Jon
The drummer stamped his foot and the singer said in time, "One, two, three, four," before singing as the music started:
A bear there was! A bear, a bear!
All black and brown, and covered with hair!
Three boys, a goat and a dancing bear.
They danced and spun, up to the fair.
The two lutes were alive, as was the woodharp, played by the same man who'd performed for Bran & Meera's wedding. More musicians had arrived in the castle since then, being among the smallfolk brought with the lord and ladies of the North, and Jon was thankful for it. Together they made quite the band, and the last thing he wanted right now was a moody wedding party.
The tables were pushed as close to the walls as they could be while allowing for enough space to walk alongside the chamber's sides. The centre of the great hall was filled with dancers, highborn and lowborn alike. Iron chandeliers were alight with many candles and the fires were roaring in their hearths. Jon sat upon the high table with Sansa at his left and Bran to her left; Davos was on Jon's right, though among them, the happiest expression was Bran's. Sansa & Jon wore small smiles, but Davos wore a frown, staring at the empty plate in front of him and taking a sip of ale every now & then. He is still angry about Lady Melsiandre's execution being delayed. Jon had explained to his Hand his plans for the Red Woman, and Davos accepted them, but that did not stop him from brooding about it.
As for the rest of the room, Wine & ale flowed like a river. By the end of the night, most of the hall's occupants would be too drunk to return to their beds. To combat that for themselves, Jon was keeping to a single ale & Sansa to a single wine: if they couldn't make it back to their bed, then they couldn't consumate their marriage.
There weren't mountains of food; just winter rations. While celebrating a happy event was an indulgence they would all benefit from, it wasn't worth using up the food that would keep them living throughout the winter. After the main courses were eaten – and all that was left were drinks – a serving girl brought out a plate full of lemon cakes to place it in front of Sansa. "A wedding gift from the cook, Your Grace," the girl said as Sansa took one of the cakes.
After taking a bite, Sansa grinned as she replied, saying, "Thank the cook for me." The serving girl curtsied and walked back toward the kitchens. Sansa handed the cakes to everyone at the table. The cook had clearly out done himself for this particular dish. Soon after, Howland emerged from the crowd, having danced with both his daughter & his wife, to ask the new Queen for a dance.
"Of course," Sansa answered before walking around the table.
"You look after her Howland," Jon told him. "If she says she didn't enjoy her dance, we'll be having words."
Howland could tell Jon's tongue was in this cheek. "I wouldn't think of it, Your Grace," Howland replied, a wry smile upon his lips. When Sansa reached him, Howland said to the both of them, his voice more sombre, "I have to say, watching you two tonight made me feel like the young man I was at Ned and Cat's wedding with how similar you two look compared to them."
Sansa smiled sadly. "They are at peace now, my lord," she said.
Howland nodded. "They are."
Sanse offered him her arm and the Lord took it. The pair of them joined with the other dancers. Jon finished off the only ale he'd drink that night.
"You're a married man now Jon," Davos stated, no emotion in his voice.
"I haven't forgotten it Davos," Jon said plainly.
"Would you like a word of advice?" Jon looked at his Hand, who then grinned for the first time that night. "You're always wrong," Davos said, making himself chuckle. Jon smiled, and let out a small chuckle.
"Have you sent any messages to your wife recently?" Jon asked.
"When I was on Dragonstone," Davos answered. "But I didn't receive any replies, and she didn't show up on the island before I left." He frowned. "I fear for what might have happened to Marya, but I can't go home to check, our situation being what it is."
"How's about this, Davos? You go to Wolkan right now, and send a raven to your wife, inviting her here."
"Would that I could. My home is a small keep which Stannis bestowed upon me, I doubt the Maester has a bird which could reach it."
"Perhaps you can send it to the nearest keep which Wolkan's birds can reach, and leave instruction for the message to be taken to your keep."
"Yes," Davos said, eyes lighting up slowly. "Storm's End is just across Shipbreaker Bay from Rainwood. It shouldn't be too long a horse ride. And as far as I know, Alester Florent is still Castellan there form when Stannis took it from Renly."
"Then you best send that raven."
Davos stood and left the hall through the lord's entrance. Jon turned back to look at the crowd, and that was when Edd walked up to him. Jon hadn't seen his friend walk into the hall, probably because he did so during the conversation which just ended. Edd sat down on the table.
"Hello Edd," Jon said. "It's good to see you."
"Aye," Edd replied, dour. "You too, and congratulations for finding a wife, but I can't say the other men from the Wall are all too pleased about this, Jon, at least those who think you were never removed from your vows."
"As far as I'm concerned, they can seethe about it in private," Jon replied. "I was released from my vows, and the lords have upheld their decision to name me their King. A King needs a Queen, so that is why I have married my cousin. Nothing the disgruntled members of the Night's Watch have to say will make me reverse my decisions."
"I've done my best to smooth them, Jon, but their troubles will stay."
"Does that still include you, Edd?" His mouth twitched. "So be it."
"I can't help it Jon," Edd replied. "Even though I saw you dead on that table, I can't help it. And I know in my heart you are released from your vows, but when you left Castle Black, I lost my best friend, my brother. And now I'm here in Winterfell, but I hardly ever get to speak to you because you're busy, seeing to your duties as King." Tears pricked eyes. "I want my brother back."
Jon felt a small, phantom knife plunging into his heart. "Is that why you're angry for not returning to Castle Black? Not because I broke my vows, but because you miss me as your brother."
"Yes."
Jon sighed, looking down at his lap. "I'm sorry. Going forward, I will involve you more in my discussions, I will spend more time with you as a friend and as a brother." He looked up at Edd. "In fact, I will be travelling down to Moat Cailin in a week, to meet the army coming up the Kingsroad from King's Landing and escort them through the North personally. You and some of the Black Brothers are welcome to come."
"I will," Edd said, smiling now. "Kedge will want to come, maybe a few others. Otherwise, the rest of them will be fine to stay here in the castle. The rooms you've given us are better than those at Castle Black and the rest of the Wall, and they'll not want to be trading them for cold nights on the Kingsroad." He looked at the dancing crowd. "Once you disband the Watch, I might find myself a wife."
"And you'll be welcome to stay here," Jon told him. "I thought I might name you Captain of the Guard."
Edd snapped round and smiled. "Aye, I could be happy with that." He stood. "I'll be off then."
Jon walked round the high table and hugged his friend. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Edd walked down the side of the hall, and Jon watched as he went. Looking at the dancing crowd, he found his wife awkwardly dancing with Robin, but smiling nonetheless. Seeing her so happy put a smile on Jon's face; maybe this marriage would work. His view was blocked by a towering man wrapped in fur, a white toothy grin shining from within a fiery red beard.
"Hello Tormund," Jon said, grinning.
"Har, you've gone and done it, true an' proper," Tormund chuckled before swigging his drinking horn and wrapping an arm around Jon's shoulders. "While we Free Folk don't much like marrying our own clan members, I can't say a blame ya. Your sister– No. She's your cousin. Blast, I'm gonna have to get used to that. Anyway, your cousin is a beauty, Stark. You best take care of her."
"I plan to, " Jon told his friend. "Have you any plans to marry? I'd quite like to see what sort of a husband you'd make."
"You'd be surprised. It wouldn't be the first time I wed a woman."
"I don't think you've ever told me that story."
Tormund's smile dropped, but his eyes were still happy. "If you asked that Thenn, he'll tell you I fucked a bear, mistaking it for a woman, but that ain't true. My wife was as fierce as a bear, I'll tell you that now. T'was why I loved her. Shame, though, she disappeared the same year you would have joined the watch, if I had to guess."
"Did the Walkers get her?"
Tormund shook his head. "No. She went south, and never came back." He sipped his drink. "I've made my peace, paid my respects, and know our daughter is safe and well."
"Daughter?" Jon's brow furrowed. "You have a daughter, but she didn't come through the Wall. I would have met her. Where is she?"
"I shouldn't tell you, me and my wife were secret lovers, but if you gave your word not to tell a soul, not even your new bride, I think I'll make an exception, just for you Stark, since we are such close friends." He grinned.
"You have my word, not a soul will know who your daughter is because of me." Tormund leaned into Jon's ear and whispered. His eyes went wide. "Have off it, you old brute? You're pulling my leg."
"If I pulled your leg, it would come clean off in one tug, and your wife wouldn't be very happy about that."
"I just can't see it. You are–" Jon shook his head. It makes sense, her mother never took a husband, not publicly at least. "I think I need another ale in me. I know I promised Sansa I'd only have the one, but what you just told me. . ."
Tormund handed Jon his drinking horn. "Here, finish off me mead. I make it myself." Jon swigged the last of the horn's contents. As the drink passed over his tongue & down his throat, it burned like any strong drink should, sending fiery tendrils through Jon's chest. Breaking the horn away from his lips, Jon nearly gagged.
After letting out a heavy breath, "Gods, that's strong stuff." He handed back the drinking horn. "I'm gonna need a barrel of that at some point."
"Aye, Stark, and I'd be happy to make one for you." He patted Jon on the back. "I'll leave you be now. I recommend getting your dance with her. She's been with all the men, so she's moved to the women." Tormund pointed.
There in the crowd, Jon saw Sansa dancing with Alys Karstark, and his mouth curled into a half-confused grin. "Gods, I have neglected her, poor woman. That's my first sin as her husband." Jon took in a deep breath. "Excuse me please, Tormund."
Jon waded into the crowd, but before he could reach Sansa, someone grabbed his hand and claimed him as a dancing partner. He had to look down at who'd chosen him. Jon chuckled as they moved among the other dancers.
"I didn't take you for a dancer, Lady Lyanna," Jon commented.
"You're the one person I'm going to dance with tonight, Your Grace," Lyanna replied.
"Then I accept this great honour."
Lyanna smirked. The pair of them moved through the crowd before another lady grabbed Jon's arm and ripped him from Lyanna's grip. It was Meera. Her brown curls bounced with each step until Jon was stolen by another dancing partner. His smile grew when he looked upon the face of his wife.
"You've been making the rounds," Sansa said.
"I was trying to reach you first," Jon replied. "Tormund pointed out you'd danced with all the men, so you were having to dance with the ladies. I saw you with Alys Karstark."
"I was surprised with how good a dancer she was, and she was the one who caught me. I was hoping to find Lord Royce."
Jon chuckled. "I don't blame. Who wouldn't want to dance with such a beautiful partner."
To that, Sansa sent up a hearty chuckled, grabbing Jon's waist and bringing him into a hug which brought them to a stop. "And every lady would be happy to dance with a man as handsome as you, dear husband."
That doesn't feel right yet, Jon thought. But in time it will. I pray it will.
"I mean to pull Bran out of that chair of his at some point tonight," Sansa said.
"Get it out of the way now, then you've done it."
Sansa gave a nod and the pair of them deliberately moved back toward the edge of the crowd, holding each other's hands, but before they could leave it, a subdued howl went up in the side of the room, bringing the whole crowd to a stop. Jon let go of Sansa's hand and pushed through to the edge of the room. Next to one of the hall's hearths, Ghost sat surrounded by a group of smallfolk children. The poor direwolf was being clung to by all of them, and the only thing he seemed interested in were the bones left over from his dinner, already covered in his teeth marks.
The sight made Jon chuckled. "Alright, you lot, leave the poor wolf be," he said, trying not to laugh. The direwolf looked at him with pleading eyes, and the children with exaggerated frowns.
"But his fur is so soft," one of the girls said.
"And he is so big, we could ride him like a horse," a boy said.
"Try that, and I fear what he might do to you," Jon told them, less amused than before. "Come now, leave him be."
"Alright, Your Grace," a girl said, "but can we play with him tomorrow?"
"Don't you have a dog of your own?" Jon asked.
"Yes, but he isn't a direwolf."
"And that is a shame, but Ghost is my direwolf, and he stays by my side, or the Queen's, so I'm afraid you'll have to make due with your own dog, direwolf or not."
The girl mopped. The children left Ghost be, and he quickly picked up a bone and moved away from the hearth. The crowd returned to dancing as the musicians picked their song back up, some bawdy thing about a lusty wench and knight who made a lady of her. Jon met his wolf at the high table, kneeling to scratch him under the chin.
"I'm sorry, boy," he said. "How long were they bothering you? I promise that when I have children, they will not be treating you like that." The wolf dropped his bone and licked Jon's face. "I love you too Ghost." Jon kissed the top of the direwolf's nose as he stood.
"Now that is a display I' wouldn't mind to seeing again in future, only with our own children," Sansa said behind him.
Jon looked at her. "At least he'll know each one of them as they grow, and can get used to being around children."
Resuming her set task, Sansa turned to Bran, who had his nose in a mug of ale. Sansa walked round to turn his chair away from the front of the table.
"What are you doing Sansa?" Bran asked as she took the mug from Bran's hand, spilling some of the contents, and putting it on the table. Sansa grabbed her brother by the arms to haul him out of his chair. He chuckled as Sansa held him up by wrapping her arms around his waist. She held him for as long as she could, before lowering him back into his chair. Jon felt a clap on the back.
"Your Grace," said the master-at-arms, Ser Kyle. Jon turned to him, Ghost nuzzling against the King's left hand. "Forgive my forwardness, I've been in my cups with some of the Free Folk, out in the camps. I just wanted to congratulate you personally. And thank you, for giving Her Grace some happiness."
"You're welcome, Ser Kyle," Jon answered.
"I mean it. I stayed in this castle, one of Bolton's men, and held my tongue about what I thought of that bastard and how he treated Queen Sansa." He hid a burp, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "I will never regret making what Littlefinger did public. If I may, I was japing among those Free Folk, and the thought as not left me since. I thought of a name for this wedding of yourself and Queen Sansa."
"Of course, Ser Kyle. What is the name?"
"I know it's not very fancy, but I thought to call this 'the White Wedding.' Something dissimilar to that fucking massacre which happened in the Twins."
"If that's what you want to call it, I suggest you go to Maester Wolkan and have him write that down on the scroll he sends to the Citadel. Though, be careful, Ser, I'd hate to have to find your corpse tomorrow morning after you fell over the rail running beside the stairs to his rooms. You are quite drunk, after all."
"Of course, Your Grace, of course. Forgive me for it, I shouldn't come before you so drunk. The Free Folk make some good ale."
Ser Kyle patted him on the back before walking away toward the lord's entrance. Jon looked at Sansa and Bran, who looked as if they were holding back laughter.
"Don't you two start," he warned, pointing. "The Master-at-arms has just been in his cups as all."
"Of course," Sansa said, nearly laughing. She leaned over Bran's chair, mimicking how Ser Kyle had leaned into Jon. "'Forgive me, Your Grace.'" Sanas's impression was not convincing. "'I'm so drunk. I know shouldn't be.'" She stood up straight. "I'm sorry Jon, I know what he said was serious, but how he was hanging onto you was so funny. He looked ready to kiss you full on the lips."
"Aye, so what if he did?"
"It would have made it all the funnier, Jon," Bran said, his chest rising and falling from laughing as he got the sentence. "Your Master-at-arms all of sudden wraps you in his arm, gets really close to your face. No one would have thought it out of place."
Jon sighed, shacking his head. "I swear, you'd think the two of you were the same children that you were before Robert turned up, asking Father to be Hand." Jon didn't correct himself, and knew he never would. Lord Eddard Stark was his uncle by blood, but it felt too alien to call him anything but 'father.'
"And you're grown up, are you?" Sansa said. She put on a mock serious face and mimicked his voice. "'Oh, I'm Jon Stark, King in the North, and I don't ever let myself laugh, even on my wedding night.'"
"You would have never made it as a mummer, Sansa," Jon told her.
"I don't want to be mummer." She made the long walk from the other side of the high table to be face to face with Jon, pulling him toward her, so no space was between them. "I want to be your wife. I want to mother your children. I want to be able to say to other women, 'Hands off that man with the curly black hair and who always wears a dour face, that's my husband, and I'm the only woman whose allowed to touch him.'" She kissed him on his lips, full and warm, her lips soft as sin. It wasn't like the one they shared in the godswood – slow & timid – instead it was confident, with a small but noticeable passion. Breaking off the kiss, she finished, "'And for all his brooding, there is not another man in this world I want to spend my life beside.'"
Her voice cracked with that last sentence, and Jon saw tears pricking her eyes.
Jon frowned, and his eyebrows dipped. "Do you really mean that, Sansa?" he asked softly.
She curled her lips into a small, soft smile. "With all my heart, body and soul," Sansa replied, her voice so fragile the slightest breeze might have broken it.
Jon embraced her more tightly than ever before. "I think it's time," he said into her ear.
He felt her nod. "I do, too."
Breaking away from the embrace, Jon took off his gloves, put his fingers to the sides of his lips and sent out a whistle which filled the room. The music stopped, as did the dancing, and every eye was him, standing there in front of the high table.
"Lord & ladies of the North, tonight we have celebrated, eaten, danced and drank," Jon began. "I'm ashamed to admit that at this point I'm growing quite tired. I, like all of you, have duties to attend tomorrow and I still have one duty to see to this evening. I'm afraid I will have to retire from this celebration. You've all been terrific guests, but now I must reduce my company to only that of my wife."
"Will there be a bedding ceremony, Your Grace?" Alys Karstark asked.
"I'm afraid not, my lady. My wife and I will be the only people taking off each other's clothes." A disappointed groan came from some members of the crowd. "Now, if you'll excuse myself and the Queen, I leave you in the capable hands of Prince Bran."
The music began again and so did the dancing. Ale & wine left mugs & goblets. Jon looked round at Bran. "Keep them entertained," he said softly.
"I will," Bran replied, smiling.
Jon took Sansa by the hand and led her to the lord's entrance, Ghost's paws padding on the stone floor as he followed behind them, the bone held in his teeth. They left the hall and, as made for their chamber, the noise from the hall grew quiet. They didn't share a word.
Opening the wooden door to the solar, Jon let Sansa enter first, then Ghost, before he himself stepped inside. They sat in front of the hearth and prepared the fire together. It jumped to life, burning orange and yellow and red. Ghost placed himself so he lied between them. Sansa slid her hands through the wolf's fur; Jon felt her soft fingers running along his own back. They sat with no words; just staring into the fire until Sansa decided to break the silence.
"Ghost should stay in here," Sansa stated plainly.
Jon couldn't help a smile perking his lips. "Aye," he agreed. "I'm afraid to think what he'd do if he watched us." A soft laugh escaped Sansa's lips. They remained silent for another few moments.
"Have you read the second letter yet?" Sansa asked. "The one from Lyanna."
Jon shook his head lightly. "I don't know if I want to, not yet anyway. I think I first want to come to terms with her actually being my mother, accepting it completely, before I read that letter. I think I'll only be able to accept whatever's written in it when that time comes."
Another silence had its turned.
"What made you change your mind about marrying me?" Sansa asked. "You said you only would if I was named ruler instead of you."
Jon chuckled. "I told Bran about our agreement during the time Sam and I spent down in the Weirwood Throne chamber. It was him who convinced me otherwise, or rather he made me realise that marrying you was the right thing to do.
"You see, Sansa, the moment I realised what you'd thought of after we started talking about what to do if the lords and ladies named you ruler, I knew part of me was thinking that what Littlefinger accused me of was true; that, because of our time spent away from each other, when you found me at Castle Black, I no longer saw you as a sister, but instead a potential lover. I didn't to let it be true. I didn't want to prove that vile man right.
"So, I voiced these concerns to Bran and Sam during our talking, and Bran knew exactly what to say. He told me, 'Jon, to marry Sansa is the kindest thing you could for her after all she's been through. She's told you she doesn't want to open herself up to anyone else, so why force her to do that when you are perfectly capable of making it so that never needs to happen.' I thought on those words, and remembered the night you told me Littlefinger wanted to make you his wife, the night you had that nightmare. I was the person you came to for comfort."
"You were the only person I could," Sansa pointed out. "At that point, you were the only family I had left."
"Aye, I was, but you could have just as easily stayed in your room to deal with your nightmare by yourself. Instead, you came to me for comfort and reassurance, you trusted me enough to do that. And the truth is, Sansa, I always want to be that person. I want to be the person you lean on when you're struggling to walk, the person you ask advice when you're not sure what to so, the person who looks after you when you're hurt, the person who protects you when you find yourself in danger. And I couldn't have been that person if, after the decision to make me King was upheld, I took a lord's daughter or granddaughter for a wife, and waited until you were twenty-one before forcing you to marry someone you didn't want to, which would require you to leave Winterfell to live with him, and be somewhere I couldn't care for you."
Jon took hold of her hand. Throughout his speech, his voice had got sadder.
"And if I'm being honest with you, Sansa," he continued, "I think I need you as much as you need me. Ever since Melisandre brought me back from death, I don't feel whole; like part of me got left behind wherever I went in-between being stabbed and waking up on that table. It must be what Bran feels like with his legs not working. I can distract myself well enough with work, but whenever that stops, whenever I'm alone with my thoughts, or even when I'm just speaking to someone; if it doesn't take my full attention, I always feel that missing part of me.
"But I don't feel like that when I'm with you, at least, being with you takes my mind off of it better than being with anyone else, and I don't think I could ever build that connection with anyone else"' He turned to her, feeling the tears pricking his eyes. "You saved me, Sansa. I didn't know what I was going to do before you rode into that courtyard. I was planning on heading south, but I didn't know where I'd go, or if there was anywhere I might have found belonging. Seeing you there in the yard, I knew that the gods wanted me to protect you, that part of my purpose in this world would be to stay by your side and make sure you're safe, which is how I feel whenever I'm with you."
Sansa brought her hands up to cup his face. Jon could not name the expression on her's. Her mouth was open some, then it closed, her lips tucking in as she steeled herself. As if sensing the mood, Ghost got up and moved from in-between them, placing himself in front of the fire. Sansa brought her husband into an embrace.
"Jon," she whispered in his ear, "I will protect you. I will be by your side always, in spirit, if not in person, and never let a single soul hurt you. The Seven Hells will freeze over before I allow it. I will be your crutch to lean on, your shoulder to cry on, as you have promised to be for me. And if someone should even dare attempt harm against, if the Dragon Queen names you a liar and calls for your head when you tell her you are her nephew, she will know the wrath of a woman widowed."
She pulled back her head, only to plant her lips on his. Jon brought his hands to the back her head, tracing his tongue across her lips, asking for entry. She allowed it. For a minute, they sat there like that. Jon went onto his kenss and leaned forward, guiding Sansa backwards to lie on the floor. He broke away to breathe. Looking down at her, he saw the passion bubbling in her eyes.
"We should go to the bed first," he said. Sansa nodded.
Entering the bed chamber, a fire was soon burning in the hearth, and candles on the bedsides. Quickly, they rejoined each other. Jon removed Sansa's bridal cloak, folding it over his arms and placing it on a spare chair. Only then did he remember he'd left his own cloak hanging on the back of his chair in the hall. Fuck it.
Jon's arms went around Sansa's back as they stood beside the bed, undoing the fastening strings of her dress while she undid the glided buttons of his tunic. She finished first, pulling open the tunic to show his first of two undershirts. Jon allowed her to get the tunic and shirts off him before he pulled off his boots. His bare feet met the cold wood of the floor, and he returned to the task of removing Sansa's dress. She used the time to undo his breeched, kissing him deeply. Once they were undone, Sansa was not shy about placing a hand over his crotch and feeling his cock through his small clothes.
"You're already hard, Your Grace," she said playfully into his ear.
"Aye, and I bet were I to go searching, I'd find you already as eager, perhaps even more."
She bit his earlobe lightly. "And you would win that bet."
The strings of her dress undone, Sansa stepped back from her husband to push it off herself, resting on the edge of the bed. Underneath, she wore a red undershift. Getting the dress to her feet, she said, "Oh damn it," and laughed. She looked up at him. "I forgot to get my boots off first."
Jon laughed, kneeling. Reaching up inside the skirts of her dress, he found Sansa's feet and pulled off her boots, placing each aside and then helping her get the dress off the rest of the way. Carefully, she picked up and folded it, placing it with her bridal cloak before returnomg to Jon as he pulled off his trousers. Together, they folded his discarded clothes, and placed them with Sansa's on the chair. Sitting on the edge of the bed, they took each other's hands.
"This is it," Jon said softly. "I know this is going to be awkward, so I thought I'd ask if wanted to do this in a way where we don't see each other's nakedness."
Sansa brought her free hand to Jon's cheek. "Thank you for asking, but I think that the awkwardness will leave us sooner if do see each other naked." She looked into her lap. "I want to show you my scars now, so I don't have to later." Sansa let her hand fall down onto Jon's chest, and her fingers traced each one of the knife scars. "I've seen yours now, so I should show my own."
She brought Jon's hand to the bottom of her shift, and he took hold of it with both hands. They lifted the red garment together, and with his wife's body bear to him, her torso at least, Jon felt himself tense up. Several types of scars interrupted her pale skin, but none looked so ghastly as the one sitting where her left nipple should have been. With his fingertips, Jon traced each scar, finishing at the one on her breast, feeling it with his thumb.
He let out a small grunt. "I want to kill him all over again," Jon said. "I want to punch him until I crack open his skull."
"He is burning in hell," Sansa said confidently. "His damage is done, and he can no longer hurt me. Now help me heal, Jon. Show me that a husband is capable of being a woman's best friend, capable of being the most tender and caring lover a woman could ask for."
Jon looked her dead in the eyes. "Lie down."
She did as he commanded, pulling the duvet up and folding it over at the bottom of the bed before strechting herself out on the feather mattress, head lying on the pillows at the head. She looked like a choice painting, lying there with all her scars, pale skin and red hair.
Jon pulled off his own small clothes, prompting Sasna to say, "So you didn't shave down there, as well?" with a large grin, trying to sound disappointed.
He looked at her disspprovingly. "Do you want me to consummate this marriage?"
She only grinned, and wasn't wrong. Around his manhood was a mess of curly black hair. Jon pulled off Sansa's small clothes, showing him the red bush of curls above her womanhood. "You can't have a go at me for not shaving since you didn't do the same," he said, prompting her to chuckle, making her chest jump up & down, and her breasts bounce. At least atop the right one, there was a pink nipple where it should be. Climbing onto the bed, Jon knelt in-between Sansa's legs as she opened them for him.
"Now, how do you want to do this?" Jon asked. "There is something I can do to get you ready."
"Do this however you want to, my love," Sans told him, "so long as I go to sleep tonight wedded & bedded, I don't care." He smiled softly, before leaning down and kissing her between her legs, making her let out a gasp. "Jon!"
Jon wrapped an arm around each of her thighs, taking hold of her waist as he began to use his tongue. Eyes closed, his world was the smell of her, the taste of her, the feel of his wife. Sansa's moans were the sweetest sound he'd ever heard: his name mixed with noises of pleasure. In-between his own legs, he was aching, so he withdrew from his wife's sex, much to her displeasure. "No, don't stop," she said.
Jon moved up the bed, hovering over her by the strength of his left arm. "I'm just getting started," he told her, before guiding himself to her entrance. "Are you ready?"
She cupped his face. "Look into my eyes as you do it." He nodded, doing as he was bid, losing himself in the deep blue pools of Sansa's eyes as she took him in. She winced some, letting out a small groan that sounded painful.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. It's just that Ramsay was never gentle."
"Then I will be as gentle as you want me to be."
Only once he was all the way in did she relax, letting out a small sigh. The feel of Sansa around him was almost overwhelming. Jon put his lips onto hers, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he did so. Holding the kiss, Jon slowly withdrew, but not all the way. Breaking his lips away, he brought himself back into her.
"That's nice," she told him. "Keep that up, my love. I want to feel all of you." And Jon did just that, keeping a slow pace until Sansa said, "You can speed up. I'll tell you if you're going too fast."
Slowly, Jon built his pace, never so sharply that he might have caused Sansa discomfort. A knot of pleasure began to tie in his loins as he picked up the pace. When Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist, Jon knew there was no risk of discomfort going forward, so he set himself at a pace he knew he could hold, moving in and out of his wife as the knot grew ever tighter. Jon found one of Sansa's hands and took hold, pinning it next to her head on the pillow. As he made love to his wife, the pair of them let out and took in breaths, moaning with each of them.
But their love making did not last long.
All of a sudden, the knot in Jon's loins came undone. He thrust in as far as he could, letting out a long moan. Once the wave passed over him, he groaned, letting his body slump. Into Sansa's ear, he said, "I'm sorry, my love. I thought I would last longer, but I'm unpractised. I didn't make you reach your own end."
Sansa chuckled. "I don't care about that, Jon. All that matters is I'm your wife now, in body as well as in spirit. You've spent your seed inside me, and hopefully got me with child. Just lie inside me a bit before you withdraw. I like the feel of you."
"Of course, dear wife."
It could've been hours they lied there, Jon still inside Sansa. The time came where he withdrew from her, pulling the duvet over the two of them and lying down behind Sansa, who had rolled onto her side to face the door. Jon wrapped an arm around her belly, pulling her back against the front of his torso, burying his face in her long, red hair.
"I love you, Jon," Sansa said.
"I love you too, Sansa," Jon replied.
A/N: Song recommendation: True Loves Waits, from the album A Moon Shaped Pool, by Radiohead. I love the song and the band.