, though he gently grasped her hip and kept it pressed to the bed, knowing if she moved too much it would hurt her much more, running his lips along her face and kissing away the few tears that escaped her as he murmured apologies and told her he loved her. After the moment the words had escaped him before, he felt as though he could keep telling her he loved her until his voice was hoarse.
She was so tight around him and so warm that it took every ounce of self control he had not to begin thrusting into her hard. But this was Shireen beneath him, not any maiden who had thrown herself at him in a tavern, so he suppressed his desire.
He felt her muscles slowly relax, and her hard breaths became steady once again. He pulled his face back and met her eyes. Her face still held discomfort, but now she looked curious and her eyes shown with affection. Experimentally, she rolled her hips up, causing Rickon to let out a grunt as he uttered, "Fuck, Shireen."
She had let out a small gasp, but she laughed breathlessly as she said, "That is the general idea."
He laughed lightly as well, pulling out of her almost completely before slowly entering her once again. He had imagined bedding Shireen nearly one thousand times, but he had never thought it would be lighthearted and include laughter. This was better than he had ever imagined.
When he had moved back inside of her, she let out a louder cry, and before he had to ask if she was okay, she ground her hips against him, seeking friction.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and he began to rock into her slowly, a rhythm she soon reciprocated. Her whimpers and pants gave way to louder groans and cries, chanting his name.
Rickon had never felt closer to another human being in his entire life. He had fucked countless women, but this was so dramatically different. It felt as though he and Shireen were melting into one another, becoming something more than just the two of them.
When she asked that he go a little bit harder, he was more than happy to comply. He knew he was close to finishing, but he wanted her to come undone first. He adjusted the angle of his hips so that he was pressing on her bundle of nerves, and she shuddered against him, her thighs trembling. His hand moved between them and circled his finger against where they were connected.
The response was nearly instantaneous. Her back arched sharply and she threw her head back while the hands that had been gripping his shoulders tightened until her nails nearly drew blood.
A moment later he followed, the muscles in his lower abdomen clenching as he spilled his seed into her.
They lay together for a minute, catching their breath. Rickon pulled out of her slowly, noticing her small wince, and then pressed a sweet kiss onto her lips.
He lay beside her, and they looked at one another for what could have been minutes or hours, just drinking in one another's face and meeting eyes occasionally, love shining from both of them.
When he reached forward she turned around, pressing her back against his front and allowing him to wrap his arms around her tightly. Shireen let out a yawn, causing Rickon to laugh and place his head on her shoulder, kissing it lightly.
"Have I tired you out, Lady Stark?"
"It appears so Prince Stark, though it may have been a fluke. Perhaps we should try again in the morning? And as often as possible after that?"
Rickon laughed once again and Shireen's snorting laughter joined his. She shifted closer to him, and he happily tightened his arms around her torso.
They did not go to bed immediately. He simply breathed in her hair, kissing her over and over as she ran her fingers along his forearms. They weren't seeking pleasure, just comforting themselves and reminding one another that they were there.
Shireen was Rickon's, and Rickon was Shireen's.
They spoke of the Prince of the North and his Princess as if they were characters in a wives' tale of adventure and fate. The wolf prince was still unnerving, a brutal warrior, but beside him stood a fierce princess that kept him human. She was said to be beautiful in a deadly way, her face half painted with darkness. But when the prince looked at her, she was the most stunning woman in the North.
In small Wilding revolts that continued to follow after the war, they stayed with each other as they fought, the prince growling with his sword bared before her, while those that attacked him fell with her knives in their necks.
They told the tales of the wolf prince who finally found a wolf princess.