There had only been two sounds Jon could hear—the percussion of his heartbeat to the melody of his whirring blood. Positioned next to the heart tree, his only task, as he waited, had been trying to keep his heart from climbing into his throat. Each irregular beat rattled in his chest as if his heart were jumping up, aiming straight for his airway. Unable to remember how to stand still, he fought against the combined forces, hoping to regain some control of his own body. Hoping that, to the onlookers, he'd at least appeared relaxed. Judging by their worried expressions, he hadn't.
One by one, the guests had come into the godswood, sorting themselves out as they stood across the dark pool from him. Sam stood beside Margaery, whose arm was threaded around Robb's. Before them had stood Arya, tightly holding onto Rickon's hand. And to their side, Sansa had been arm in arm with Jeyne Poole. Even Theon came to see the ceremony, standing next to Jeyne a respectful distance, arms clasped behind his back. Behind them stood Hodor, Barristan Selmy, Howland Reed, Jory and Rodrik Cassel. Jon was surprised when he spotted Maester Luwin rushing in to join the lineup of men. Catelyn might've been there, but Jon would've rather she stayed at Bran's side, anyway.
The morning and afternoon were lost to time, all Jon had remembered of them had been the distinct lack of Daenerys, and the desperation to steady his breath. For hours he'd been far too aware of the need to intake air, and release it all the same. The awareness of an otherwise passive activity had been exhausting. By now, he'd felt dizzy. Or perhaps it was that he couldn't bring himself to eat—he'd had no appetite, and there'd be no way to get food past the lump in his throat. No matter how much he swallowed, it wouldn't budge.
What is happening to me? he wondered, examining his shaking palms and fingers, now slick with sweat, thanks to his nerves. Previously, Jon had felt sure he'd been prepared for this moment, that it'd be no big deal. Had it been the way his family and friends spilled into the godswood this evening, all lining up to watch him? Had it been the gods peering out from the reddened eyes of the weirwood? Was there some sort of secret fear Daenerys had changed her mind, that she wouldn't show? Gods, no, he berated his mind for bothering to wander down that path. She's coming. She'll be here.
Jon closed his eyes, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to keep it from quivering. Must every inch of me be beyond my control? Just a few more moments, and then she'd be his, before his loved ones, before the gods. The silver-haired siren whose sharp mind could cut right through the mediocre wit of nearly any noble lord or lady; whose kindness knew so few bounds and which sought to quell the indifference nobility felt toward those deemed 'lesser'. Aerys, her father, may have been mad, but all he'd done is imbue her with the Targaryen greatness he, himself, had lacked. Her fairness almost served as a distraction from the goodness of her heart. Admittedly, Jon had always been taken with her otherworldly beauty, but he'd always been certain it simply radiated outward, originating somewhere deep within. And she'd be his.
The more he thought of her, the internal dissonance plaguing Jon had faltered. However, upon opening his eyes once more, the capricious nature of his nervousness began, again, to unravel him. Jon's dark eyes, unblinking, had rested upon the ethereal vision that was Daenerys Targaryen. She was breathtaking, as in, she'd quite literally taken his breath from him as her ghostly figure drifted closer. Arm in arm with Ned, she moved along the betrodden path of fallen leaves. His hand found its way to his chest to nurse his fatigued heart as his eyes swept over her. A milk-colored dress blooming beneath alabaster skin, the snow-white cascade of waves beneath a braided crown. Like a queen.
Her mouth had split into a smile as she coaxed a reassuring glance out of Ned, who patted the small white hand against his arm. As she turned her head, Jon noticed the small red rubies clasped at the gathered ends of her braids. The light that broke through the clouds had spilled into the godswood between swaying leaves, flickering against her like a candle's flame, but with a cold white light.
Now that she'd drawn near enough, he could see her lips had also quivered as they framed her pearly teeth. Jon hadn't realized he'd been wearing his own wide smile until he felt the ache at the corners of his mouth. The familiar heat had gathered in his cheeks, certain his own face had been as rosy as Dany's, if not more so. Finally, she'd planted her feet before him, perfectly efflorescent against the backdrop of ancient foliage; though it had all been a blur. Spilled pigments on an artist's palette, ranging from white, to green, to red. Violet irises dragged from his feet to his tangled hair, before finally wading into the dark pools of his eyes. Please don't wake up, please don't wake up, Jon chanted in his head, still unsure how his luck had ever forged such an untarnished moment.
"Who comes before the gods?" Robb's voice confidently boomed from beside him. In his distraction, Jon hadn't noticed Robb had moved toward him. For all he knew, his brother had appeared out of thin air.
"Daenerys of House Targaryen comes here to be wed, begging the blessings of the gods," Ned's voice likewise echoed off of the wall of trees. "Who comes to claim her?"
Jon gulped, attempting to shake himself from his reverie, though he couldn't find his voice. She's waiting, he coached himself. Once the girl's eyebrows furrowed together in a look of fear, he managed to clear his throat, jostling the lost words back to his tongue.
"I do," his voice shook, nowhere near as confidently as Robb's, or Ned's, for that matter. Once Dany's sighed in relief, he'd found a bit more conviction for his next words.
"Jon Snow," he simply said, for he'd had no house to claim himself to. At least not safely. "I claim her," his gruff voice had finally bounced off of the bark and back to his ears.
"Who gives her?" Jon asked, turning to Ned. Though, he felt awfully silly as he already knew full well who was giving her away. It's for the gods, not for me, he reminded himself, to help keep his composure.
"Eddard of House Stark, her guardian," Ned replied as he turned to her, "Lady Daenerys, will you take this man?
"I take this man," she breathed, without so much as a moment of silence cushioning the space between Ned's words and her own. Hearing her certainty had felt like succumbing to the effects of a drug, sending his head swirling as if inebriated.
Jon pushed the air from his lungs before drawing more back inside, though no amount made him feel as though he'd caught his breath. He took her hands into his own, and on shaking legs, he knelt with her before the heart tree. Willing his eyes closed, Jon bowed his head, submitting before the gods who peered at them from behind the carved, weeping eyes of the weirwood. From every angle, he could feel gazes upon him. In any other context, it might be unnerving, though for the first time all day, he felt comforted.
Silently, he prayed to the gods. Not so much with words, but rather, with memories, with feelings. He thought of the crushing loneliness he felt before attempting to run away north, followed by the warmth that Daenerys had enkindled within him, slowly engulfing him ever since. Nothing in all of Westeros had made as much sense to him as he and Daenerys. She'd understood him, sought to make him better, and he sought to make himself better because of her. Before her, he wasn't sure he'd ever allowed himself the luxury of appreciating his own character or taking pride in the traits he'd honed. Daenerys had been the first person to truly see beyond the stigma of his bastardy, as if she saw straight into his core and pulled from him the truth.
Feeling a tugging sensation on his fingers, he opened his eyes to see Daenerys preparing to rise. Quickly, he rose with her, clammy hands still clasped together. Even his arms began to visibly shake as he removed her cloak—heavy dark grey wool with a black fur trim, emblazoned with a dull-red leather dragon. The sigil had been all wrong, but perhaps whoever had crafted it had been unfamiliar with the original. It even had just one head, rather than three. It looked almost like the Lannister sigil of an upright lion, but with wings. Targaryen history had, after all, been something of a taboo at Winterfell, so the strange sigil came as no surprise.
For a moment, Jon felt it wrong to remove such a cloak from Daenerys for two reasons. First, she was keeping the name Targaryen, and second, it had already been the right one. He handed the cloak off to Robb, who draped it over his arm before handing Jon its replacement. Fastened in its place had been a cloak of lighter grey wool with white fur trim, the head of a white direwolf at its center. It had reminded him of Ghost, and naturally, he smiled.
Jon and Daenerys stared into each other's eyes once he'd finished the transition. A rogue tear had escaped his eye, though his finger had managed to catch it just before it reached his cheek, wiping it away. Dany, on the other hand, had no qualms about the two streams that ran along either side of her face. Jon brought his hand to her cheek, using a thumb to wipe her tears away as he smiled down at her. He had no qualms, either, he just wanted an excuse to touch her skin.
The small crowd of spectators began to softly applaud, causing the newlyweds to flush even further. Sansa and Jeyne clasped hands, and began to sing a somber song, "I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair," the girls sang in vibrato, their voices quivering as they fought against tearing up, themselves.
Feeling a sudden and unfamiliar gaze upon him, Jon's eyes broke away from Dany's. Just beyond the small gathering of guests, he spotted Jojen Reed standing between the figures of two wolves, sitting perfectly still to either side of him. Ghost, of course, and Summer.
"I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair," they sang.
Jojen's voice replayed in his mind. He has the ability to travel inside of Summer, the boy's words echoed. Brandon doesn't just dream it. He can do it at will. Another round of tears had welled in Jon's eyes as he thought of his little brother. Had Bran made it, after all?
"I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair."
The lyric had been a perfect fit for his bride, dressed head to toe in white. Jon waited a moment, willing his arms to stop shaking. Calm down, he reminded himself. You've made it through. Even the gods know you are hers and she, yours. Convincing his lungs to cooperate, he took several deep breaths before the final step. It was the best his body could offer given his current situation, so it'd have to do.
"Ready?" he asked Daenerys with a wide smile.
She nodded her head excitedly, lifting her arm so he'd have an easier time scooping her up into his. As he cradled her, Jon very carefully stepped across the fallen leaves, making his way slowly over the uneven terrain so as not to drop his wife. Once they were safely on the even ground of the courtyard, Jon's pace became more brisk.
"Am I too heavy?" Daenerys asked, likely noticing Jon was huffing a bit by this point.
"You're perfect," he assured her, though his voice was strained, and they'd only been about halfway there.
"Are you happy?" she asked him.
"I've never been happier, Daenerys," he whispered. She wrapped her arms around his neck, hoping to more evenly distribute her weight in his arms.
"Nor have I been happier, husband," she whispered into his ear.
Jon's face flushed upon hearing the word leave her lips. The heat of her breath against his neck nearly sent his eyes to the back of his head. However, his fear of dropping her prevented just that.
As they neared the great hall, Daenerys pleaded with him, "You can put me down now."
Carefully, Jon lowered her onto her feet, letting his hands linger on the stiff fabric at her waist, wishing they'd been alone so he could let his hands roam freely. Doing so with a physical touch may have been too inappropriate, but until the others caught up, he let his gaze penetrate her in a way that punctured her composure. He'd left her with a drunken sort of look beneath a pair of heavy eyelids.
"Save that for later," she commanded him breathlessly. Jon did his best to blink away his sultry gaze, but left behind a devious smirk. He couldn't help it.
The great hall had already been dressed in candles, the warm light flickered against the ground just beyond the entrance. Even the sound of chatter and live music had already carried outside, along with the scent of the roasted meats and baked breads. The pair waited for their wedding guests to meet them before entering, themselves.
Robb and Margaery were the first to approach them, breaking their clasped arms to embrace the newly wed couple.
"Lucky bastard," Robb laughed, clapping Jon on the back after a tight hug. He couldn't help but smile.
"You must be the most beautiful bride the gods have ever seen, Daenerys," Margaery said, rocking back and forth as she squeezed her friend.
Jon wondered a moment, whether Robb and Margaery would wed before the old gods or the new. By this point, he was pretty sure they would be wed some day. Before he could dwell on the thought, the pair passed into the great hall, giving some of the other guests a chance to congratulate the husband and wife.
Rodrik and Jory were next, first shaking Dany's hand politely, and then clapping Jon on the back the same way Robb had done. Jeyne Poole threw her arms around Daenerys, who stumbled back a bit, laughing as she hugged her young friend. Theon moved in for an awkward handshake. Jon dodged it, and went in for a hug. Perhaps they didn't always get along, but so far as he was concerned, they were family.
As Sansa approached, Dany lifted her skirts enough to run to the girl, causing more of a collision than an embrace as her train trailed behind her. Jon couldn't tell what the girls had been saying to each other, to him, it sounded only like high-pitched squealing. Nevertheless, he found it rather adorable.
"Congratulations, Jon," Sam awkwardly moved in for a hug, "I'm glad I stayed."
"Me, too," Jon said, patting him on the back. "We'll be inside shortly," he assured Sam, who didn't do so well in crowds.
"Wait!" Dany yelled, running over to him and throwing her arms around his neck. "I'm happy you were here, Sam," she said, as a crying Sansa wordlessly wrapped herself around Jon, sobbing into his cloak. He stroked her back to soothe her. After a moment, she broke away with a smile, wandering into the hall as well.
From out of nowhere, Rickon ran up to Dany, holding three long-stemmed winter roses, thrusting them up to her as far as his height would allow. Dany knelt just a bit to hug the boy as she thanked him, "Rickon, these are simply beautiful! Where'd you find them?"
"The glass garden," the boy explained. "Arya said they're Jon's favorite!"
Dany raised an eyebrow at her husband, "You have a favorite flower?"
"I guess I do," he said, his mouth hanging open as Arya approached them. How had she known? Rickon wandered over to Jon, who ruffled his hair before lifting him up for a quick squeeze.
Arya stood there, arms folded, waiting her turn. She still seemed upset. After setting Rickon down, Jon moved closer to his little sister, raising a hand to ruffle her hair, too. Her arms dropped to her side in submission, her expression relaxed into her usual smirk.
"C'mere, you," Jon said, motioning for Arya to jump up into his arms the way she'd always done. Luckily he'd planted his feet firmly on the ground, for Arya had managed a bit of running start before crashing into him. The pair broke into a fit of laughter.
"Oof," Dany said, as Arya climbed onto her shoulders from Jon's. "You're growing like a weed, Arya!"
"Am not!" she spat, finding footing on the ground once more before running into the hall, laughing.
"Hodor," the giant man smiled as he chased after the kids, joining them inside for the feast.
Luwin was next to approach, simply offering congratulations and a slight bow of his head. The pair bowed back as they thanked him. It was about as emotional as they'd ever seen the stoic man get. Still, Jon was happy the Maester had managed to attend.
Ned had then escorted their special guests, Howland and Barristan, who offered polite handshakes and congratulations, though the expressions on the faces of the newlyweds had implied much deeper gratitude for the pair of men. Jon was happy to have met Howland, feeling it was as close as he'd ever come to meeting Lyanna. Though he'd only spoken a handful of words to Barristan, he couldn't help but trust the man, perhaps because he knew Daenerys had.
The men moved through the entrance to the hall, leaving Ned outside alone with Jon and Dany. First, he moved to Daenerys, leaning down as he embraced her. Ned whispered something in her ear that had been lost on Jon. When his father pulled away from his wife, he could see another tear making its way down Dany's face, though he was smiling.
"Thank you, Ned," she sighed before wiping it from her cheek.
He then moved to Jon, extending his arm for a handshake. Of all the people Jon had hugged tonight, he'd hoped Ned would've been one of them. Reluctantly, Jon extended his hand to grasp Ned's. His father simply laughed, tugging Jon's hand forward before wrapping his arms around the boy as he stumbled. "Congratulations, son," he quietly said before patting him on the back. Rather than entering the hall, Ned wandered off toward the great keep, likely to check on Bran and Catelyn. I hope you're well, Bran, Jon thought to himself.
Just as he tried to muster the courage to enter the feast thrown partially in his honor, Dany held her hand out to stop him, nodding toward the direction of the godswood.
Jojen Reed had been approaching, and for the first time, he didn't feel a sense of foreboding upon seeing the boy. "I trust you kenneled our wolves," Jon sternly said, a statement rather than a question.
The boy only nodded, offering a hint of a smile.
"Bran?" he asked, hoping it was the reason Jojen had brought Summer to the godswood.
"I can't be certain he was in there," he confessed, "But I thought I'd at least let Summer out had Bran been... traveling."
"Thank you, Jojen," Jon's tone was somber as he tried not to dwell on the state of his younger brother. The boy simply bowed his head before brushing past them to join his family inside.
By now the sky had sufficiently darkened. Grey clouds had rolled in, closing out the sunlight like a window's shutters. Jon smiled down at his bride, still wondering how any of this had come to be, still half-convinced he'd wake up at Castle Black, nearly frozen or concussed.
"I can't believe you're real," he blurted, staring at the seemingly intangible beauty of his bride.
Daenerys moved closer to him, "What can I do to convince you?"
Looking around, Jon could only spot a few guards patrolling in the distance. "Kiss me," he whispered.
She floated over to him, wearing a wide grin. Her hands slipped around his waist, traveling slowly up his back before wrapping around his shoulders. Pulling him closer to her, she lifted herself up on tiptoes to press her warm lips to his. Jon wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the cool sensation of her silky hair as it slipped between his fingers. Dany's hands abandoned his shoulders in favor of his hair, as well. She dragged her nails across his scalp, knowing just how to rile him up.
Just as their kiss became a little too heated, Robb called out to them, "Really? You two can't wait until after the feast?"
The pair pushed apart, gasping for air as if they'd just broken the ocean's surface.
"Come on, then," he waved them over, "Your guests are waiting on you."
Author's note: Yes, there was a wedding, and no, no one died. Allow my preemptive apology to those of you that it disappoints :P