A/N: I originally didn't plan on writing this at all. I've been creating my own fantasy world and novel having been heavily influenced by Martin's epic series. Elifer Blackthorn was a character I originally planned on including in my novel, but after completely overhauling my conlang and fictional history his character no longer fit. The original idea for this scene came out of that same situation, and by an intriguing artwork a friend of mine did with Sansa Stark as Queen in the North, sitting on a throne with a pack of direwolves for her Queensguard. I'm not overly fond of Sansa as a character, even after finishing A Song of Ice and Fire through to its current end, but after seeing this image the possibilities of her character revealed themselves to me, so I crafted this short romance piece.
It assumes a lot, but generally takes place after A Dance with Dragons. Jon was resurrected, the Targaruen prophecy fulfilled, etc., etc., etc. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it.
Elifer Blackthorn so often now found himself breathing sighs of relief. It had been two years since Daenerys Targaryen crossed the Narrow Sea with her dragons, her nephew Aegon, and two armies. It had been two years since the Others had come, the army of the undead at their backs, to lay siege to the Wall with their weapons of winter. It had been two years since the true parentage of the bastard Jon Snow had been revealed.
Two long years had passed since the shortest winter the realm had ever known. In a matter of months the Targaryen dragons had made short work of the Others and the wights. The northmen, armed with dragonglass and Valyrian steel, played their part. And their reward for their invaluable assistance in keeping the realm safe was their autonomy from the Iron Throne.
Two years ago, Elifer Blackthorn had been a knight of Blackthorn Keep. His older brother Enoch was lord, but now that responsibility was his nephew Ivar's, though the lord was but a child. Lady Saega was the boy's guide in all lordly matters, as the estranged wife of good Lord Enoch. But Elifer, he was a travelling man. He had spent much time in Blackthorn Keep after the war. During it he had sworn his sword to Lady Sansa Stark after discovering her cowering in the Eyrie under the guardianship of Lord Petyr Baelish. I returned you to the North, he remembered fondly. And now you are a queen. Technically the duties of King in the North were her younger brother Bran's, and then her even younger brother Rickon's, but Bran was a different boy and Rickon just a child, and both happily deferred their rule to their older, wiser sister. But Bran is perhaps the wisest of us all.
Elifer recalled the stories Bran had told; the things he had witnessed. Of the Children of the Forest, still hiding beyond the wall, and of the Three-Eyed Crow, the last true greenseer. Of the lifetimes Bran had lived by skin-changing with the heart trees and the ravens, and of the things he had since witnessed.
"The trees have no sense of time," Bran had told them. "Through them I can see one thousand years into the past, or one thousand seconds." And that is the truth of the Old Gods. Elifer was not a pious man by any means, but he still kept the Old Gods; his home was still in the North.
And now, two years since Aegon VI married Daenerys I, and Jon became a Targaryen, Elifer was returning to the only queen he ever spared a thought for. The Queen in the North.
He smiled tenderly at the walls of Winterfell as they rose from the snow upon his approach. These were not snows he feared. Winter has come and gone, after all. These were summer snows, common this far to the north, and only becoming more frequent the closer one got to the Wall. Elifer rode his sturdy steed through the gates and to the stables, before being led by a young steward to the great hall. Within, he knew, his queen awaited.
She was as beautiful as he remembered; rich auburn hair that fell in loose curls over her shoulders and back, reaching just beyond her small but supple breasts. Her blue eyes and round face betrayed her Tully lineage, but the way she held her head so proudly was distinctly Stark. Atop her head rested an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with the runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought in the shape of longswords. It was the crown her brother had worn, forged in Riverrun. Her brother who died for the North. She wore a gown of grey wool, embroidered with white snowflakes. Its trimming was the winter fur of ermines, white and thick and warm. She wore a cloak of more white fur, though from which beast that came Elifer could not say. She looked stunning, and regal. Elifer took a knee before her, as humble a man as any. She could only smile.
"You do not owe me such courtesies, ser," she said rising from her throne of carved weirwood. "You saved me from a craven's fate. You saved the North with your sword and your silver tongue." She stepped down from the dais and stood before him. "I command you now to rise, Ser Elifer Blackthorn, and look your queen in the eyes." Elifer obeyed unquestioningly, though he stood half a head taller than Queen Sansa and ended up looking down on her. She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone.
"Your family has done much and more for mine," she went on. "Your brother Enoch died for our cause, and you gave me your sword so that the Starks might survive."
"My queen," he responded sheepishly, "I did only what any decent man would have done." She raised an eyebrow teasingly.
"Have you yet heard House Stark's new words?" Elifer shook his head no. Sansa leaned up on the tips of her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. "The North Remembers."
Later, they dined together in the queen's solar, with both Prince Bran and Prince Rickon in attendance. Bran spoke very little, but Rickon would not hold his tongue, raving on about wolf dreams he was having through his direwolf, Shaggydog. Sansa seemed to sadden when her brothers spoke of their wolves; her own direwolf, Lady, was beheaded five years ago as recompense for her sister's wolf wounding Prince Joffrey's hand.
"Your Grace," Elifer said suddenly, hoping to distract the queen from thoughts of direwolves and years bygone. She looked up at him curiously. "I have wondered; do you ever intend on marrying?" A faint blush rose to Sansa's cheeks, painting her milky skin pale pink. Elifer realised that his words may have been misconstrued as a proposal of sorts. He would marry Sansa Stark in a heartbeat, but he knew it could not be.
"Not as of yet, ser," she answered him bashfully. Elifer smiled a little at that.
"Might be just as well," he replied. "Stark suits you well, Your Grace." She giggled.
"Please, ser; you may call me Sansa. As you did when we travelled together on the road." Elifer smirked teasingly.
"Aye, but you are a queen now, not the Bastard of Baelish, and I must address you accordingly."
"A queen I am, but you do not refer to Bran or Rickon as 'Prince'." The boys looked at him expectantly, both with mischievous grins playing across their faces.
Soon enough the little princes retired, leaving Sansa and Elifer alone to finish the wine and eat fruit and cheese. One of the first things Sansa had done after the war was rebuild the glass gardens of Winterfell. It was never cold in there, and all manner of delicious fruits could grow if looked after properly.
"Have you had word of Jon?" Elifer asked her when the conversation of the Wall came up. Sansa seemed to think about her answer before replying.
"Nothing of significance," she finally said. "Just empty words." It had struck Sansa deeply when she learned her half-brother was actually her cousin. Queen Daenerys and King Aegon had legitimised Jon after the war, but he was given the name Targaryen. They also excused him from his duties in the Night's Watch, since their betrayal of him had technically killed him. It was only through the red priestess Melisandre that Jon lived on, but he still had no desire to play the game of thrones.
"Has he heard anything of Arya?" Sansa's younger sister was the only Stark still unaccounted for. After leaving the Night's Watch, Jon made it his mission to search for her. Sansa shook her head sadly, and Elifer felt a pang of guilt.
"Forgive me," he said. "You invited me here to reminisce and share in good cheer, but I have only succeeded in making you miserable." She looked up at him.
"She is alive," she said. "It's strange, but I just know she is. It's almost as though I can feel her watching me, like I used to hear Bran in the godswood." Elifer smiled sadly.
"The Starks are all skin-changers," he said. "Mayhaps it is that Nymeria still stalks these woods, with a pack at her heels, watching you from afar. Perhaps Arya can see you, in her dreams, the same way Rickon sees through the eyes of Shaggydog, and Bran through those of Summer." That seemed to make Sansa smile again, and she emptied the wine flagon into their goblets.
"I'm sure you are right," she said. "About all but one thing." He cocked his head curiously. "I did not invite you here to simply share in my food and cheer, good ser."
Elifer nodded and said, "A new duty for your loyal knight, mayhaps?" Sansa beamed.
"The highest honour I could think to grant you," she answered, still smiling. "I would make you my Hand." Elifer felt his heart skip a beat, and he lowered the goblet he was rising to his lips.
"Your Hand, Your Grace?" he asked her disbelievingly. "My queen, are you sure you think I am fit for this duty?"
"I will admit you were not my first choice," she said, blushing, "but Jon has made his own path in life, and I would not hinder him from following it. But that is not all I would grant you." More? Sansa rose and moved towards a map of the North, between the Neck and the Wall, that was hung on the wall of her solar. She studied it for the briefest moment before turning back to Elifer. "Your family has served me faithfully, and has served the North faithfully. The North Remembers. With the Boltons now gone, I would see the Blackthorns take the seat of Dreadfort." Perhaps it was the wine, but Elifer felt his head spinning. He never dreamed that his fortunes would turn in such a way. Little Lord Ivar, Lord of the Dreadfort! And me, Hand of the Queen…It seemed unreal. Unfathomable. Had he really done so much? He had killed for Sansa Stark, and had taken wounds for her too, but it was no more than she should expect from a sworn sword. And after all she has been through, she is still so sweet and generous. Before he knew it, Elifer was at her side, handing her the goblet she had left sitting on the table.
"A toast, then," he suggested, "to your new Hand, and to House Blackthorn of the Dreadfort." Sansa raised her cup and together they drank, but what happened next Elifer would have never see coming. Sansa finished her wine, and then unceremoniously let her empty cup fall to the floor. She stepped into Elifer, her hands against his chest, and rose onto the ends of her toes. He could feel her breath against her lips, and goosebumps spread about his skin. Then she kissed him, hard and deliberately, letting out a quiet moan. Elifer froze, unsure how to respond. Kiss her back, one part of his mind screamed, and another said, push her away!
To the former he relented, the latter he swallowed, and before long he felt her tongue gingerly enter his mouth. He pushed her back against the wall and assaulted her neck, jaw and collarbone with his lips and teeth and tongue. She gasped and shook beneath his ministrations and fumbled with his belt. Soon she had it loose, and his breeches and smallclothes were pooling at his feet. She took him in her gentle hand, and Elifer shuddered at the touch. His manhood already stood at full attention by the time she started stroking it. He reached behind her to pull at the ties of her gown, clumsily tugging on the lace with fingers he felt her unsuited to the task. How does one undress a queen? Eventually he resolved to tearing it apart with both hands, and Sansa let it and the shift beneath it slide down her arms, exposing her small, pert breasts, tipped in pink nipples which became rigid when exposed despite the warm air of the solar. Elifer bent and took one in his mouth, and Sansa gasped and groaned and tugged at his doublet. He stepped back and stumbled on his breeches, still around his ankles, but kicked them off while he pulled his doublet over his head. Sansa shook out of the rest of her gown and stood before him completely nude. He devoured her with his eyes, from her long white legs, to the orange curls between them, to her flat stomach and small breasts. She shivered, though Elifer was unsure whether it was fear or excitement. He pulled her close to him and her hand found his member again. He ran his hands down her smooth back to the curve of her buttocks, which he then squeezed tenderly.
"I've never wanted a man before," Sansa whispered huskily, looking down at his rigid member that was pulsing in her hand. "This is all new to me." A maiden, then, he thought in relief. Lord Littlefinger didn't get his little finger into her after all. He had never dared to ask her, but then, he had never imagined being in his position at all. Suddenly, Sansa sank to her knees.
"Sansa, sweet Sansa," he cooed. "You need not do such things for my benefit." Sansa just smiled nervously, and then hesitantly took him in her mouth. She worked at him slowly and carefully, testing him with her tongue and lips and repeating what he reacted well to. Elifer was not accustomed to such pleasures; he had been with whores, aye, but usually it was quick and to the point. This was something else entirely. This is truly a gift from the gods.
Before long he grew impatient, and he pulled her to her feet to smother her mouth with his. He backed her towards the dining table and swept the empty platters and cups from its surface, before hoisting Sansa atop it. He broke the kiss and pushed her back, and then positioned himself at her entrance.
"Don't be gentle," she said, so he wasn't. He pushed himself into her quickly and forcefully, and groaned a guttural groan as her velvety inner walls surrounded him. Her maiden's blood trickled out in one red line. She gasped and moaned as he took her against that hard wooden table, thrusting mercilessly, watching her throw her head back in pleasure and pain or a mix of the two, and watching her breasts quiver tantalisingly each time their hips connected. He leaned down to kiss her exposed throat, and her collarbone, and finally he took her engorged nipple in his mouth and suckled on her feverishly until she let out a loud, long moan and clamped her legs around his buttocks.
"Oh, Elifer!" she gasped suddenly, convulsing beneath him, her back arching to push more of her breast between his lips. He smiled excitedly as her climax ceased and resumed his fervour anew. It took until the hour of the eel came to an end and Sansa's releases were spent for Elifer to finally reach his own. He threw his head back and gasped as he filled her with his seed. Then he all but collapsed onto her, his ear pressed to her chest, listening to her heartbeat. She stroked his hair lovingly.
Their afterglow could not last, not lying atop a dining table in the queen's solar. They silently gathered their clothes and straightened themselves as best they could, and then shared a brief jest about Sansa still wearing her crown throughout. Then finally they stepped out of the room together, but neither was certain of what to do. They looked into each other's eyes for a while, Elifer's chambers in one direction and Sansa's in the other.
"I fear I must bid you good night, my queen," he said almost solemnly. She could not marry you, you fool, even if you have tainted her with your seed, or worse, your bastard. Was that the end result of this passionate embrace? Did he plant a young Snow in her womb? He leaned down and kissed her deeply.
"You must forgive me," she said when they separated, "but I do not believe I told you to return to your chambers, ser." She took his hand. "You are my most loyal companion. I do not doubt you always will be. I love you, Ser Elifer. The North Remembers."