Babe, there's something lonesome about you.

Something so wholesome about you,

get closer to me.

-Hozier, "From Eden"

The Godswood of Winterfell was always magical. Something about the overgrowth of the plants gave it a mystical quality and enhanced that it was a holy place. It was surrounded by activity and noise but remained quiet and peaceful, wholly removed from the frenetic atmosphere of the castle. Jon found himself there often, listening to the soft bubbling of the hot spring and the light birdsong. He'd spend hours there if he could but somebody always discovered him and the moment was ruined.

Now, instead of the uninterrupted nature scene, there were a hundred or so chairs arranged in front of the heart tree to form a long aisle lined with white and wine-colored flowers and twinkling lights. The decorators even wove them around the tree branches, letting the strings dangle off and wave like the branches of a willow. At the beginning of each row of chairs stood an arch, laden with flowers and greenery. There wasn't an altar or arbor, the Weirwood provided all of that, its red leaves stretched over the place they would stand.

On top of the ethereal decor, the excited energy from everyone gathered for the rehearsal ceremony created a palpable buzz. Jon hoped it was enough to cover up his apprehension. He refused to be nervous, it wasn't any different than all the state appearances and functions he participated in. But there was still reason to be hesitant.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Dany's voice called from the back of the seating area, "The final fitting took longer than expected."

The wedding planner assured her it was okay as Dany charged up the aisle. When she reached the front, a bundle of fabric was pushed into her arms and she settled into the seat next to Jon.

"Is that a bride's cloak?"
"Yes," she sighed, "I had to make a compromise with Her Majesty so I could repay a favor I owe someone."

He assumed she meant the single photographer that prowled around the area of the Godswood, whose obnoxious camera clicks interrupted the soft bird song and whispers around them.

Dany unfolded the bundle and swept the black cloak around her shoulders, fastening the clasp with ease. Jon was a little pleased to see it was lined with fur.

"You'll be glad to have it tomorrow," he commented.

"Why? It feels fine right now."

"There's going to be a cold snap."

The forecast didn't predict for anything other than a rain shower overnight but Jon could tell. The drizzle would turn to flurries and the snow would stick around long enough for the wedding ceremony around noon. At least it would be ice and snow instead of muddy and damp.

"Let me guess, you can feel it in your bones?"

"Something like that."

"Doctors say that's a sign of arthritis."

Jon splayed his hands out in front of him and then turned them so Dany could see, "They look fine to me. Would you like to assess them, considering you have a wealth of medical knowledge?"

"Mm, I'll pass, thank you."

He shrugged and dropped his hands but unconsciously popped the joints. He noticed Dany doing the same thing.

"Alright everyone, let's get started," the wedding planner said, "We will be running through the whole ceremony so everything goes smoothly tomorrow. After the processional we will have the opening remarks and invocation from His Highness, Benjen Stark, a reading from both sets of Their Majesties, then the unity promise and changing of the bride's cloak, then we'll exchange vows and rings, and finally the recessional. It should be noted that the vows and rings section will only be mentioned."

They were given the rundown of the processional order and dismissed to their starting positions. Dany retreated back down the aisle with Sansa and Arya right behind her, wrangling a gaggle of high born children. A stirring, melancholy melody started from the string quartet behind the seating and his father and Catelyn started down the aisle. They were followed by Elia, escorted by Bran as her husband would be responsible for leading Dany.

As was a royal wedding custom, the bridesmaids and pageboys followed the bride down the aisle, so Dany walked before them. With her brother absent, she forged down the lengthy walkway by herself. She was far enough away that she looked small and lonely despite the bodies behind her.

That Dany reminded him of the version he'd first met, the outer shell of Daenerys that the media observed and critiqued. Jon would've assumed she used her solitary nature as a form of elitism. Keeping people at an arm's length and seeming to float above them just to show she was better. But he knew her at least a little bit better than that and was starting to understand it.

Being alone was easier for Dany. He noticed that long and lengthy social events weighed on her. She still smiled and made conversation, like any good Princess was taught, but she always slipped away quietly when things settled down. It made sense then, why she skipped the gala to swim in fountains.

As she neared, Jon saw that instead of a bouquet she had a sword in her hands. It took him by surprise until he remembered that she was supposed to have it. The presentation of a weapon the groom could use to defend the bride was meant to further reinforce the idea that she was under his protection. Rheagar would carry it tomorrow but, for now, it was hers. And paired with the stoic look on her face, Dany looked like a painting of a warrior queen Jon saw at a museum opening once. A romanticized rendering of a woman standing against the backdrop of a dark, furious storm. Her dress and hair caught in the forceful gales before the skies opened up, the sword held tight against her chest.

Then the breeze picked up, tousling Dany's hair and fluttering the white silk of her rehearsal dress. And Jon wondered if the Gods pulled that warrior out of her frame and set her walking down the path toward him.

"You picked a fine young woman, Jon," Uncle Benjen remarked.

There weren't priests for the old gods so the wedding committee picked the closest thing they had to a holy man. It helped that Uncle Benjen was ordained by the state too.

"We're just lucky she hasn't sprinted back down the aisle yet."

Jon elbowed Robb in the ribs, "That's because this is a rehearsal, dumbass."

"You never know."

But they did know and there was no chance anyone was allowed to get cold feet.

Finally, Dany was standing at his side, her stoic expression as they turned to face Uncle Benjen. As he started in on his opening remarks, Dany set the tip of the scabbard into the ground and rested her crossed wrists on the pommel.

The invocation started when Uncle Benjen started asking the Gods to watch over the ceremony and provide a number of things to the couple about to be married. It was during this that Dany leaned toward him and whispered,

"So, do you have a huge bachelor party planned for after this?"

"You mean like a stag party?"

"Yes, that."

Jon hadn't wanted to tell her about the custom practiced in the North so it would come as a surprise. But he figured Dany wasn't a big fan of those, so he decided to tell her. The ceremony moved on to the readings.

"Actually, we have this… tradition-" the look she gave him was full of annoyance- "where the groom has to steal their intended from their family. Otherwise, he isn't worthy of her."

"I think we're far past needing to worry about 'worthiness' but continue."

"And we get out of the castle for a while."

"Just us?" she raised an eyebrow.

"And the security detail."

"Alright, I'm in. Just one more question."

"Yeah?"

"Am I supposed to put up a fight?" the smirk on her face…

"You can if you want to," Jon agreed.

"I'm in."

Uncle Benjen stated it was time for the unity promise and motioned to Dany.

"If you plan to steal me, then you'll probably need this."

She offered the sword to Jon, the modestly embellished scabbard glinting as he took it. A hand-and-a-half, a bastard sword. A small smile bloomed on his face, he wondered if Dany knew it was called that. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, a little worn from use, and the silver pommel contained an egg-shaped fire opal that shifted between orange and green and red. He pulled the sword out of the scabbard enough to reveal the swirling texture of the blade. Valyrian steel, the technique of making it was long lost to the world. Owning one was rare as the Targaryens kept them in a private collection.

House Stark had one in their possession, the greatsword Ice. It was gifted to them by the original dragon lords of Valyria who settled on Dragonstone, before Aegon's ambitious conquest and the doom. The greatsword was only used in the coronation ceremony of a new King of the North now but it was still considered to pass from king to king as though they still used it in battle.

It would belong to Jon, without question. But there was a time when it couldn't be. He couldn't remember if he really wanted the sword and he certainly didn't expect it. But what young, bastard boy doesn't want to rise above his station by some miraculous means?

"Does it have a name? All the best swords have names." Jon prompted, wondering if Dany knew any of the history behind the weapon.

"If it did, we don't have any record of it. It's one that we loan out to museums but I've always been fond of it so I figured it could find a home here."

There was something wistful about her tone, as though she wasn't really talking about the sword.

Jon handed the sword to Robb, who placed the Stark bride's cloak in his hands. He turned back to Dany and she removed her Targaryen one. The direwolf embroidered in pearls and jet gave the cloak weight and her shoulders shifted trying to distribute it and keep the clasp from her throat.

"May you each bring your best self to the other. May you each bring commitment as well as faith to the task set before you. May you maintain enduring respect and trust. May all who follow your lives have cause often to rejoice, not only in happiness but also in your brave and generous living," Uncle Benjen recited.

Jon couldn't think of a more perfect blessing for a marriage forged in politics. There was no reflection of love, merely neutral intent and factors that would make any business relationship successful.

They had to go through the recessional, Dany and Jon retreating down the aisle to the playful cheers of their family. Luckily, the wedding planner deemed the single run through acceptable but there was still one more rehearsal waiting for the happy couple.

The tables of the Great Hall were pushed to the sides, as they would be after the dinner portion of the reception, to create a dancing space. Above them hung the banners of every house in the North, from Karstark to Reed, and the decorators hadn't spared the hall in their descent upon the castle. The same flowers and lights were strung through the heavy chandeliers, similar bunches near sconces and on window panes.

The choreographer gave them last-minute reminders before the music started. An old fiddle, guitar, and pipe ballad at a walking speed, perfectly paced for two arguably amateur dancers but a tad melancholy for a wedding celebration.

"Are you ready for this?" Dany asked over the music as they circled each other.

"As ready as I can be. You?"

"We'll see."

The first pass of steps was easy and they stayed far enough away to avoid injury. The next part brought them closer until Jon offered his hands and Dany accepted them. They both had to focus harder to keep from making mistakes. However, their little blunders still happened.

The instructor once explained the symbolism behind the steps and their order. Something about the development of his and Dany's relationship but also the expected camaraderie between North and South. Jon didn't know if any of the wedding guests would pick up on it, they would be too drunk to really care, and all he could focus on was how complicated the steps were despite the slow pace of the song.

Jon second-guessed his hand placement and missed the intended mark entirely, colliding with Dany's rib cage. She stumbled but recovered.

"Sorry," he muttered, trying to remember what piece of the overly complex choreography came next.

She chuckled and shrugged it off, "If it boosts your confidence, you're better than a good portion of the partners I've danced with at court."

She looked up at him, inclining her chin in the slightest hint of movement. Their bodies were pressed close together as they moved back and forth across the floor, allowing them to lower their voices.

"I highly doubt that."

"Not all noblemen are light on their feet. I've had my fair share of toes and fingers crushed."

"Fingers?"

"It's a long story," she dismissed.

"One for tonight?"

"If the conversation leads us there."

They quieted as they came closer to the end of the dance, the series of steps and passes and small hops requiring their full attention if they wanted to get through it. Dany stepped on Jon's foot when she was behind the music.

The apologizing started again but was cut off when Jon wrapped his arm securely around her waist for a small lift, foreheads bent close to offset the gravity. Dany's cheeks were a deeper shade of pink when he set her down but whether that was from the dance or something else he couldn't tell.

They entered the last section of the dance, a series of spins and twirls ending with the two facing each other, palms touching. Instead of the expected applause, they were celebrated by a groan from the choreographer.

They received a sum of all their mistakes, accented by looks of disappointment, but Jon and Dany fell into their regular fit of stifled laughter that came with the hilarious thought of broken toes and misplaced hands. They would run it two more times before they were allowed to leave the Great Hall, tired and sweating.

Jon found Robb and Theon in the smoking lounge with a large group of people fussing over a pile of foam swords. Leftovers from someone's birthday party long ago but they would serve their purpose.

"We're going to have to split into teams, Dany doesn't have enough family for it to be any fun," Robb said as Jon approached.

"Sansa and I will be with her and the Southern Queen tonight," offered Arya as she poked her sister with the soft weapon.

Sansa knocked it away but when Arya stuck her again, she gripped the foam blade and pulled it from the young troublemaker.

"And I plan to be there too," Rhaegar Targaryen, who arrived at Winterfell only an hour ago, pitched in.

"Just don't give Dany a sword. She'd love to knock me senseless right about now."

"I will make no such promises," Jon answered, not wanting to deny Dany the satisfaction of taking her anger out on her brother in a relatively harmless way.

After double-checking the transportation and destination arrangements and sending Sansa and Arya off to 'guard' Dany, Jon was able to relax into some light drinking with the men who joined him. They lounged around with their glasses and laughed at stupid jokes they had heard a million times before. He was already feeling a little more like himself, ready to run through the halls of the ancient castle wielding a foam sword like a damned idiot. It wasn't long before they were ready to begin that night's fun.

Jon stood, raised his glass and said, "Alright boys, let's go steal my bride."

Cheers and laughter rose up as Jon drained the contents of his glass and slammed it down on the table in front of him.