Davos stood stiffly at the altar, waiting. It was small, make shift, and wooden Gods he hardly knew anymore stood behind him. They were the old gods, the gods that belonged to the home of Lady Sansa Stark's youth. The small room was full of people: Lady Selyse, Lady Shireen… The Red Woman, among all of King Stannis' bannermen. Before this day, Davos had never been clothed finer: fresh leather, fresh linen, a silk shirt and new boots. He wore a cloak to put over his bride; grey, tough wool, light grey to match his field. A black ship sailed a grey sea, a white onion on the sail seemingly a joke to him these days.

These were not rags worthy enough for a Lady so high as Sansa.

Stannis entered the room, his arm pin tucked to Sansa's, and the walked quietly, slowly. It made his stomach churn: through a pale blue veil, one could see the enormous ruby around her neck; not quite the size of Melisandre's, but getting there. To think, some months ago she looked into her flames and saw Tully eyes and Tully hair, Davos thought bitterly.

The room hushed as she made her way up the aisle, stiff as Stannis though not as tall. Her dress was the colors of old and new snow; white and grey, little blue flowers cropping up from the train as it swayed with her walk. Never before had Davos seen his bride. Whispers grew as she met him at the altar; Davos pulled the veil away from her face.

Her low cut of her dress revealed the pink vines and flowers the bastard of Bolton had given her. He cleared his throat. "Lady Sansa," he said. The septon began speaking. "Lord Davos," she answered. Her jaw was set hard, and she ground her teeth as she waited to say the words. Davos held hard onto the breath caught in his throat; a raven sent from Cape Wrath had explained the death of his first wife. She had gotten very ill very quickly and not a soul knew how to calm her fever. His eyes glanced toward the Red Woman, whose face was as smug as ever, twisted and curling with a bitter grin. With their hands tied, they said the words because it would rouse Roose Bolton out of the North.

The patrons rose and out of the room they went, to attend a solemn feast in Sansa Seaworth's name. "I am very sorry this has happened to you," said Davos as they walked, Sansa's hand tight on his half-hand. "My lord, I have come to know worse circumstances."

"M'lady, do you mind if I give you an opinion?"

"My lord, you may do as you like."

Their stroll slowed, letting the chatter and the raised voices slink away. With neither Stannis nor Melisandre in their sights, Davos said: "We would not be wed if not for the death of my wife, which I believe the Red Woman had much to do with." He cleared his throat. Perhaps it sounded absurd to her, but Davos knew better. If there was some way to win anything at all, Melisandre would take it. Sansa's reply was slow.

"I am sorry for your loss, my lord. But, perhaps Lady Melisandre sees something in you that you do not see yourself. I have been chained for years in nothing but my small clothes, getting raped for flayed. I have no quarrel with our match."

There were knots in Davos' stomach. "I meant no offense," he said. Sansa looked at him seriously, with a glint in her eye older than her eighteen years. "You are soft, aren't you?"

"M'lady?"

"You believe with all your little old heart that we are not a worthy match."

"Aye."

"My lord, all my family is dead. I would rather be a Seaworth than nothing at all. Believe me or do not, but the wife of the fabled Onion Knight is better than any title I have gained as of yet."

Davos stifled a dark chuckle and resumed a faster pace. "I only mean that… I am sorry, m'lady, for the way things have gone for you."

Sansa's grip tightened around her husband's as they went down a flight of stairs, catching up with the party goers. Lady Melisandre waited at the landing. "Congratulations," she said, her voice hardly above the music and yet the most resounding. "How are you feeling, Lady Sansa?"

Sansa smiled, and Davos thanked for it silently. "Optimistic," she answered. If it was true or not, the woman would likely never explain. In the days of war, an incredible war with monsters in the north, Lady Northblood was a welcome sight in the area. "Lady Sansa," said Stannis with a nod. "Are you enjoying Dragonstone?" He was as stiff as a board. They must not have chatted long before their arms were entangled.

"It's fine enough." Sansa swallowed hard and maintained an eye on both Stannis and Melisandre as what little food they had passed across the tables. "I know it is not the grandest of weddings, Lady Sansa, but we've tried to do our best…," Stannis droned on. Davos saw the way he looked at her.

And then, a creeping suspicion wrapped itself around Davos' spine.

Melisandre had unleashed hell upon the Dreadfort to get Theon and Sansa out of its dungeons, but for what? His eyes raked the ground between Melisandre and his wife and this became true: Melisandre saw that her time in the service of Rh'llor was ending, and so another red woman would have to be groomed.

His eyes fell darkly upon Lady Shireen, who was in between eating, chatting with Lady Selyse and reading. The girl was always reading. She taught him to read. She chewed slowly on bread and butter, sipping wine. She read, and when she did, her lips didn't move. That always amazed him.

"My lady wife will have to excuse me," Davos said, and let Sansa drop his arm. He strode toward Shireen and leaned over the table. "I'm afraid I may not be able to consort with you as oft as I have, m'lady." While the Baratheons made their way North to the Wall, he and his wife would be a bit farther south in a small winter castle erected for their marriage. Melisandre had somehow managed to convince Stannis that it was of grave importance that there was a smaller shelter for friends just some miles below the wall. There were plans made for three large rooms, a dining hall and one washroom, many rooms combined to preserve material.

It would be called Seaworth Hall and would be beside the sea southeast of Eastwatch, right near the water. There, Davos could go by sea or horse should he need to meet Stannis, without having to be far from his wife.

Unknown to Davos, there would also be a dungeon to hold Ramsay Bolton, Sansa's rapist and attempted murderer.